All of the exertion he had recently gone through has left Pesto hovering between the waking world and the world of dreams. The sounds of screaming take a moment to penetrate his foggy brain but eventually they have the effect of dragging the orc into the waking world.

Not sure what the heck is going on, Pesto first looks around the church. As he does so he also double checks the AR feeds from his drone's camaras. When it finally dawns on him that the noise is coming from Tara he brings up the AR feed from her node to see if there are any new developments there.

Pesto
The AR feed from Tara's node is still jammed by the directional jammer that Bubble's stuck to the wall. Outside, the drones show the street as empty as before.

Al
Looking in on the vixen, Hayden looks to be still unconscious. From the belly wound though, you've seen men linger on for days drifting in and out of consciousness. It's not unreasonable for her to be out for a few more hours.

Satisfied that the she-devil is probably still out, Al keeps one eye on her but leans against the door jamb and puts his shotgun under the crook of his arm. He takes out his commlink and, shooting for an inside straight, checks the public directory for bakeries that do early morning retail sales within walking distance of the kraut bar.

He hopes there aren't any.

Startled by the sudden scream, Ryan's reflexes have him in a defensive crouch, his hand already grasping the butt of a pistol before awareness of the situation actually sinks in. He vainly tries to cover his twitch of surprise by slowly and deliberately running the hand through his short, dirty blond hair as he squares his shoulders and straightens his posture. Crushing the cigarette beneath a worn, black leather boot, he strides purposefully across the room toward the sound.

"You know, I was jus' wonderin' which one of 'em was gonna be first. Looks like we got us a volunteer."

His steps take him directly to the screaming woman, where the elf raises his hand and slaps Tara full across the face.

"Shut the fuck up, you slut."

Turning, Ryan glances in Sun's direction.

"You wan' me t' start? Or ...?"

*Sperethiel

Team

With the solid slap from Ryan, Tara goes still and silent. There is a ripple and shift in her body language as she turns to face the elf.

"Fuck you!"

She glances down at herself and then looks around the room.

"I see we're doing round two. Are you sure you don't want to just rape me, it's supposed to be a very effective torture method against women. And, you look like you could use a good thrust. Either way, there's nothing left for me to say."

Ryan
It's odd, for a split second while Tara was screaming, her eyes were a deep blue. Now that she's calmed down, her eyes are back to being a hazel color.

Ryan hesitates, squinting as he bends to take a second look at the prisoner. Shaking his head slightly, he dismisses the momentary image, and stiffens both his posture and his expression as he addresses Tara.

"It hadn't occurred t' me, but I'm sure we can arrange somethin' if ya want. Long as you play nice an cooperate."

He leans right down and puts his maliciously grinning face right in front of Tara's, noses almost, but not quite touching.

"Besides, if ya think that's the worst I can do, well, you're in for a big surprise."

After getting the results from his commlink Pesto shakes his head and thinks, 'damn I must be more tired than I realize. Forgot all about the jammer.'

The orc takes a quick glance at the trodes and then looks away as he realizes now is the time for the other team members to do their work. He does feel a momentary twinge of regret knowing what is about to happen to Tara but he gets past it when he reasosn she shouldn't have gotten involved in this type of work to begin with.

"Noisy." she commented as the screams triggered her into a crouch alongside the little bench where she'd been examining the desktop forge. After checking on the people moving to the sound, Bubbles kept the ARO windows open where she was running some searches and analysis on the device as she made yet another circuit of the building checking on what she could see outside for herself.

<<@pesto:: Seen instructions for this thing anywhere?>>

After reading the message from Bubbles that pops up in his visual display Pesto shakes his head while looking at the troll but then stops and says, "Nothing specific like that but Al grabbed a bunch of chips from the bar. