13:26:57 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
John couldn't help but grimace as Finn brought that up; a topic that they usually managed to avoid. The similarities between that past situation and his present dilemma hadn't escaped him, he had just been trying to avoid the comparison. He didn't know what else to do. He had to find Nora.
"Chummer, if you're busy and ya don't think anything else can be found too easy, than forget I asked. You're right, an I don't want to get you involved too deep. You've been real wiz to me, better than I deserve."
He could almost hear the decker roll his eyes. "C'mon, John. Don't get all..."
"Nah, seriously. Forget it. But ya know I can't stop lookin'...
And Iris? Tell Iris I think she did just fine. And she'll know to check for that prompt next time, right? Live an' learn.
"Take care, chummer."
Sticking the phone into his jacket, John ground out his cigarette butt and dug out his pack. A quick scan showed only a couple remaining. Sighing, he reached into his pocket and removed a small wad of bills and thumbed through them. It was the 30-odd nuyen he'd removed from the security guards at the Clinic, which amounted to his entire liquid assets at this point. Sighing again and shaking his head, he stuffed the bills back into his pocket.
I'm fraggin' broke. I got the LTG that Cheryl gave me. I could call, see what's up with that run. May even be an up-front. But wait, she said somethin' about travel. No way I can leave without findin' Nora. Course, no way I can find Nora without some fraggin' scratch. Frag it. I'll call, see what's what. Maybe I can find her before I leave.
His mind made, he removed his cell and the card the fixer had given him. Checking around once more, John dialed the number and waited.
This better not end up bitin' me in tha hoop...
Full Version: Living in the Shadows: IC
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13:31:26 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
The phone rings twice before it's connected and a dry, monotone voice answers. "Scrapheap, I presume?"
Before a surprised John can reply, the voice continues, "I set up this number specifically for your call. It will not exist after we disconnect. Since someone called, I presume it is you. Cheryl would not have given it to anyone else. You may call me Cross. Are you interested in the job?"
The phone rings twice before it's connected and a dry, monotone voice answers. "Scrapheap, I presume?"
Before a surprised John can reply, the voice continues, "I set up this number specifically for your call. It will not exist after we disconnect. Since someone called, I presume it is you. Cheryl would not have given it to anyone else. You may call me Cross. Are you interested in the job?"
13:32:09 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
The old samurai racked his brain, but the name Cross meant nothing to him. That didn't mean much; he'd been out of the game for a while. If Cheryl trusted the guy, he could as well.
"I'm interested. You wanna give me details now, or in person."
The old samurai racked his brain, but the name Cross meant nothing to him. That didn't mean much; he'd been out of the game for a while. If Cheryl trusted the guy, he could as well.
"I'm interested. You wanna give me details now, or in person."
13:32:47 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
"I'll give you the details now. The Johnson set up the meet at a restaurant called Zerikolopoli. Reservations for Ranger are set for tonight at 22:00:00. Shall I tell them you will be attending?"
"I'll give you the details now. The Johnson set up the meet at a restaurant called Zerikolopoli. Reservations for Ranger are set for tonight at 22:00:00. Shall I tell them you will be attending?"
00:26:48 Friday 12 January, 2063 - The Unbottled Spirit, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Sliding her way out of the booth, Reign gives her hips an extra swivel, glancing over her shoulder at Tony before heading for the door. She spares a single glance for the group of women that occupied their conversation earlier, but doesn't break stride as she leaves, a soft laugh drifting back to Tony.
Sliding her way out of the booth, Reign gives her hips an extra swivel, glancing over her shoulder at Tony before heading for the door. She spares a single glance for the group of women that occupied their conversation earlier, but doesn't break stride as she leaves, a soft laugh drifting back to Tony.
13:33:03 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
Ranger? Am I 'spossed to make somethin' of that? Does everyone fraggin' know who I am?
"I'll be there. Anything else?"
After a short pause to see if Cross had anything else to say, John put the phone back into his jacket and went back inside. Quickly making his way across the docks and down the hallway, he knocked on the door and waited until Fragger #1 answered.
"Nothing yet, chummer," was the greeting the bodyguard offered before returning to his spot on the waiting room's couch. John watched as he resumed his channel-surfing, nodding at #2 as he looked up. He then walked down the hallway until he encountered a nurse hurrying in his direction.
"Hoi, nurse. I know yer busy, but I need to use a room. Someplace with a door. Someplace I can talk to someone private-like. Depending on how vigorous the talking gets, I may need disposal of said someone too. Doc Carson may be able to use the leftovers. I'm sure he's done it before."
Ranger? Am I 'spossed to make somethin' of that? Does everyone fraggin' know who I am?
"I'll be there. Anything else?"
After a short pause to see if Cross had anything else to say, John put the phone back into his jacket and went back inside. Quickly making his way across the docks and down the hallway, he knocked on the door and waited until Fragger #1 answered.
"Nothing yet, chummer," was the greeting the bodyguard offered before returning to his spot on the waiting room's couch. John watched as he resumed his channel-surfing, nodding at #2 as he looked up. He then walked down the hallway until he encountered a nurse hurrying in his direction.
"Hoi, nurse. I know yer busy, but I need to use a room. Someplace with a door. Someplace I can talk to someone private-like. Depending on how vigorous the talking gets, I may need disposal of said someone too. Doc Carson may be able to use the leftovers. I'm sure he's done it before."
16:11:41 Monday, 08 January, 2063 - The depths of the Ork Underground
In the midst of all this helter-skelter and unexpected methods of training, a beep in Anne's earpiece indicates she has an incoming call. Checking momentarily, she notes that it's from Tin Star.
In the midst of all this helter-skelter and unexpected methods of training, a beep in Anne's earpiece indicates she has an incoming call. Checking momentarily, she notes that it's from Tin Star.
00:30:58 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace, Apt 203. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Following Reign out to the car, and avoiding any knowing glances from Sam, Tony realized that this was probably the least amount of time that he had spent in the Spirit in a long time, if not ever. Funny what we do.. he thought, catching Reign's laugh and smiling broadly. Both the men and women followed Reign out of the door.
Tony didn't live far from the bar, and it only took a couple of minutes to get to his apartment. The ride had some of the banter from the trip from Tacoma, but there really wasn't time for much to develop, and Tony studiously avoided any questions.
Parking in his spot at his building, Tony lets Reign into and upto his apartment: a typical, if slightly cleaner and older than normal middle-class bachlor pad. Middle of the road telecom/trideo, a sofa, chair and a coffee table over a tribal patterend rug, a few pictures of past events in Tony's life to this point (including a hilarious-if-you-know-the-story picture of Tony holding a fish next to a troll out in the woods), a stand in the corner that held his katana when it wasn't on him, fake but close-enough-to-real hardwood flooring. But other than a few personal items and some quirky features unique to buildings in the area, this place could have been in any part of the Hill, or in any middle of the road area in North America. The whurring of the cleaning drone in the kitchen greeted both of them when Tony thumbed the door open and let Reign in before him.
Glad I put my stuff up Tony said, shutting and locking the door behind him as they entered. A pair of slippers and his robe from earlier this evening were visiable, but he'd managed to put most of his older clothing away. "It's not much, but it's home," Tony said. "Want the
5 tour?" he finished, smiling in both anticipation and mirth.
Following Reign out to the car, and avoiding any knowing glances from Sam, Tony realized that this was probably the least amount of time that he had spent in the Spirit in a long time, if not ever. Funny what we do.. he thought, catching Reign's laugh and smiling broadly. Both the men and women followed Reign out of the door.
Tony didn't live far from the bar, and it only took a couple of minutes to get to his apartment. The ride had some of the banter from the trip from Tacoma, but there really wasn't time for much to develop, and Tony studiously avoided any questions.
Parking in his spot at his building, Tony lets Reign into and upto his apartment: a typical, if slightly cleaner and older than normal middle-class bachlor pad. Middle of the road telecom/trideo, a sofa, chair and a coffee table over a tribal patterend rug, a few pictures of past events in Tony's life to this point (including a hilarious-if-you-know-the-story picture of Tony holding a fish next to a troll out in the woods), a stand in the corner that held his katana when it wasn't on him, fake but close-enough-to-real hardwood flooring. But other than a few personal items and some quirky features unique to buildings in the area, this place could have been in any part of the Hill, or in any middle of the road area in North America. The whurring of the cleaning drone in the kitchen greeted both of them when Tony thumbed the door open and let Reign in before him.
Glad I put my stuff up Tony said, shutting and locking the door behind him as they entered. A pair of slippers and his robe from earlier this evening were visiable, but he'd managed to put most of his older clothing away. "It's not much, but it's home," Tony said. "Want the
5 tour?" he finished, smiling in both anticipation and mirth.
00:35:07 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace, Apt 203. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Reign smiles, ignoring Tony's offer. Dropping her purse on the table, she drifts around the apartment's main room, her touch ghosting across his personal effects. She smiles at the pictures, as if she already could guess the stories behind them. Pausing at the trideo, she powers it on and pages through the media offerings until she finds a vaguely Middle Eastern music station.
As the exotic strains fill the apartment, her hips begin to sway in time. Her shoulders roll in counterpoint, and her hair fans out in a gold/crimson wave. In the half-light of the apartment, her eyes are luminous, glittering gems. The panels of her dress hiss as they slide across her skin, her arms wind and unwind about her body, hands alternately caressing and beckoning. Tony stands immobile, uncertain as to what, if anything, he should do next.
Winding her arms over her head, Reign undoes the knot holding the laces of her dress together with a deft movement. Her hips curl sinuously, and the garment slides free of her body as if it had a mind of its own. A quick one-two and she's stepped clear, but the flow of her dance never wavers. Tony finds himself leaning forward, his balance shifted into a combat footing. The rhythm of her body is primal, an elemental siren scream that reaches right down into his animal core. Reign stamps her foot, exhaling with a growl. The dance has brought a flush to her skin, and her eyes are feral now as she tosses her hair back. To Tony's heightened senses, the music seems omnipresent, thundering through his ears, and he can almost see Reign's skin glowing in the dimness. The rhythm of the dance fills him, and he closes the last remaining distance between the two of them in a rush.
04:00:01 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace, Apt 203. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Tony opens his eyes and listens to the silence of his apartment. The bed is warm, but empty, and he knows that she's gone.
Reign smiles, ignoring Tony's offer. Dropping her purse on the table, she drifts around the apartment's main room, her touch ghosting across his personal effects. She smiles at the pictures, as if she already could guess the stories behind them. Pausing at the trideo, she powers it on and pages through the media offerings until she finds a vaguely Middle Eastern music station.
As the exotic strains fill the apartment, her hips begin to sway in time. Her shoulders roll in counterpoint, and her hair fans out in a gold/crimson wave. In the half-light of the apartment, her eyes are luminous, glittering gems. The panels of her dress hiss as they slide across her skin, her arms wind and unwind about her body, hands alternately caressing and beckoning. Tony stands immobile, uncertain as to what, if anything, he should do next.
Winding her arms over her head, Reign undoes the knot holding the laces of her dress together with a deft movement. Her hips curl sinuously, and the garment slides free of her body as if it had a mind of its own. A quick one-two and she's stepped clear, but the flow of her dance never wavers. Tony finds himself leaning forward, his balance shifted into a combat footing. The rhythm of her body is primal, an elemental siren scream that reaches right down into his animal core. Reign stamps her foot, exhaling with a growl. The dance has brought a flush to her skin, and her eyes are feral now as she tosses her hair back. To Tony's heightened senses, the music seems omnipresent, thundering through his ears, and he can almost see Reign's skin glowing in the dimness. The rhythm of the dance fills him, and he closes the last remaining distance between the two of them in a rush.
04:00:01 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace, Apt 203. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Tony opens his eyes and listens to the silence of his apartment. The bed is warm, but empty, and he knows that she's gone.
04:18:18 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace, Apt 203. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Tony sat slowly up in bed, afterimages of his evening flashing in his eyes. Turning on the light, he noticed a couple of things: somehow, his robe had managed to make it to the bedroom, how exactly he didn't know, and a small, flower shaped folded piece of paper on the nightstand. Unwrapping it carefully, he saw Reign's name in smooth, flowing script with a LTG number under it. How was I not awake when she left? he thought, dismissing it when he saw his bar tab from earlier in the evening next to it on the nightstand.
Smiling broadly to himself, he put on the robe and went to the bathroom, wincing at the cold floor. Returning a few moments later, he went back to bed still smiling when he eventually drifted off to sleep.
Tony sat slowly up in bed, afterimages of his evening flashing in his eyes. Turning on the light, he noticed a couple of things: somehow, his robe had managed to make it to the bedroom, how exactly he didn't know, and a small, flower shaped folded piece of paper on the nightstand. Unwrapping it carefully, he saw Reign's name in smooth, flowing script with a LTG number under it. How was I not awake when she left? he thought, dismissing it when he saw his bar tab from earlier in the evening next to it on the nightstand.
Smiling broadly to himself, he put on the robe and went to the bathroom, wincing at the cold floor. Returning a few moments later, he went back to bed still smiling when he eventually drifted off to sleep.
13:35:19 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
The moment John asks if there's anything else, Cross answers , "No." and terminates the connection.
Abrupt fragger, isn't he? Well, if this is a decent paying gig he must be the middle man in all this, or at least one of them, and I can't complain about that.
After checking in on Cheryl's status, he goes to find a room he can interrogate the prisoner, and flags down a nurse to make a request to that effect.
To his horror, she looks first surprised, then shocked, then flat out freaked when he makes his request. "Oh my god! We would never permit that sort of activity here at Dr. Carson's office! He is a good doctor and has an excellent reputation, and the mere suggestion that he would be involved in something as vile as illegal organlegging is not only insulting, but downright repulsive! I don't know who you are or what you think you're going to get away with here, but let me tell you that it stops right now mister. I'm calling security, and if the least they do is escort you out, you should count yourself lucky!"
After her indignant outburst, the nurse reaches for the phone on the wall, apparently ready to follow through on her threats.
The moment John asks if there's anything else, Cross answers , "No." and terminates the connection.
Abrupt fragger, isn't he? Well, if this is a decent paying gig he must be the middle man in all this, or at least one of them, and I can't complain about that.
After checking in on Cheryl's status, he goes to find a room he can interrogate the prisoner, and flags down a nurse to make a request to that effect.
To his horror, she looks first surprised, then shocked, then flat out freaked when he makes his request. "Oh my god! We would never permit that sort of activity here at Dr. Carson's office! He is a good doctor and has an excellent reputation, and the mere suggestion that he would be involved in something as vile as illegal organlegging is not only insulting, but downright repulsive! I don't know who you are or what you think you're going to get away with here, but let me tell you that it stops right now mister. I'm calling security, and if the least they do is escort you out, you should count yourself lucky!"
After her indignant outburst, the nurse reaches for the phone on the wall, apparently ready to follow through on her threats.
13:36:32 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
Aw, frag. Figures I find the one fraggin' legit citizen working at a fraggin' shadow clinic!
John quickly moved to place himself between the nurse and phone, holding up his hands in a placating manner.
"Woah! Hold on there, lady. I didn't mean nothin' by it. Just figured that's how this place runs. Take it easy."
The nurse's frown deepened and her face hardened. She started around the samurai, reached for the phone. He smoothly blocked her path.
"A'ight. Listen. What the frag? Where you think you are, chica? This ain't Redmond General. What do ya think goes on here, huh? Where you think I got this?" He held up his left hand, shoving the sleeve up so she could see the obvious cyberarm. "I'll give ya a hint: right here. Doc Carson installed it. I'll tell ya something else: it was used. Ya think the fragger it came off gave it up by choice? Think he walked out? Parts of him, maybe, but he didn't leave in one piece." Not that I know that for sure, but what else would they do with them?
He dropped his arm, but didn't otherwise move. "Think I'm wrong? Think I'm fragged? Then maybe we should go talk ta the Doc."
Aw, frag. Figures I find the one fraggin' legit citizen working at a fraggin' shadow clinic!
John quickly moved to place himself between the nurse and phone, holding up his hands in a placating manner.
"Woah! Hold on there, lady. I didn't mean nothin' by it. Just figured that's how this place runs. Take it easy."
The nurse's frown deepened and her face hardened. She started around the samurai, reached for the phone. He smoothly blocked her path.
"A'ight. Listen. What the frag? Where you think you are, chica? This ain't Redmond General. What do ya think goes on here, huh? Where you think I got this?" He held up his left hand, shoving the sleeve up so she could see the obvious cyberarm. "I'll give ya a hint: right here. Doc Carson installed it. I'll tell ya something else: it was used. Ya think the fragger it came off gave it up by choice? Think he walked out? Parts of him, maybe, but he didn't leave in one piece." Not that I know that for sure, but what else would they do with them?
He dropped his arm, but didn't otherwise move. "Think I'm wrong? Think I'm fragged? Then maybe we should go talk ta the Doc."
13:36:40 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - Max's Penthouse, Bellevue
Max rings John’s cell number, but doesn’t get an answer.
‘Must be dealing with something.’
When his answering service kicks in, Max tells him about the meet.
“Wong’s called. They want us to meet at the SSBC, second floor of the Renraku Arcology at 16:00:00 to talk. Let me know if you need a ride. If there is a problem with the time let me know ASAP. We only have until 14:00:00 to change it.”
After hanging up Max punches in Libby’s number. Her secretary passes him through immediately.
“Maximillian, you recieved my message?”
“Yes Libby I got it. Thanks for looking into the place and no don’t go looking any deeper until I can figure more out about what we are up against. I have a meeting with some people that may be able to help me, but I don’t want to involve anyone anymore than I have to.”
“Are you ok, Max? You’re beginning to worry me.”
“Yah…at least I think so, but this isn’t really about me, it’s about finding Keira. I’ll let you know how everything works out later. Thanks again Libby.”
“No problem Max and be careful.”
One last call...Max dials in the number Thomas’s secretary had given him.
After a few rings a gruff voice picks up at the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
Thomas? This is Maximillian Steiner. Your secretary said you may know someone that could help me with a ritual?…
Max rings John’s cell number, but doesn’t get an answer.
‘Must be dealing with something.’
When his answering service kicks in, Max tells him about the meet.
“Wong’s called. They want us to meet at the SSBC, second floor of the Renraku Arcology at 16:00:00 to talk. Let me know if you need a ride. If there is a problem with the time let me know ASAP. We only have until 14:00:00 to change it.”
After hanging up Max punches in Libby’s number. Her secretary passes him through immediately.
“Maximillian, you recieved my message?”
“Yes Libby I got it. Thanks for looking into the place and no don’t go looking any deeper until I can figure more out about what we are up against. I have a meeting with some people that may be able to help me, but I don’t want to involve anyone anymore than I have to.”
“Are you ok, Max? You’re beginning to worry me.”
“Yah…at least I think so, but this isn’t really about me, it’s about finding Keira. I’ll let you know how everything works out later. Thanks again Libby.”
“No problem Max and be careful.”
One last call...Max dials in the number Thomas’s secretary had given him.
After a few rings a gruff voice picks up at the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
Thomas? This is Maximillian Steiner. Your secretary said you may know someone that could help me with a ritual?…
08:50:01 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace, Apt 203. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Tony awakens, still with a pleasent smile on his face from the evening before, and only with a touch of a hangover. Exiting the bathroom, he notices that the bruses on his chest and sholders, while looking bad, didn't hurt much at all. Looking around his apartment and checking his cred and weapons, he finds that Reign left without disturbing anything. Didn't seem like her style, but you never can tell... he says, switching on the trideo and lowering the volume. The same Magreb station was on, playing a stylized prayer call. Switching to NewsNet's 'Seattle and the World' show, he went to nuke breakfast and make coffee.
Mulling over some sweetened soy-meal and a cup of coffee while wrapped tightly in a robe on the couch, he half listened to the elf on the tri-d while thinking about the previous days events. One name did ring a bell to him, from some long ago classes. Massada. I think I've heard of that before he thinks, shifting the elf over to a half screen while he does a quick search from a few sites he remembered on the other half.
Tony awakens, still with a pleasent smile on his face from the evening before, and only with a touch of a hangover. Exiting the bathroom, he notices that the bruses on his chest and sholders, while looking bad, didn't hurt much at all. Looking around his apartment and checking his cred and weapons, he finds that Reign left without disturbing anything. Didn't seem like her style, but you never can tell... he says, switching on the trideo and lowering the volume. The same Magreb station was on, playing a stylized prayer call. Switching to NewsNet's 'Seattle and the World' show, he went to nuke breakfast and make coffee.
Mulling over some sweetened soy-meal and a cup of coffee while wrapped tightly in a robe on the couch, he half listened to the elf on the tri-d while thinking about the previous days events. One name did ring a bell to him, from some long ago classes. Massada. I think I've heard of that before he thinks, shifting the elf over to a half screen while he does a quick search from a few sites he remembered on the other half.
09:10:01 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace, Apt 203. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Damn. Just, damn. Not a name, but a place, Tony thought while reading a history of the term he'd looked up. Both admiring the Roman's ingenuity and patience in building the ramp, and saddened by the defence and suicide of the garrison. Go down fighting if you're going to get stuck there, and keep them from getting that ramp built up he thought, surprised at the intensity of his reaction to a 2000 year old battle while the spinning the 3-D picture around,
Muting the redheaded human that had taken the place of the elf at the top of the hour and forgetting his gruel on the table, he thought about the implications of that name and took a sip of coffee. I don't like this. was the first thought that passed through his mind. The second was the woman from the garage and her words.
Pondering that over for a moment, he finally came to a conclusion about the woman's words. She failed because of Red Queen: that seemed logical; and whoever she wanted to tell was still in Massada, which was...where? Probably in 103, knowing my luck lately he thought wryly while finishing the last of his now cold breakfast. Whatever the case was, it really wasn't his to solve. "I'm gonna spend 1500 just to have someone tell me to watch my back. As if I had to be told that," he said aloud to the trideo.
"Speaking of nuyen..", he trailed off while putting his bowl up and pouring another coffee, thinking that it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to let Zedya know he was available. Reign didn't seem like she'd want to go out to McHugh's for an evening, and his coat still had a scratch in it from that dog earlier in the week. Replacing the redhead with his mail, he pounded out a message to his fixer, then popped her back, muted, while he continued to study the ancient battle.
Damn. Just, damn. Not a name, but a place, Tony thought while reading a history of the term he'd looked up. Both admiring the Roman's ingenuity and patience in building the ramp, and saddened by the defence and suicide of the garrison. Go down fighting if you're going to get stuck there, and keep them from getting that ramp built up he thought, surprised at the intensity of his reaction to a 2000 year old battle while the spinning the 3-D picture around,
Muting the redheaded human that had taken the place of the elf at the top of the hour and forgetting his gruel on the table, he thought about the implications of that name and took a sip of coffee. I don't like this. was the first thought that passed through his mind. The second was the woman from the garage and her words.
Pondering that over for a moment, he finally came to a conclusion about the woman's words. She failed because of Red Queen: that seemed logical; and whoever she wanted to tell was still in Massada, which was...where? Probably in 103, knowing my luck lately he thought wryly while finishing the last of his now cold breakfast. Whatever the case was, it really wasn't his to solve. "I'm gonna spend
1500 just to have someone tell me to watch my back. As if I had to be told that," he said aloud to the trideo. "Speaking of nuyen..", he trailed off while putting his bowl up and pouring another coffee, thinking that it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to let Zedya know he was available. Reign didn't seem like she'd want to go out to McHugh's for an evening, and his coat still had a scratch in it from that dog earlier in the week. Replacing the redhead with his mail, he pounded out a message to his fixer, then popped her back, muted, while he continued to study the ancient battle.
| CODE |
Zedya, I'm clocked in. Let me know when you have something available. Tony |
13:39:24 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
The nurse seems unperturbed at John's outburst. "You can use room 214, it's down the hall. It has a reinforced chair with straps that should serve your purposes just fine, and the walls are soundproofed."
Suddenly she bursts out laughing at the expression on the samurai's face. "Oh come on, you think I don't know what goes on here? It's a very grim sort of workplace, and I need to do something to keep myself entertained. The look on your face was absolutely priceless! I wish you could've seen yourself. Anyway, I'll leave you to your business. Thanks for the laughs."
Still chuckling, she walks off down the hall back to work, leaving a steaming and sour-faced old street samurai behind her. And then the aforementioned old street samurai's phone beeps, indicating he'd been left a message from Max.
The nurse seems unperturbed at John's outburst. "You can use room 214, it's down the hall. It has a reinforced chair with straps that should serve your purposes just fine, and the walls are soundproofed."
Suddenly she bursts out laughing at the expression on the samurai's face. "Oh come on, you think I don't know what goes on here? It's a very grim sort of workplace, and I need to do something to keep myself entertained. The look on your face was absolutely priceless! I wish you could've seen yourself. Anyway, I'll leave you to your business. Thanks for the laughs."
Still chuckling, she walks off down the hall back to work, leaving a steaming and sour-faced old street samurai behind her. And then the aforementioned old street samurai's phone beeps, indicating he'd been left a message from Max.
13:40:03 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - Max's Penthouse, Bellevue
"Ahem. Well, not directly. I know a man who knows a man who knows a man, if you know what I'm saying." Thomas looks around a bit nervously. "Listen, Maximillian, I'm assuming whatever you are up to is not quite legal, and that's why I am prepared to suggest the man I have in mind. But before I do, correct me if I am mistaken, because I would not want to start a friend on the path to associating with unlawful company, were he not already on that road."
"Ahem. Well, not directly. I know a man who knows a man who knows a man, if you know what I'm saying." Thomas looks around a bit nervously. "Listen, Maximillian, I'm assuming whatever you are up to is not quite legal, and that's why I am prepared to suggest the man I have in mind. But before I do, correct me if I am mistaken, because I would not want to start a friend on the path to associating with unlawful company, were he not already on that road."
13:40:12 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
"Wha... But... I don't... Hey!"
John spluttered as the nurse walked past, chuckling to herself. He stood motionless, dumbfounded, his hands clenched at his side and his face dark. He stewed silently, watching as she walked around the corner. With a smile and a jaunty wave she passed out of sight. Finally he relaxed and a grin crept slowly across his lined face. Cruel humor he could appreciate.
He grabbed his phone as it started to beep and saw that there was a message from Max. He quickly keyed in his code and listened, breathing a sigh of relief that the Wongs had called. 16:00:00, huh? That should give me enough time.
He dialed the shaman's number, only to reach his voicemail as well. "Sorry 'bout the comm-tag, chummer. The meet time should be fine. I got somethin' ta do first, but what say we meet at the Respite at 15:00:00? We can go over the meet there. Lemme know if that don't work." Pocketing his cell once more, he headed off to the waiting room.
"Hoi. We're up. I got us a room where we can talk to our friend from the Garden. Let's go drag his sorry hoop in here." The bodyguards shared a glance, then stood. #2 shrugged into his jacket as they followed the old samurai to the car.
Approaching the car, John glanced around then drew a Manhunter and held it at the ready. "Pop the trunk. I got ya covered."
"Wha... But... I don't... Hey!"
John spluttered as the nurse walked past, chuckling to herself. He stood motionless, dumbfounded, his hands clenched at his side and his face dark. He stewed silently, watching as she walked around the corner. With a smile and a jaunty wave she passed out of sight. Finally he relaxed and a grin crept slowly across his lined face. Cruel humor he could appreciate.
He grabbed his phone as it started to beep and saw that there was a message from Max. He quickly keyed in his code and listened, breathing a sigh of relief that the Wongs had called. 16:00:00, huh? That should give me enough time.
He dialed the shaman's number, only to reach his voicemail as well. "Sorry 'bout the comm-tag, chummer. The meet time should be fine. I got somethin' ta do first, but what say we meet at the Respite at 15:00:00? We can go over the meet there. Lemme know if that don't work." Pocketing his cell once more, he headed off to the waiting room.
"Hoi. We're up. I got us a room where we can talk to our friend from the Garden. Let's go drag his sorry hoop in here." The bodyguards shared a glance, then stood. #2 shrugged into his jacket as they followed the old samurai to the car.
Approaching the car, John glanced around then drew a Manhunter and held it at the ready. "Pop the trunk. I got ya covered."
13:40:15 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - Max's Penthouse, Bellevue
"You would be correct. A friend of mine is missing and legitimate channels have come up empty. The ritual I have planned is perfectly legal. I am simply trying to find two people that have been kidnapped, but the people that took them may take violent exception to my friend being found. If I don't find her soon it may be to late if it isn't to late already. Your friends, friends help would be greatly appreciated, Thomas."
"You would be correct. A friend of mine is missing and legitimate channels have come up empty. The ritual I have planned is perfectly legal. I am simply trying to find two people that have been kidnapped, but the people that took them may take violent exception to my friend being found. If I don't find her soon it may be to late if it isn't to late already. Your friends, friends help would be greatly appreciated, Thomas."
13:40:53 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - Max's Penthouse, Bellevue
Thomas nods once understandingly. "Very well then. I have never met this man, but I have heard he is a noble individual who fights for justice in the world." He grins wryly, "Or at least something like it. He calls himself Blaze; he is a Leopard shaman and a shadowrunner. If things get ugly like you suspect they might, he may be able to help you in that department as well."
He transmits the number to Max, who jots it down. "Good luck to you my friend, I hope he is able to help you in your search. I must be going now, but I will pray to the spirits for your success."
With that, he disconnects.
Thomas nods once understandingly. "Very well then. I have never met this man, but I have heard he is a noble individual who fights for justice in the world." He grins wryly, "Or at least something like it. He calls himself Blaze; he is a Leopard shaman and a shadowrunner. If things get ugly like you suspect they might, he may be able to help you in that department as well."
He transmits the number to Max, who jots it down. "Good luck to you my friend, I hope he is able to help you in your search. I must be going now, but I will pray to the spirits for your success."
With that, he disconnects.
21:33:25 Thursday 11 January 2063 - Fall Inn, Downtown Seattle, UCAS
Marquis catches himself watching Karma as she downs the drink. He quickly answers, hoping she didn't notice.
"Well, I actually was looking for a couple of Ruger Thunderbolts, and thought you might be able to get your hands on some. I'll take 'em broken or used, since I'm going to gut them anyways, but I wont complain if they are brand new."
There is short silence, so he continues, "Do you want anything to eat?"
Marquis catches himself watching Karma as she downs the drink. He quickly answers, hoping she didn't notice.
"Well, I actually was looking for a couple of Ruger Thunderbolts, and thought you might be able to get your hands on some. I'll take 'em broken or used, since I'm going to gut them anyways, but I wont complain if they are brand new."
There is short silence, so he continues, "Do you want anything to eat?"
00:25:45 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Unit 303, Winlock Apartment Complex, Tacoma
Eyes lingered online a few more moments, sending out another two copies of Jane to check up on few bits of Oracle's dropped hints. Soon enough, though, he gave up on getting anything else accomplished himself and jacked out.
That meet hadn't gone at all like he'd planned. He completely failed to confirm or deny the theory of Oracle being a Cassimir who'd faked his own death. Although that possibility seemed more unlikely now it would explain a few things, in particular why he didn't recall seeing any hole in Cassimir's apartment walls where something like an armour-piercing bullet would have punched through. It wasn't a detail he was paying much attention to, however, and certainly not something he wanted to linger on with Jennifer in the apartment with him. Oh, right, her.
His only consolation was that the meet didn't seem to go as well as Oracle wanted either. Small comfort, that. Eyes hoped that whoever Oracle was--and whoever else was spying on the both of them; the walls have ears, especially when there are no real walls--bought the he was feeding them. It was plausible enough, for anyone who knew anything about his background, and he wasn't naive enough to think that a single fake ID was going to smoke any of the big players in this game, whoever they are. He just hoped that story would buy him enough time to finish his work so he could just drop the whole thing. The dilemma of dilligence. Too much and you're dead; too little and you starve. What a world we live in.
Eyes shook his head. It looked like he would end up going to this 10441 Pacific Court Way whether he liked it or not; there didn't seem to be any other credible leads. He loathed taking the next step on that bright, shiny path--it looks far too obviously like a trap to be an innocent trail of clues--but it was a path, and it at least lead somewhere other than just going in circles like he was now.
Just pray you can pull your hoop out of the fire before it burns you alive. Eyes yawned and decided now was time to bed; the moment he started casually referring to himself in the second person was a sure sign of mental fatigue.
Eyes lingered online a few more moments, sending out another two copies of Jane to check up on few bits of Oracle's dropped hints. Soon enough, though, he gave up on getting anything else accomplished himself and jacked out.
That meet hadn't gone at all like he'd planned. He completely failed to confirm or deny the theory of Oracle being a Cassimir who'd faked his own death. Although that possibility seemed more unlikely now it would explain a few things, in particular why he didn't recall seeing any hole in Cassimir's apartment walls where something like an armour-piercing bullet would have punched through. It wasn't a detail he was paying much attention to, however, and certainly not something he wanted to linger on with Jennifer in the apartment with him. Oh, right, her.
His only consolation was that the meet didn't seem to go as well as Oracle wanted either. Small comfort, that. Eyes hoped that whoever Oracle was--and whoever else was spying on the both of them; the walls have ears, especially when there are no real walls--bought the he was feeding them. It was plausible enough, for anyone who knew anything about his background, and he wasn't naive enough to think that a single fake ID was going to smoke any of the big players in this game, whoever they are. He just hoped that story would buy him enough time to finish his work so he could just drop the whole thing. The dilemma of dilligence. Too much and you're dead; too little and you starve. What a world we live in.
Eyes shook his head. It looked like he would end up going to this 10441 Pacific Court Way whether he liked it or not; there didn't seem to be any other credible leads. He loathed taking the next step on that bright, shiny path--it looks far too obviously like a trap to be an innocent trail of clues--but it was a path, and it at least lead somewhere other than just going in circles like he was now.
Just pray you can pull your hoop out of the fire before it burns you alive. Eyes yawned and decided now was time to bed; the moment he started casually referring to himself in the second person was a sure sign of mental fatigue.
13:42:03 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - Max's Penthouse, Bellevue
Using his cellphone Max dials the number Thomas had given him. As expected a service picks up at the other end with a recorded message that simply states.
"Leave a message."
"Blaze. An aquaintance of mine says you may be able to help me with a ritual. Two friends of mine have been kidnapped and I need to find them before they are hurt, but the only other shaman I know is currently unavailable. Please contact me at the following number as soon as possible, so we may arrange a time to talk in person, if you are available. My name is Max."
Hanging up the cell Max walks upstairs to his bedroom to change out of his sleep wrinkled suit into something more appropriate for a visit to the Renraku Arcology's mall.
Using his cellphone Max dials the number Thomas had given him. As expected a service picks up at the other end with a recorded message that simply states.
"Leave a message."
"Blaze. An aquaintance of mine says you may be able to help me with a ritual. Two friends of mine have been kidnapped and I need to find them before they are hurt, but the only other shaman I know is currently unavailable. Please contact me at the following number as soon as possible, so we may arrange a time to talk in person, if you are available. My name is Max."
Hanging up the cell Max walks upstairs to his bedroom to change out of his sleep wrinkled suit into something more appropriate for a visit to the Renraku Arcology's mall.
16:12:15 Monday, 08 January, 2063 - The depths of the Ork Underground
"Take your call," says Grifter, standing on a narrow catwalk between the two large ventilation fans that marked one of the major shifts in the pattern of underground development, where once the N-S trunk water and sewage lines had run for this sector of the original city; with Anne perforce balanced up there with him. Some individual landmarks remained where they were, the landscape continually changing around them: but the overall patterns of life and build and reconstruction still followed the skeleton of the old city.
Mouse had vanished long since, to work and to his own studies. He knew his way around these places. In time, so would she.
How Grifter had noticed the soft beep of the earphone, above the life and bustle and concentrated sound, she never questioned. After all, he'd been teaching her -- no, drawing her into an intense minute awareness of environment, by demonstration and by applied trial-and-error. She could postpone the call, but what would be the point? And besides, if Tin Star had succeeded in localising a possible replacement, she'd need to finalise yea or nay asap.
"Hoi," she says, flicking the channel open. "Talk to me."
"Take your call," says Grifter, standing on a narrow catwalk between the two large ventilation fans that marked one of the major shifts in the pattern of underground development, where once the N-S trunk water and sewage lines had run for this sector of the original city; with Anne perforce balanced up there with him. Some individual landmarks remained where they were, the landscape continually changing around them: but the overall patterns of life and build and reconstruction still followed the skeleton of the old city.
Mouse had vanished long since, to work and to his own studies. He knew his way around these places. In time, so would she.
How Grifter had noticed the soft beep of the earphone, above the life and bustle and concentrated sound, she never questioned. After all, he'd been teaching her -- no, drawing her into an intense minute awareness of environment, by demonstration and by applied trial-and-error. She could postpone the call, but what would be the point? And besides, if Tin Star had succeeded in localising a possible replacement, she'd need to finalise yea or nay asap.
"Hoi," she says, flicking the channel open. "Talk to me."
16:15:21 Monday, 08 January, 2063 - The depths of the Ork Underground
Tin Star's voice comes over the line. "I've got a meet set up with the rigger and street samurai for Tuesday, 22:00:00 at Z's, the greek restaurant we were at last time, remember? We've got a small private table in the back set up, booked under the reservation alias of Ranger. Anything else you want set up?"
Tin Star's voice comes over the line. "I've got a meet set up with the rigger and street samurai for Tuesday, 22:00:00 at Z's, the greek restaurant we were at last time, remember? We've got a small private table in the back set up, booked under the reservation alias of Ranger. Anything else you want set up?"
13:46:29 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
Fragger #1 held his pistol in one hand and the AmeriCar's remote in the other. He pressed the trunk-release button, shoved the keys into his pocket, and glided forward as #2 flipped the trunk-lid open and spun away. He noted with some surprise that the old runner was suddenly at his side, his own pistol trained on the prone form in the trunk.
The bound goon didn't offer any resistance, merely groaning and weakly shielding his eyes with his hands. He looked pretty out of it.
"That fragger looks pretty fraggin' out of it," John said as he lowered his weapon. "Makes our job easy. Help me get him inside." He helped the 2 guards pull the goon out of the trunk, then led the way as they drug him up the steps and across the docs. The odd group attracted little more attention than they had the first time.
Before long, the four men stood before a windowless door with "214" stenciled upon it with spray paint. John reached out and opened the door to reveal a small room. The only furnishings were a stainless steel table off to one side with a well-used folding chair setting next to it, and a metal chair bolted to the floor in the center of the room. The walls were lined with faded egg-carton foam; the sound-proofing the nurse had promised.
The old runner moved to the center of the room to stand in front of the chair. He knelt down, checking the straps and the chair's construction and connection to the floor. It all seemed solid. His practice eye also noted that the legs were of uneven length. That was an old interrogator's trick, used to wear a subject down over a long period of time. He didn't plan on this taking long enough for that to be a factor.
He stood and removed his hat and jacket, tossed them into a corner, rolled up his sleeves. Looking at the guards he said, "Strap him down." #2 nodded and they drug the asian hardcase into the room, threw him into the chair, began strapping his arms and legs.
John left the room as they worked, walking down the hall to a sink. Taking a waxed paper cup from a dispenser, he drank several cups before setting it aside. He then splashed water onto his face, dried off with a paper towel, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
He thought about the last time he'd done this. How he'd hated it; how he'd refused to continue. That had cost him a steady gig. Good cred. Now here he was again. He hated the thought of doing it now. Then he thought of his niece. About how Nora could be in the exact same situation as the goon in 214. He needed to find out who the guy was, if he was from the Clinic, what he knew. At the very least, who the target was in the Lee Chee hit. If he couldn't use the info, maybe Cheryl and her guards could.
As he stared, John began to feel that cold detachment, that byproduct of too much 'ware and not enough flesh. This time he welcomed it; embraced it. He could use it for what he was about to do.
Filling the cup, he turned and stalked back down the hallway. Standing in the doorway, filling it, he said nothing. The two bodyguards turned to face him, the goon slumping where secured to the chair. "You two can stay or leave, your choice." John's voice was cold and flat. Mechanical. He continued, "It could get messy. You stay, you keep quiet."
Not waiting to see what they choose, he stepped past them, tossing the contents of the cup into the goon's face. As the bound man spluttered and gasped, John...no, Scrapheap walked over to the stainless table. A once-white towel was spread across the top, obviously covering several small objects. He removed it to reveal several ugly tools. He selected a pair of pliers before turning back.
"I'm gonna ask you some questions. You will answer. Understand? Let's get started..."
Fragger #1 held his pistol in one hand and the AmeriCar's remote in the other. He pressed the trunk-release button, shoved the keys into his pocket, and glided forward as #2 flipped the trunk-lid open and spun away. He noted with some surprise that the old runner was suddenly at his side, his own pistol trained on the prone form in the trunk.
The bound goon didn't offer any resistance, merely groaning and weakly shielding his eyes with his hands. He looked pretty out of it.
"That fragger looks pretty fraggin' out of it," John said as he lowered his weapon. "Makes our job easy. Help me get him inside." He helped the 2 guards pull the goon out of the trunk, then led the way as they drug him up the steps and across the docs. The odd group attracted little more attention than they had the first time.
Before long, the four men stood before a windowless door with "214" stenciled upon it with spray paint. John reached out and opened the door to reveal a small room. The only furnishings were a stainless steel table off to one side with a well-used folding chair setting next to it, and a metal chair bolted to the floor in the center of the room. The walls were lined with faded egg-carton foam; the sound-proofing the nurse had promised.
The old runner moved to the center of the room to stand in front of the chair. He knelt down, checking the straps and the chair's construction and connection to the floor. It all seemed solid. His practice eye also noted that the legs were of uneven length. That was an old interrogator's trick, used to wear a subject down over a long period of time. He didn't plan on this taking long enough for that to be a factor.
He stood and removed his hat and jacket, tossed them into a corner, rolled up his sleeves. Looking at the guards he said, "Strap him down." #2 nodded and they drug the asian hardcase into the room, threw him into the chair, began strapping his arms and legs.
John left the room as they worked, walking down the hall to a sink. Taking a waxed paper cup from a dispenser, he drank several cups before setting it aside. He then splashed water onto his face, dried off with a paper towel, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
He thought about the last time he'd done this. How he'd hated it; how he'd refused to continue. That had cost him a steady gig. Good cred. Now here he was again. He hated the thought of doing it now. Then he thought of his niece. About how Nora could be in the exact same situation as the goon in 214. He needed to find out who the guy was, if he was from the Clinic, what he knew. At the very least, who the target was in the Lee Chee hit. If he couldn't use the info, maybe Cheryl and her guards could.
As he stared, John began to feel that cold detachment, that byproduct of too much 'ware and not enough flesh. This time he welcomed it; embraced it. He could use it for what he was about to do.
Filling the cup, he turned and stalked back down the hallway. Standing in the doorway, filling it, he said nothing. The two bodyguards turned to face him, the goon slumping where secured to the chair. "You two can stay or leave, your choice." John's voice was cold and flat. Mechanical. He continued, "It could get messy. You stay, you keep quiet."
Not waiting to see what they choose, he stepped past them, tossing the contents of the cup into the goon's face. As the bound man spluttered and gasped, John...no, Scrapheap walked over to the stainless table. A once-white towel was spread across the top, obviously covering several small objects. He removed it to reveal several ugly tools. He selected a pair of pliers before turning back.
"I'm gonna ask you some questions. You will answer. Understand? Let's get started..."
13:53:16 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
Fraggers #1 and #2 both leave the room, #1 saying as they exit, "We'll guard the door and check on the boss. Take however long you need." Then they both leave and shut the door behind them, and it closes with a grim finality.
The goon looks nervous, but spits on the floor defiantly. "Frag you! Do you know who you're dealing with? You better watch yourself or else you're gonna get yours. Let me go now and I won't make trouble for you later, you scan me?"
Guess it's going to be the hard way... Scrapheap grimly thinks to himself.
Fraggers #1 and #2 both leave the room, #1 saying as they exit, "We'll guard the door and check on the boss. Take however long you need." Then they both leave and shut the door behind them, and it closes with a grim finality.
The goon looks nervous, but spits on the floor defiantly. "Frag you! Do you know who you're dealing with? You better watch yourself or else you're gonna get yours. Let me go now and I won't make trouble for you later, you scan me?"
Guess it's going to be the hard way... Scrapheap grimly thinks to himself.
13:54:29 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
Scrapheap didn't reply. Holding the pliers in his left hand he knelt next to the goon, grabbed his left hand, and steadied it before speaking. "The hit at the restaurant, who was the target?"
Spittle flew from his lips as the bound man leaned forward as far his restraints allowed. "Frag you! You're dead! Hear me? Dead!"
Using the pliers, Scrapheap quickly grabbed the last knuckle on the man's pinky finger and squeezed. The bone offered little resistance to the vice-like grip of the cyberhand. *CRUNCH*
"Who was the target?"
Scrapheap didn't reply. Holding the pliers in his left hand he knelt next to the goon, grabbed his left hand, and steadied it before speaking. "The hit at the restaurant, who was the target?"
Spittle flew from his lips as the bound man leaned forward as far his restraints allowed. "Frag you! You're dead! Hear me? Dead!"
Using the pliers, Scrapheap quickly grabbed the last knuckle on the man's pinky finger and squeezed. The bone offered little resistance to the vice-like grip of the cyberhand. *CRUNCH*
"Who was the target?"
09:55:01 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace, Apt 203. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Tony, tired of studying an ancient battle that probably didn’t have any immediate interest besides its name, replaced the map with a bald-headed male human blathering on about some of the troubles that Novatech had as of late. Sucks to be them.. he thought, going thru his email and setting a reminder to call...wait a second: I didn’t even get his number. I don’t know his name either. This is getting just a little ridiculous here… he said to himself as he punched in a reminder to call Ran sometime and have her arrange a meet while idly wading into the electronic pile of mail that his junk filter apparently thought was .
One in particular caught his eye as his phone rang; the ID showed up as Sam’s number. “So, how much was she?” he started off, smile almost apparent in his voice.
“Free. Told you she wasn’t in it for the money,” Tony said, reading the text of the mail. ”Selling the Sizzle: How to Ingratiate and Close in Today’s World”. Might be interesting he thought as he opened up the message. “, and does this call have a point?”
“Just checking on ya. I thought that you’d be asleep and I’d have to pay a visit.” The smile was almost dripping off the end of the comm-call.
“You’d still have missed her. She left, I guess sometime around 4 or so. I woke up, and she was gone,” An open-ended seminar designed not to teach you to sell a particular product, but to build rapport with your customers. Our award-winning mentors… the mail went on while Tony read and nodded to himself.
“…are you even listening?” Sam interjected, the smile gone from the voice.
“Uh, nope.,”
“I said, did you check you’re a-part-ment?” Sam said, spelling out each syllable like he was talking to a schoolkid on his first date.
“You know, some people don’t have an angle. But some people do have phone numbers,” Tony said, turning his attention back to the email. …not just for sales professionals, this seminar can help you improve your relationship with your supervisor and co-workers, giving you the edge when it comes time for budgets and projects…
“Everyone’s got an angle. I’m angeling for a sister or something. You coming by Sung’s today?”
“Eh, maybe for a bit.” Tony said, reading the registration dates. ...registration for this session of our unique seminar ends Friday, January 12, with in person and Matrix classes beginning on the 13th. Registration for the next session begins…
“Like you’ve got anything more to do than to sit on your hoop and watch ‘As Aztlan Turns’ or some such drek.” Sam said, eyes rolling behind the phone.
“Actually, I’ve got to meet with a couple of people and register for a seminar,” Tony said, almost proud for actually doing something.
“Those words. They’re English, but they just don’t fit coming from you. Why the fragging hell are you going to a seminar?” he continued, almost incredulous.
“It’s a ‘improve your rapport with your coworkers’ one. Are you still there?” Tony said, after Sam didn’t respond for a moment.
“Did you hit your head last night with that girl? ‘Cause, if you did, let me remind you that you don’t have coworkers. Does that ring a bell?” Sam said sarcastically.
“I was thinking of the ‘pick up hot chica’s’ angle on this,” Tony said, smiling right back at the telecom.
“Funny.” Sam said, apparently accepting that line of reasoning. “Call me later on. You did say you wanted to take me out to dinner, right?”
“Sure thing old man. I’ll call you this evening, we’ll see what’s up.” Tony said, ending the call and dialing Ran’s number to get that out of the way.
“ ‘Morning” Tony drawled into the phone. “Got a message for your friend.”
Tony, tired of studying an ancient battle that probably didn’t have any immediate interest besides its name, replaced the map with a bald-headed male human blathering on about some of the troubles that Novatech had as of late. Sucks to be them.. he thought, going thru his email and setting a reminder to call...wait a second: I didn’t even get his number. I don’t know his name either. This is getting just a little ridiculous here… he said to himself as he punched in a reminder to call Ran sometime and have her arrange a meet while idly wading into the electronic pile of mail that his junk filter apparently thought was .
One in particular caught his eye as his phone rang; the ID showed up as Sam’s number. “So, how much was she?” he started off, smile almost apparent in his voice.
“Free. Told you she wasn’t in it for the money,” Tony said, reading the text of the mail. ”Selling the Sizzle: How to Ingratiate and Close in Today’s World”. Might be interesting he thought as he opened up the message. “, and does this call have a point?”
“Just checking on ya. I thought that you’d be asleep and I’d have to pay a visit.” The smile was almost dripping off the end of the comm-call.
“You’d still have missed her. She left, I guess sometime around 4 or so. I woke up, and she was gone,” An open-ended seminar designed not to teach you to sell a particular product, but to build rapport with your customers. Our award-winning mentors… the mail went on while Tony read and nodded to himself.
“…are you even listening?” Sam interjected, the smile gone from the voice.
“Uh, nope.,”
“I said, did you check you’re a-part-ment?” Sam said, spelling out each syllable like he was talking to a schoolkid on his first date.
“You know, some people don’t have an angle. But some people do have phone numbers,” Tony said, turning his attention back to the email. …not just for sales professionals, this seminar can help you improve your relationship with your supervisor and co-workers, giving you the edge when it comes time for budgets and projects…
“Everyone’s got an angle. I’m angeling for a sister or something. You coming by Sung’s today?”
“Eh, maybe for a bit.” Tony said, reading the registration dates. ...registration for this session of our unique seminar ends Friday, January 12, with in person and Matrix classes beginning on the 13th. Registration for the next session begins…
“Like you’ve got anything more to do than to sit on your hoop and watch ‘As Aztlan Turns’ or some such drek.” Sam said, eyes rolling behind the phone.
“Actually, I’ve got to meet with a couple of people and register for a seminar,” Tony said, almost proud for actually doing something.
“Those words. They’re English, but they just don’t fit coming from you. Why the fragging hell are you going to a seminar?” he continued, almost incredulous.
“It’s a ‘improve your rapport with your coworkers’ one. Are you still there?” Tony said, after Sam didn’t respond for a moment.
“Did you hit your head last night with that girl? ‘Cause, if you did, let me remind you that you don’t have coworkers. Does that ring a bell?” Sam said sarcastically.
“I was thinking of the ‘pick up hot chica’s’ angle on this,” Tony said, smiling right back at the telecom.
“Funny.” Sam said, apparently accepting that line of reasoning. “Call me later on. You did say you wanted to take me out to dinner, right?”
“Sure thing old man. I’ll call you this evening, we’ll see what’s up.” Tony said, ending the call and dialing Ran’s number to get that out of the way.
“ ‘Morning” Tony drawled into the phone. “Got a message for your friend.”
13:55:38 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
The goon screams in pain and thrashes in the chair. However, the straps and chair hold firm, and he goes absolutely nowhere. Grudgingly, figuring it can’t hurt to tell Scrapheap what he wants to know, the goon mutters tightly under his breath, “The woman, we were told to kill the woman.”
The goon screams in pain and thrashes in the chair. However, the straps and chair hold firm, and he goes absolutely nowhere. Grudgingly, figuring it can’t hurt to tell Scrapheap what he wants to know, the goon mutters tightly under his breath, “The woman, we were told to kill the woman.”
13:56:11 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
"Very good. Next question: who ordered the hit?"
The goon thrashed suddenly in a vain attempt to break free, but the bonds held once again. "Kiss my hoop, drek-bag! I'm not saying anything else."
The pliers moved to the next knuckle. *CRUNCH*
"Who ordered the hit?"
When his cries had died down, the goon banged the back of his head against the chair a few times, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He shook his head.
Scrapheap moved the pliers to the next knuckle and applied pressure, not yet at the breaking point. "Who ordered the hit?"
"WAIT! Wait! I don't know anything else, OK? I'm just a soldier, right? I had my orders. Don't know where they came fro..."
*CRUNCH*
"Who ordered the hit?"
"Very good. Next question: who ordered the hit?"
The goon thrashed suddenly in a vain attempt to break free, but the bonds held once again. "Kiss my hoop, drek-bag! I'm not saying anything else."
The pliers moved to the next knuckle. *CRUNCH*
"Who ordered the hit?"
When his cries had died down, the goon banged the back of his head against the chair a few times, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He shook his head.
Scrapheap moved the pliers to the next knuckle and applied pressure, not yet at the breaking point. "Who ordered the hit?"
"WAIT! Wait! I don't know anything else, OK? I'm just a soldier, right? I had my orders. Don't know where they came fro..."
*CRUNCH*
"Who ordered the hit?"
10:01:21 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace, Apt 203. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
"I'm sorry," said the electronic voice in Tony's ear, "you have attempted to reach Ran before noon. You'll have to wait as she needs her beauty sleep. Or you could leave a message after the tone. Or you could send her a trid mail. Or you could try to solve the problem yourself. Or you could just call back later. Otherwise, you're out of luck. Beeeep."
Stupid cheeky deckers. Tony coughs, running a hand through his hair while he composes his message.
"I'm sorry," said the electronic voice in Tony's ear, "you have attempted to reach Ran before noon. You'll have to wait as she needs her beauty sleep. Or you could leave a message after the tone. Or you could send her a trid mail. Or you could try to solve the problem yourself. Or you could just call back later. Otherwise, you're out of luck. Beeeep."
Stupid cheeky deckers. Tony coughs, running a hand through his hair while he composes his message.
10:08:21 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace, Apt 203. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Shaking his head at the message, Tony speaks to the machine. "Ran, this is Tony. Have your friend call me this morning. You've got my LTG." Tony said in a sing-song voice, trying to hide the trace of annoyance in his voice.
Ending the call, Tony begins filling out the registration form for the seminar. Noon tomorrow, good. he thinks, attaching a digital signature and sending the form into wherever Matrix forms go to be filed.
Shaking his head at the message, Tony speaks to the machine. "Ran, this is Tony. Have your friend call me this morning. You've got my LTG." Tony said in a sing-song voice, trying to hide the trace of annoyance in his voice.
Ending the call, Tony begins filling out the registration form for the seminar. Noon tomorrow, good. he thinks, attaching a digital signature and sending the form into wherever Matrix forms go to be filed.
21:33:40 Thursday 11 January 2063 - Fall Inn, Downtown Seattle, UCAS
Karma whistles softly through her teeth, taking a sip from her drink before replying.
"Damn, you don't go halfway do you? Thunderbolts are Star issue, man, I do my best to stay as far away from them as possible. Why are you interested in them, anyway? You know an SMG is going to do the job better anyway, and if you're really hot for an autofire pistol, go with the Steyr."
Karma whistles softly through her teeth, taking a sip from her drink before replying.
"Damn, you don't go halfway do you? Thunderbolts are Star issue, man, I do my best to stay as far away from them as possible. Why are you interested in them, anyway? You know an SMG is going to do the job better anyway, and if you're really hot for an autofire pistol, go with the Steyr."
10:40:21 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace, Apt 203. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Still bored even with the corp-talk on the trideo, and having not recieved an answer to any of his current calls, Tony feels around his psec to see the chip that Todd had given him the day before. I've put it off this long...Call him. You don't have anything else to do, do you? his mind said, running through the options, trying to think of a way to get out of making this call.
Dialing the number on his telecom, making sure that the comm-call was voice only, "Nice name you've picked out for yourself, trout-boy. Though I did catch the fish. So pick up the hoop-fragging phone" Tony said in a Ricky's voicemail, in a shrill voice he hadn't used in almost half a year.
Still bored even with the corp-talk on the trideo, and having not recieved an answer to any of his current calls, Tony feels around his psec to see the chip that Todd had given him the day before. I've put it off this long...Call him. You don't have anything else to do, do you? his mind said, running through the options, trying to think of a way to get out of making this call.
Dialing the number on his telecom, making sure that the comm-call was voice only, "Nice name you've picked out for yourself, trout-boy. Though I did catch the fish. So pick up the hoop-fragging phone" Tony said in a Ricky's voicemail, in a shrill voice he hadn't used in almost half a year.
13:59:16 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
The goon shrieks again in pain and tries desperately to tear his hands away from Scrapheap, but to no avail. The old samurai's chromed grip and the chair's restraints keep his hands firmly locked in place. "Listen," he chokes out, "you gotta believe me! Our group's leader just came and told us we were supposed to geek that asian lady! That's it! I don't know how high up it goes, and I don't wanna know! Honest!"
"Give me a name." Scrapheap moves the pliars over to the goon's next knuckle and begins applying pressure. Slowly.
"All right all right! Saguchi! Renzo Saguchi! I don't know who told him! I really don't! That's all I know!"
This time, looking at the man's face, Scrapheap's inclined to believe him.
The goon shrieks again in pain and tries desperately to tear his hands away from Scrapheap, but to no avail. The old samurai's chromed grip and the chair's restraints keep his hands firmly locked in place. "Listen," he chokes out, "you gotta believe me! Our group's leader just came and told us we were supposed to geek that asian lady! That's it! I don't know how high up it goes, and I don't wanna know! Honest!"
"Give me a name." Scrapheap moves the pliars over to the goon's next knuckle and begins applying pressure. Slowly.
"All right all right! Saguchi! Renzo Saguchi! I don't know who told him! I really don't! That's all I know!"
This time, looking at the man's face, Scrapheap's inclined to believe him.
14:02:24 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
Saguchi... Why the frag does that sound familiar? Wait! I have heard of him: yak, low-level. Doesn't he just run a crew, though? What the frag is a fraggin' wakashu doing callin' hits? Unless he's moved up? Could he be shatei now?
Thoughts on Yakuza hierarchy caused Scrapheap to wonder about the man before him. Reaching out and grabbing the guy's collar, he tore open the expensive shirt. Other than a couple of ugly bruises where the gel rounds had struck, his chest was bare. Don't mean much. Either he's just a new grunt, or his crew ain't old-school in a full-body tattoo kinda way.
Returning his attention to the goon, he smiled. "Ok, I believe you don't know who gave Saguchi the order." The guy relaxed slightly. "But," and here Scrapheap began to apply a bit more pressure with the pliers, "maybe you heard why. Guys talk, right? Why would they wanna geek the Chinese woman?"
Saguchi... Why the frag does that sound familiar? Wait! I have heard of him: yak, low-level. Doesn't he just run a crew, though? What the frag is a fraggin' wakashu doing callin' hits? Unless he's moved up? Could he be shatei now?
Thoughts on Yakuza hierarchy caused Scrapheap to wonder about the man before him. Reaching out and grabbing the guy's collar, he tore open the expensive shirt. Other than a couple of ugly bruises where the gel rounds had struck, his chest was bare. Don't mean much. Either he's just a new grunt, or his crew ain't old-school in a full-body tattoo kinda way.
Returning his attention to the goon, he smiled. "Ok, I believe you don't know who gave Saguchi the order." The guy relaxed slightly. "But," and here Scrapheap began to apply a bit more pressure with the pliers, "maybe you heard why. Guys talk, right? Why would they wanna geek the Chinese woman?"
10:40:39 (13:40:39 EST) Friday 12 January, 2063 - Atlanta, Georgia, CAS
A soft click on the line, followed by a low, almost subsonic hash of static as he engaged the encryption and counter-trace devices. Momentarily he wondered if the call was still active.
"You've got a lot of cojones calling me, Hillbilly. Where'd you get this number?"
A soft click on the line, followed by a low, almost subsonic hash of static as he engaged the encryption and counter-trace devices. Momentarily he wondered if the call was still active.
"You've got a lot of cojones calling me, Hillbilly. Where'd you get this number?"
10:00:01 Monday 08 January 2063 - 3500 68th St NE #206, Seattle, UCAS
Vedic reached over and silenced the alarm as the last second ticked over and its annoying buzz began. To the unaided eye the apartment was nearly pitch black, illuminated only by the soft red LEDs of the bedside clock. For Vedic, though, it was enough to see every detail of the room. He lay still for a moment longer, breathing in the chill air, listening to the muted voices of the city outside his window. The weakness inside of him whined for ten more minutes of sleep, ten more minutes warm beneath the covers of the bed. With a smile, he slid out of bed, embracing the cold caress of the dark air across his skin. Grabbing his sweatshirt off the chair next to the bed, he picked up his commlink, a Hermes Ikon, as well. Rolling out the screen from its recessed storage area on the outside of the Ikon, he tapped the newsnets icon as well as the small sunflare representing his preprogrammed morning instructions. Immediately, news stories from all major networks began downloading to his system, filed chronologically and cross-indexed by topics and keywords. The polarizing fiberoptics on his windows began to lose their charge in response to the wireless commands from his commlink, filling the room with gray morning light. Setting the interface unit on the table, Vedic poured himself a glass of orange juice from the carafe in the fridge. From a plain Tupperware container in the cupboard came a bowl of bran flakes, topped by banana slices, the last of his fresh fruit. He ate quickly, in silence, beginning the process of sorting through the morning’s information. The Ikon already contained the downloaded technical files he was going to review on his morning run, he’d seen to that last night.
Dropping his empty bowl in the sink, Vedic pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants over his thermal running pants. A year or so after he’d started training with Erlikon, they’d had a discussion about ‘train like you fight, fight like you train.’ The dwarf had accepted his explanation that, while he agreed to that concept when you were first learning a skillset, once you had progressed to the maintenance level of that skill, it was no longer necessary to do full immersion training. Which is why Vedic could exercise in the morning wearing exercise gear and not his standard load.
His overnight bag containing all his standard load gear was packed, he saw to that last night. It waited for him by the hall door, the last thing he’d grab on his way out. Vedic ran a hand through his hair, still unkempt from sleep, pulling a knit watch cap on. Keying the door alarm, he shouldered the black kevlar bag and headed out.
Vedic reached over and silenced the alarm as the last second ticked over and its annoying buzz began. To the unaided eye the apartment was nearly pitch black, illuminated only by the soft red LEDs of the bedside clock. For Vedic, though, it was enough to see every detail of the room. He lay still for a moment longer, breathing in the chill air, listening to the muted voices of the city outside his window. The weakness inside of him whined for ten more minutes of sleep, ten more minutes warm beneath the covers of the bed. With a smile, he slid out of bed, embracing the cold caress of the dark air across his skin. Grabbing his sweatshirt off the chair next to the bed, he picked up his commlink, a Hermes Ikon, as well. Rolling out the screen from its recessed storage area on the outside of the Ikon, he tapped the newsnets icon as well as the small sunflare representing his preprogrammed morning instructions. Immediately, news stories from all major networks began downloading to his system, filed chronologically and cross-indexed by topics and keywords. The polarizing fiberoptics on his windows began to lose their charge in response to the wireless commands from his commlink, filling the room with gray morning light. Setting the interface unit on the table, Vedic poured himself a glass of orange juice from the carafe in the fridge. From a plain Tupperware container in the cupboard came a bowl of bran flakes, topped by banana slices, the last of his fresh fruit. He ate quickly, in silence, beginning the process of sorting through the morning’s information. The Ikon already contained the downloaded technical files he was going to review on his morning run, he’d seen to that last night.
Dropping his empty bowl in the sink, Vedic pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants over his thermal running pants. A year or so after he’d started training with Erlikon, they’d had a discussion about ‘train like you fight, fight like you train.’ The dwarf had accepted his explanation that, while he agreed to that concept when you were first learning a skillset, once you had progressed to the maintenance level of that skill, it was no longer necessary to do full immersion training. Which is why Vedic could exercise in the morning wearing exercise gear and not his standard load.
His overnight bag containing all his standard load gear was packed, he saw to that last night. It waited for him by the hall door, the last thing he’d grab on his way out. Vedic ran a hand through his hair, still unkempt from sleep, pulling a knit watch cap on. Keying the door alarm, he shouldered the black kevlar bag and headed out.
10:45:08 Monday 08 January 2063 – Erehwon Outfitters training compound perimeter, Snohomish, Seattle, UCAS
Vedic’s breath plumed in the chill air as he ran, a thin coating of ice present on the outside of his nomex facemask. In the city, the excess thermal radiation from the buildings managed to keep the temperatures from dropping too low, but out here in the relatively open countryside of Snohomish, the wind chill was a numbing minus eighteen cee. He jogged on, ignoring the bite of air against the ribbon of exposed flesh on his face, his stride a ground-devouring metronome. He was ten minutes into his twenty five minute run, the two laps around the edge of Erlikon’s compound measured five kilometers to the meter. His body moved smoothly in its easy lope; shoulders down and relaxed, arms swinging straight forward and back, hands loose. He exhaled every time his left foot hit the ground, letting the rhythm of the run permeate his body.
He didn’t remember when he’d first come to the realization that it was rhythm that governed life, but the more he thought about it, the clearer it became. Everything, from the vast macroscopic dance of galaxies, to the very quantum interactions which constituted the stuff of matter, was based on rhythm. Everything had cycles and patterns. But they weren’t as simplistic as geometrical arrays or sinusoids. They were the complex, counterpointed, often seemingly arrhythmical beats of a universal music. Everything moved to a rhythm. To understand a thing, you first had to understand its rhythm. He saw it so clearly in combat, in sparring. To defeat your opponent, you had to match his rhythm. Then you had to break it.
As he ran, Vedic shifted his gaze continuously, scanning the surrounding terrain for possible threats as well as for the line markers, then down in close to judge the upcoming footing, then back out again. At this point in his training, it was a background process, something that happened without conscious volition, freeing his higher analytical capabilities for application elsewhere. It was a capability he was planning on putting to good use, once he could get his commlink working like he wanted. Supposedly, the Ikon was capable of wireless transmission to a data display unit, like glasses or a heads-up display. At the moment, though, the only units offered were bulky and uncomfortable, especially for running.
Vedic exhaled again, picturing in his minds eye an unbroken dark energy filling his body, expanding outward from a globe hovering just behind his breastbone. It pulsed outward in waves, each crest in time with his stride.
I am a machine. I feel no pain. I feel no exhaustion. My body is fueled by will alone. I am unstoppable.
Vedic’s breath plumed in the chill air as he ran, a thin coating of ice present on the outside of his nomex facemask. In the city, the excess thermal radiation from the buildings managed to keep the temperatures from dropping too low, but out here in the relatively open countryside of Snohomish, the wind chill was a numbing minus eighteen cee. He jogged on, ignoring the bite of air against the ribbon of exposed flesh on his face, his stride a ground-devouring metronome. He was ten minutes into his twenty five minute run, the two laps around the edge of Erlikon’s compound measured five kilometers to the meter. His body moved smoothly in its easy lope; shoulders down and relaxed, arms swinging straight forward and back, hands loose. He exhaled every time his left foot hit the ground, letting the rhythm of the run permeate his body.
He didn’t remember when he’d first come to the realization that it was rhythm that governed life, but the more he thought about it, the clearer it became. Everything, from the vast macroscopic dance of galaxies, to the very quantum interactions which constituted the stuff of matter, was based on rhythm. Everything had cycles and patterns. But they weren’t as simplistic as geometrical arrays or sinusoids. They were the complex, counterpointed, often seemingly arrhythmical beats of a universal music. Everything moved to a rhythm. To understand a thing, you first had to understand its rhythm. He saw it so clearly in combat, in sparring. To defeat your opponent, you had to match his rhythm. Then you had to break it.
As he ran, Vedic shifted his gaze continuously, scanning the surrounding terrain for possible threats as well as for the line markers, then down in close to judge the upcoming footing, then back out again. At this point in his training, it was a background process, something that happened without conscious volition, freeing his higher analytical capabilities for application elsewhere. It was a capability he was planning on putting to good use, once he could get his commlink working like he wanted. Supposedly, the Ikon was capable of wireless transmission to a data display unit, like glasses or a heads-up display. At the moment, though, the only units offered were bulky and uncomfortable, especially for running.
Vedic exhaled again, picturing in his minds eye an unbroken dark energy filling his body, expanding outward from a globe hovering just behind his breastbone. It pulsed outward in waves, each crest in time with his stride.
I am a machine. I feel no pain. I feel no exhaustion. My body is fueled by will alone. I am unstoppable.
11:28:06 Monday 08 January 2063 – Erehwon Outfitters training compound, Snohomish, Seattle, UCAS
“Combatives?”
Vedic glanced over at the door, hanging from the pull-up bar. Erlikon gestured towards the practice room, a towel in his hand. Vedic curled up, the bar resting across his shoulders behind his head.
“Sure. Who?”
“Williamson and Parker.”
Vedic lowered himself with a three count, pausing at full extension before dropping to the floor. Rising, he stretched his arms through their full range, rolling out his shoulders. His sweatpants and sweatshirt lay in a heap next to the door where he’d left them after his run. He scooped them up in his left hand, following Erlikon.
“All right, let’s go.”
The practice room featured a standard sized boxing ring rather than the exotic setup of the outdoor arena. Williamson and Parker were already inside the ropes, warming up. Each wore padded foam headgear and gloves. It wasn’t enough to take the sting out of a blow, but it dampened enough of the impact that eighty percent power strikes wouldn’t break bones. Vedic sat on the floor, stretching out his legs while he donned his sparring gear. Nodding to Erlikon, he climbed into the ring and bowed to his opponents. Both returned the gesture before sliding back into fighting stances. Erlikon glanced from one fighter to the next.
“Fight’s on!”
Vedic knew that Williamson, to his right, was more aggressive than Parker. He would lead the attack, but only by the fraction of a second it took his partner to react to his initiative. Vedic waited, balance on the balls of his feet, sixty percent of his weight on his right leg, forty on his left, hands held out in open guards. His eyes glanced from left to right, watching as the energies in his opponents built to critical mass. Williamson attacked, a viciously fast front kick off his lead leg, followed almost immediately by Parker, sliding in with a jab-right combo. Vedic caught the kick with his left leg, sliding his shin around and pivoting his hips in something that was almost a hook. His left hand slapped at Williamson’s elbow, lifting the guard high enough for him to hammer a strike in on his floating ribs. With a grunt, Williamson stumbled to the side, fouling Parker, who aborted his attack in order to slide further to the left. Vedic shifted his weight to his left leg, throwing a high-low hook to round kick to cover distance. He and Parker tied up with a flurry of blocks and blows. Vedic went low again, riding out a painful crossing atemi strike to his shoulder in order to get enough of the arm lock to throw. Parker tucked and rolled, but was enough in the way that Williamson had to swing out wide. Vedic didn’t wait, going inside with a left leg front-round combo, backfist and ridgehand, right into a biu jong and right leg sweep. Williamson went down, unhurt but dazed. The finishing move would have been a heel smash with his sweeping leg, right to the bridge of the nose. Vedic skipped that for obvious reasons, launching a flying roundhouse knee at Parker. It was overly showy, but it pushed his opponent back far enough for him to land, sweep, and go high with a hook kick when that was dodged. Parker’s block against the hook left him wide open, and Vedic slid in, hammering away with fists, and then with elbows. Parker threw a knee, then tried a sidekick to gain distance. Vedic blocked with his elbow and his knee, aiming for the hip and dropping. Both of them went down to the mat. Vedic bounced Parker’s head off the mat with just a tap from a backfist and rolled away before Erlikon could shout “Time!”
The three fighters separated, breathing hard. All three slid back into their fighting stances.
“Fight’s on!”
“Combatives?”
Vedic glanced over at the door, hanging from the pull-up bar. Erlikon gestured towards the practice room, a towel in his hand. Vedic curled up, the bar resting across his shoulders behind his head.
“Sure. Who?”
“Williamson and Parker.”
Vedic lowered himself with a three count, pausing at full extension before dropping to the floor. Rising, he stretched his arms through their full range, rolling out his shoulders. His sweatpants and sweatshirt lay in a heap next to the door where he’d left them after his run. He scooped them up in his left hand, following Erlikon.
“All right, let’s go.”
The practice room featured a standard sized boxing ring rather than the exotic setup of the outdoor arena. Williamson and Parker were already inside the ropes, warming up. Each wore padded foam headgear and gloves. It wasn’t enough to take the sting out of a blow, but it dampened enough of the impact that eighty percent power strikes wouldn’t break bones. Vedic sat on the floor, stretching out his legs while he donned his sparring gear. Nodding to Erlikon, he climbed into the ring and bowed to his opponents. Both returned the gesture before sliding back into fighting stances. Erlikon glanced from one fighter to the next.
“Fight’s on!”
Vedic knew that Williamson, to his right, was more aggressive than Parker. He would lead the attack, but only by the fraction of a second it took his partner to react to his initiative. Vedic waited, balance on the balls of his feet, sixty percent of his weight on his right leg, forty on his left, hands held out in open guards. His eyes glanced from left to right, watching as the energies in his opponents built to critical mass. Williamson attacked, a viciously fast front kick off his lead leg, followed almost immediately by Parker, sliding in with a jab-right combo. Vedic caught the kick with his left leg, sliding his shin around and pivoting his hips in something that was almost a hook. His left hand slapped at Williamson’s elbow, lifting the guard high enough for him to hammer a strike in on his floating ribs. With a grunt, Williamson stumbled to the side, fouling Parker, who aborted his attack in order to slide further to the left. Vedic shifted his weight to his left leg, throwing a high-low hook to round kick to cover distance. He and Parker tied up with a flurry of blocks and blows. Vedic went low again, riding out a painful crossing atemi strike to his shoulder in order to get enough of the arm lock to throw. Parker tucked and rolled, but was enough in the way that Williamson had to swing out wide. Vedic didn’t wait, going inside with a left leg front-round combo, backfist and ridgehand, right into a biu jong and right leg sweep. Williamson went down, unhurt but dazed. The finishing move would have been a heel smash with his sweeping leg, right to the bridge of the nose. Vedic skipped that for obvious reasons, launching a flying roundhouse knee at Parker. It was overly showy, but it pushed his opponent back far enough for him to land, sweep, and go high with a hook kick when that was dodged. Parker’s block against the hook left him wide open, and Vedic slid in, hammering away with fists, and then with elbows. Parker threw a knee, then tried a sidekick to gain distance. Vedic blocked with his elbow and his knee, aiming for the hip and dropping. Both of them went down to the mat. Vedic bounced Parker’s head off the mat with just a tap from a backfist and rolled away before Erlikon could shout “Time!”
The three fighters separated, breathing hard. All three slid back into their fighting stances.
“Fight’s on!”
12:10:27 Monday 08 January 2063 – The Green Papaya, 600 East Pine St, Seattle, UCAS
From his position at the end of the bar, Vedic had a clear view out the expansive windows of the lounge area of the Vietnamese restaurant. The more formal dining room is what greeted patrons when they first stepped through the front doors, but the lounge and bar area were favored by the business class here on their lunch breaks. Satto had delivered the plate of chicken xao gung moments ago, steaming hot from the wok. He stirred the thin rice noodles about the plate with the pair of black lacquer chopsticks, waiting for it to cool to the point where it wouldn’t burn his tongue. Snippets of conversation drifted to him over the clatter of utensils and the general kitchen din. Satto stopped by on her way back to the kitchen, a smile on her face despite the lines of tiredness around her eyes.
“Everything ok?”
“Yes, thanks, I’m just giving it a moment to cool.”
She nodded, patting the table next to his hand before moving on. Vedic sighed, lifting a bit of the chicken and noodles to his mouth. It was unavoidable, with only a dozen favored lunch restaurants, sooner or later people would begin to recognize him as a regular. It happened here for one reason: Satto. She’d worked the day shift for as long as he’d been coming here, and was acutely perceptive. It made her an excellent waitress, remembering what her customer’s particular likes and dislikes were, but it made her much more dangerous in his book. At least he’d convinced her to stop calling him ‘dear’ all the time. Pausing, he sipped from the cup of tea in front of him, mouth pleasantly warm from the chili’s in the xao gung. He returned to the dish, finishing methodically. The man two seats down at the bar glanced at him over his own food. Vedic flicked his eyes across him, setting his chopsticks down across his plate. He was right on time, it was just his natural speed at which he ate. Satto replaced the empty plate with a mint and the bill, barely breaking stride in her trip across to the dining room. Leaving an eighteen percent tip, Vedic paid at the front counter before heading outside. The short trip across the parking lot to his car was enough to steal away the warmth from the meal, and he turned the heater up once the engine was started. With a tap on the dashboard computer, he set the autopilot to his next destination, checking to make sure it engaged successfully before pulling out his data terminal.
From his position at the end of the bar, Vedic had a clear view out the expansive windows of the lounge area of the Vietnamese restaurant. The more formal dining room is what greeted patrons when they first stepped through the front doors, but the lounge and bar area were favored by the business class here on their lunch breaks. Satto had delivered the plate of chicken xao gung moments ago, steaming hot from the wok. He stirred the thin rice noodles about the plate with the pair of black lacquer chopsticks, waiting for it to cool to the point where it wouldn’t burn his tongue. Snippets of conversation drifted to him over the clatter of utensils and the general kitchen din. Satto stopped by on her way back to the kitchen, a smile on her face despite the lines of tiredness around her eyes.
“Everything ok?”
“Yes, thanks, I’m just giving it a moment to cool.”
She nodded, patting the table next to his hand before moving on. Vedic sighed, lifting a bit of the chicken and noodles to his mouth. It was unavoidable, with only a dozen favored lunch restaurants, sooner or later people would begin to recognize him as a regular. It happened here for one reason: Satto. She’d worked the day shift for as long as he’d been coming here, and was acutely perceptive. It made her an excellent waitress, remembering what her customer’s particular likes and dislikes were, but it made her much more dangerous in his book. At least he’d convinced her to stop calling him ‘dear’ all the time. Pausing, he sipped from the cup of tea in front of him, mouth pleasantly warm from the chili’s in the xao gung. He returned to the dish, finishing methodically. The man two seats down at the bar glanced at him over his own food. Vedic flicked his eyes across him, setting his chopsticks down across his plate. He was right on time, it was just his natural speed at which he ate. Satto replaced the empty plate with a mint and the bill, barely breaking stride in her trip across to the dining room. Leaving an eighteen percent tip, Vedic paid at the front counter before heading outside. The short trip across the parking lot to his car was enough to steal away the warmth from the meal, and he turned the heater up once the engine was started. With a tap on the dashboard computer, he set the autopilot to his next destination, checking to make sure it engaged successfully before pulling out his data terminal.
13:28:22 Monday 08 January 2063 – Lecture Room 4C, Physics/Astronomy Building, University of Seattle, Seattle, UCAS
In the dimness of the back corner of the room, Vedic listened to Dr. Karpouzian explain the nuances of frequency agile algorithms for radio broadcast systems. After the accident, he’d cancelled his enrollment at the University, dropping off the radar. But that didn’t stop him from attending classes or utilizing the University’s excellent research libraries. It just meant he had to be a little more careful about avoiding ID checks and hall monitors. Having several friends among the student body helped out as well. He copied down the equations that hovered in the holographic display tank behind the instructor, his script neat and precise. One of the girls at Black Satin had been dabbling in graphology, and told him that his handwriting revealed a very private and very meticulous person. Vedic was unimpressed, since she knew as much about him already, but from a purely objective standpoint, it was interesting to think that such a science might still be relied upon to profile a criminal. On the display, Karpouzian ran one of the modeling equations through a Fast Fourier Transform. The effects were immediately obvious as the three dimensional graphs above the equation changed shape and area. Vedic frowned, using his stylus to rotate the graph around the y-axis. Even though the broadcast was spread spectrum, the algorithm naturally wouldn’t favor certain portions of the frequency, resulting in an uneven distribution, noticeably in the lower bands of the frequency window. Ah, of course. Vedic listened as Karpouzian spoke about the use of band pass filters as trigger sensors for additional carrier wave transmissions to ‘fill out’ the spectrum transmitted to prevent interception and reverse-computation of the frequency hop algorithm. Vedic’s stylus dabbed his data pad with mechanical precision as he followed the lecture.
In the dimness of the back corner of the room, Vedic listened to Dr. Karpouzian explain the nuances of frequency agile algorithms for radio broadcast systems. After the accident, he’d cancelled his enrollment at the University, dropping off the radar. But that didn’t stop him from attending classes or utilizing the University’s excellent research libraries. It just meant he had to be a little more careful about avoiding ID checks and hall monitors. Having several friends among the student body helped out as well. He copied down the equations that hovered in the holographic display tank behind the instructor, his script neat and precise. One of the girls at Black Satin had been dabbling in graphology, and told him that his handwriting revealed a very private and very meticulous person. Vedic was unimpressed, since she knew as much about him already, but from a purely objective standpoint, it was interesting to think that such a science might still be relied upon to profile a criminal. On the display, Karpouzian ran one of the modeling equations through a Fast Fourier Transform. The effects were immediately obvious as the three dimensional graphs above the equation changed shape and area. Vedic frowned, using his stylus to rotate the graph around the y-axis. Even though the broadcast was spread spectrum, the algorithm naturally wouldn’t favor certain portions of the frequency, resulting in an uneven distribution, noticeably in the lower bands of the frequency window. Ah, of course. Vedic listened as Karpouzian spoke about the use of band pass filters as trigger sensors for additional carrier wave transmissions to ‘fill out’ the spectrum transmitted to prevent interception and reverse-computation of the frequency hop algorithm. Vedic’s stylus dabbed his data pad with mechanical precision as he followed the lecture.
15:41:34 Monday 08 January 2063 – Hearth and Harvest Grocery Store, 13401 Robinson St, Seattle, UCAS
In addition to the dozen granny smith apples in his basket already, Vedic added bananas and a cup of pre-sliced pineapple. It was not a week for mangoes, the fruit sitting beneath the mister was bruised and forlorn. The kiwis were tempting, but a bit beyond his ready budget for food. He couldn’t afford to buy more than just a handful of fruit here, the prices reflecting the lack of artificial pesticides, fertilizers, and preservatives used in bringing the produce to him. Fresh fruit was probably his only vice that wasn’t bad for him. He ran through the self-checkout line, paying an exorbitant amount of certified before once again exiting into the icy wind. Turning up the collar on his long coat, he slide behind the wheel of his vehicle, once more engaging the autopilot. Given the state of disaster on the roads, it would be faster to allow Grid Guide to route him home rather than fighting against the inevitable accidents and stalled cars on his own. Taking a bite from an apple, he opened up his phone interface, punching two on the speed dial. The line rang three times before connecting.
"Hello, Sir." Lilith’s voice was soft, a sweet mix of hope and apathy.
"Hello, little toy. How are you?"
"Well, my one appointment today was easy."
Vedic smiled. “Good. I’ll be by at twenty one hundred to pick you up for the club. Be ready.”
“Can’t you come by any earlier?” Lilith pouted. Vedic’s lips curved in the ghost of a smile.
“Maybe, we’ll see. I’ve got other business to attend to besides you.”
“I promise I’ll be good, Sir!”
“You always promise that, little toy. We’ll see. Be ready by twenty one hundred regardless.”
“Yes, Sir. I love you.”
“I know, little toy.” Vedic broke the connection, his face set and terrible. He’d loved a woman, once. Elisa’s face surfaced in his memory, broken and bloody on the pavement. Perhaps there might come a time in the future when he would love again.
In addition to the dozen granny smith apples in his basket already, Vedic added bananas and a cup of pre-sliced pineapple. It was not a week for mangoes, the fruit sitting beneath the mister was bruised and forlorn. The kiwis were tempting, but a bit beyond his ready budget for food. He couldn’t afford to buy more than just a handful of fruit here, the prices reflecting the lack of artificial pesticides, fertilizers, and preservatives used in bringing the produce to him. Fresh fruit was probably his only vice that wasn’t bad for him. He ran through the self-checkout line, paying an exorbitant amount of certified before once again exiting into the icy wind. Turning up the collar on his long coat, he slide behind the wheel of his vehicle, once more engaging the autopilot. Given the state of disaster on the roads, it would be faster to allow Grid Guide to route him home rather than fighting against the inevitable accidents and stalled cars on his own. Taking a bite from an apple, he opened up his phone interface, punching two on the speed dial. The line rang three times before connecting.
"Hello, Sir." Lilith’s voice was soft, a sweet mix of hope and apathy.
"Hello, little toy. How are you?"
"Well, my one appointment today was easy."
Vedic smiled. “Good. I’ll be by at twenty one hundred to pick you up for the club. Be ready.”
“Can’t you come by any earlier?” Lilith pouted. Vedic’s lips curved in the ghost of a smile.
“Maybe, we’ll see. I’ve got other business to attend to besides you.”
“I promise I’ll be good, Sir!”
“You always promise that, little toy. We’ll see. Be ready by twenty one hundred regardless.”
“Yes, Sir. I love you.”
“I know, little toy.” Vedic broke the connection, his face set and terrible. He’d loved a woman, once. Elisa’s face surfaced in his memory, broken and bloody on the pavement. Perhaps there might come a time in the future when he would love again.
18:26:01 Monday 08 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS
“Speaking theoretically, of course.” Vedic took a bite from his club sandwich, watching the patrons at the bar while listening to Zeyda. It was a bit early in the night for Aria, she’d be on later. Not that he could stay to watch, but he enjoyed her voice.
“Of course,” agreed the fixer. “What do you need from me?”
“It’ll go down like this. We pick up the vehicle transporter as it crosses Salish territory into Seattle. One plus myself gets onboard. We incapacitate the driver and guard or guards, take control of the transporter, and exit the interstate into the city. Each transport is monitored via a GPS transponder in the cab. Give them a sixty second reaction time to ascertain the problem and that they’ve lost communication with the transporter. At this point, we’ll be off Grid Guide so they won’t be able to send a direct kill signal, which means they must alert local law enforcement assets. Give them a reaction time of sixty seconds, plus an enroute time of one hundred eighty seconds.”
“That’s a five minute window.”
“Correct. Four minutes off the interstate to where we’ve parked our own transport cab. We unhook the trailer, send the stolen cab on its way, hook ours up, and depart enroute the turnover point. Five minutes.”
“Okay. In a purely theoretical and ideal world, I’d buy that. What do you need from me?”
Vedic met Zeyda’s gaze. “At least one driver, two gunners, one of which is good at close combat, a decker and/or electronics whiz. A buyer for six vehicles. Dummy chips to swap into the vehicle termination slots. A Conestoga Trailblazer cab, preferably one to rent or steal since I don’t have the capital to buy. Possibly communications gear for the team, possibly non-lethals for the gunners. I’ll know more after meeting with them.
Zeyda shook his head, making notes in his data pad. “Don’t ask for much, do you kid?”
“Only what I need to continue the evolution.”
“Whatever, kid. Check back with me on Wednesday, I’ll have something for you then.”
Vedic nodded, dragging his hands through the napkin to clean them. The credstick he slid across the table covered the meal plus five hundred nuyen, enough to start the wheels rolling on this little enterprise. Standing, he settled his long coat about his shoulders and pulled on his gloves. Now that the sun had set, the cold seemed to cut right through to the bone.
“Watch your back out there,” called Zeyda.
“Until Wednesday.” Vedic disappeared down the stairs and out into the night.
“Speaking theoretically, of course.” Vedic took a bite from his club sandwich, watching the patrons at the bar while listening to Zeyda. It was a bit early in the night for Aria, she’d be on later. Not that he could stay to watch, but he enjoyed her voice.
“Of course,” agreed the fixer. “What do you need from me?”
“It’ll go down like this. We pick up the vehicle transporter as it crosses Salish territory into Seattle. One plus myself gets onboard. We incapacitate the driver and guard or guards, take control of the transporter, and exit the interstate into the city. Each transport is monitored via a GPS transponder in the cab. Give them a sixty second reaction time to ascertain the problem and that they’ve lost communication with the transporter. At this point, we’ll be off Grid Guide so they won’t be able to send a direct kill signal, which means they must alert local law enforcement assets. Give them a reaction time of sixty seconds, plus an enroute time of one hundred eighty seconds.”
“That’s a five minute window.”
“Correct. Four minutes off the interstate to where we’ve parked our own transport cab. We unhook the trailer, send the stolen cab on its way, hook ours up, and depart enroute the turnover point. Five minutes.”
“Okay. In a purely theoretical and ideal world, I’d buy that. What do you need from me?”
Vedic met Zeyda’s gaze. “At least one driver, two gunners, one of which is good at close combat, a decker and/or electronics whiz. A buyer for six vehicles. Dummy chips to swap into the vehicle termination slots. A Conestoga Trailblazer cab, preferably one to rent or steal since I don’t have the capital to buy. Possibly communications gear for the team, possibly non-lethals for the gunners. I’ll know more after meeting with them.
Zeyda shook his head, making notes in his data pad. “Don’t ask for much, do you kid?”
“Only what I need to continue the evolution.”
“Whatever, kid. Check back with me on Wednesday, I’ll have something for you then.”
Vedic nodded, dragging his hands through the napkin to clean them. The credstick he slid across the table covered the meal plus five hundred nuyen, enough to start the wheels rolling on this little enterprise. Standing, he settled his long coat about his shoulders and pulled on his gloves. Now that the sun had set, the cold seemed to cut right through to the bone.
“Watch your back out there,” called Zeyda.
“Until Wednesday.” Vedic disappeared down the stairs and out into the night.
20:08:53 Monday 08 January 2063 – Black Satin Gentleman’s Club, 708 Ashland Ave, Tacoma, Seattle, UCAS
Vedic hammered fists with Gulag as he came through the door.
“Aunty in back?” He had to lean close to be heard over the music. The ork nodded, jerking his thumb towards the office. Vedic nodded, moving swiftly through the door. He spared a glance to the main runway, watching as Sashay slid her body against the pole. His eyes probed the smoky darkness of the main room until he found Leslie leaning forward in the corner. He didn’t break stride, though. His business was in back.
Aunty Entity glanced up from her desk as he slipped through her door, her voice having called him in after his knock.
“Hey, kid, it’s about time you stopped by to see me.”
Vedic came around behind the desk to give her a kiss on the cheek. Leaning against one corner, he withdrew two slim packages of cloves, setting them next to her datapad on the desk.
“Sorry, Aunty. Things have been busy lately. How have you been?”
Aunty smiled, sweeping both packs into her top drawer to be enjoyed later.
“Oh, you know, same drek, different day. Heaven left, decided to try her luck down LA way in the simflick business. Jasmine is dancing over across town at the Dollhouse. And this new girl, Sahara, I swear it’s like they’re building the whine into ‘em these days.”
“Want me to talk with her while I’m here?” Vedic studied the back of his knuckles, voice carefully neutral. Aunty chuckled, a low, nasty sound.
“No way, kid, I need the girl to dance, not all wrecked because of you.”
“If you need anything….” Vedic let the offer hang open, his eyes locked on the woman who’d been more a mother to him than his own mother.
“I know, kid, I know. C’mere and give your Aunty a hug. Mmmm. Don’t stay away for so long next time. Now, get out of here, you monster.”
Vedic smiled, touching his lips in an ironic salute before disappearing out the door and into the bitter night air.
Vedic hammered fists with Gulag as he came through the door.
“Aunty in back?” He had to lean close to be heard over the music. The ork nodded, jerking his thumb towards the office. Vedic nodded, moving swiftly through the door. He spared a glance to the main runway, watching as Sashay slid her body against the pole. His eyes probed the smoky darkness of the main room until he found Leslie leaning forward in the corner. He didn’t break stride, though. His business was in back.
Aunty Entity glanced up from her desk as he slipped through her door, her voice having called him in after his knock.
“Hey, kid, it’s about time you stopped by to see me.”
Vedic came around behind the desk to give her a kiss on the cheek. Leaning against one corner, he withdrew two slim packages of cloves, setting them next to her datapad on the desk.
“Sorry, Aunty. Things have been busy lately. How have you been?”
Aunty smiled, sweeping both packs into her top drawer to be enjoyed later.
“Oh, you know, same drek, different day. Heaven left, decided to try her luck down LA way in the simflick business. Jasmine is dancing over across town at the Dollhouse. And this new girl, Sahara, I swear it’s like they’re building the whine into ‘em these days.”
“Want me to talk with her while I’m here?” Vedic studied the back of his knuckles, voice carefully neutral. Aunty chuckled, a low, nasty sound.
“No way, kid, I need the girl to dance, not all wrecked because of you.”
“If you need anything….” Vedic let the offer hang open, his eyes locked on the woman who’d been more a mother to him than his own mother.
“I know, kid, I know. C’mere and give your Aunty a hug. Mmmm. Don’t stay away for so long next time. Now, get out of here, you monster.”
Vedic smiled, touching his lips in an ironic salute before disappearing out the door and into the bitter night air.
20:38:14 Monday 08 January 2063 – Studio Milan, 5151 Castleton Way, Renton, Seattle, UCAS
“Master Vedic, it is always a pleasure to see you.” Octavia curtsied, a feat made more impressive by the fact that her flowing, floor-length gown was constructed entirely of multiple layers of translucent latex. Vedic bowed in return.
“Mistress Octavia, you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”
By convention, the dominants of Studio Milan were addressed by ‘master’ or ‘mistress’, even among themselves. Vedic disliked being called master since it implied a certain rank of evolution he didn’t think he’d acceded to, yet. In the end, it would have been more disruptive to attempt to enforce a different form of address for himself than others, so he let it slide.
“Why thank you. Here to see Lilith?” Octavia’s smile was half-leer, half-jealous. Vedic nodded, his expression neutral. He knew Octavia didn’t truly believe that he was a dominant and wanted the chance to prove it to him. She was wrong, of course, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to correct her.
“Yes, I’m taking her to Domain tonight.”
“Enjoy yourself.” She curtsied again, and Vedic responded with another dip of his head.
The lock on Lilith’s door opened to his personal code, and he slipped quietly inside. She’d been sitting on the bed, waiting for him, one leg tucked beneath her. As she rose to greet him, she slipped her robe from her shoulders, tossing it aside. Naked, she stopped just shy of him, eyes downcast. Closing the last distance between him, he lifted her face, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. She smiled, closing her eyes. Vedic ran his fingertips gently across her cheek, careful not to smudge her makeup, then down across her collarbone. An intoxicating aroma of vanilla and jasmine swirled about her.
“Hello, little toy.”
“Hello, Sir. You came early.”
“You asked me to.” Vedic rested his hand on the curve of her hip, turning her with him to face the open closet. She’d known better than to pick an outfit for tonight, but he wouldn’t put it past her to move her favorites up to the front of the line on the rack. She could be a real brat when she tried. He ended up choosing one of his favorite outfits of hers: a metallic silver corset, black skirt with several layers of crinoline that puffed it out almost horizontally, a garter belt and fishnets, and black latex boots. He helped her dress, the garters and hose first, then the corset. He laced her in until the edges met, pulling it to just the uncomfortable side of tight. Although Lilith had been wearing corsets for years, it didn’t qualify as serious corset training. Moreover, he wasn’t a huge fan of the Victorian figure. His approach was, as usual, utilitarian. Corsets were a means of control, a constant reminder to her of his ownership. After the boots, he buckled a slim leather collar around her neck. It was her public collar, polished to a deep shine, with a single ring hanging from the front along with the engraved tag ‘Toy’.
“Ready?” he asked. Lilith checked her make-up in the mirror one last time before nodding. Vedic ushered her out the door with a hand on the small of her back, locking it behind them.
“Master Vedic, it is always a pleasure to see you.” Octavia curtsied, a feat made more impressive by the fact that her flowing, floor-length gown was constructed entirely of multiple layers of translucent latex. Vedic bowed in return.
“Mistress Octavia, you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”
By convention, the dominants of Studio Milan were addressed by ‘master’ or ‘mistress’, even among themselves. Vedic disliked being called master since it implied a certain rank of evolution he didn’t think he’d acceded to, yet. In the end, it would have been more disruptive to attempt to enforce a different form of address for himself than others, so he let it slide.
“Why thank you. Here to see Lilith?” Octavia’s smile was half-leer, half-jealous. Vedic nodded, his expression neutral. He knew Octavia didn’t truly believe that he was a dominant and wanted the chance to prove it to him. She was wrong, of course, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to correct her.
“Yes, I’m taking her to Domain tonight.”
“Enjoy yourself.” She curtsied again, and Vedic responded with another dip of his head.
The lock on Lilith’s door opened to his personal code, and he slipped quietly inside. She’d been sitting on the bed, waiting for him, one leg tucked beneath her. As she rose to greet him, she slipped her robe from her shoulders, tossing it aside. Naked, she stopped just shy of him, eyes downcast. Closing the last distance between him, he lifted her face, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. She smiled, closing her eyes. Vedic ran his fingertips gently across her cheek, careful not to smudge her makeup, then down across her collarbone. An intoxicating aroma of vanilla and jasmine swirled about her.
“Hello, little toy.”
“Hello, Sir. You came early.”
“You asked me to.” Vedic rested his hand on the curve of her hip, turning her with him to face the open closet. She’d known better than to pick an outfit for tonight, but he wouldn’t put it past her to move her favorites up to the front of the line on the rack. She could be a real brat when she tried. He ended up choosing one of his favorite outfits of hers: a metallic silver corset, black skirt with several layers of crinoline that puffed it out almost horizontally, a garter belt and fishnets, and black latex boots. He helped her dress, the garters and hose first, then the corset. He laced her in until the edges met, pulling it to just the uncomfortable side of tight. Although Lilith had been wearing corsets for years, it didn’t qualify as serious corset training. Moreover, he wasn’t a huge fan of the Victorian figure. His approach was, as usual, utilitarian. Corsets were a means of control, a constant reminder to her of his ownership. After the boots, he buckled a slim leather collar around her neck. It was her public collar, polished to a deep shine, with a single ring hanging from the front along with the engraved tag ‘Toy’.
“Ready?” he asked. Lilith checked her make-up in the mirror one last time before nodding. Vedic ushered her out the door with a hand on the small of her back, locking it behind them.
14:02:25 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond
Scrapheap's cellphone rings.
Scrapheap's cellphone rings.
16:16:00 Monday, 08 January, 2063 - The depths of the Ork Underground
Just a little Alleycat surfaces, takes the moment to strip, analyse, categorise, make this isolated piece of data her own; separate it away from the wider context of learning. "I remember," she says, a universe of understatement, merged now into that new identity born of the waitress, the student, the soon-to-be shadowrunner. "No joy yet on the netrunner?"
Just a little Alleycat surfaces, takes the moment to strip, analyse, categorise, make this isolated piece of data her own; separate it away from the wider context of learning. "I remember," she says, a universe of understatement, merged now into that new identity born of the waitress, the student, the soon-to-be shadowrunner. "No joy yet on the netrunner?"
10:40:58 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace, Apt 203. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
"That dating service you use isn't as discreet as you'd think. Those crooked horns of yours are always a dead give-away, once you look away from the chaps," Tony said, moderatly impressed with Salvo's encryption equipment; the barely pereceptable undertones of bile in his voice came through the line clearly. "Anyway, you don't have any reason to be hostile to me. You and I, we know the story,"Tony said, slipping into a smooth conversational tone.
"That dating service you use isn't as discreet as you'd think. Those crooked horns of yours are always a dead give-away, once you look away from the chaps," Tony said, moderatly impressed with Salvo's encryption equipment; the barely pereceptable undertones of bile in his voice came through the line clearly. "Anyway, you don't have any reason to be hostile to me. You and I, we know the story,"Tony said, slipping into a smooth conversational tone.
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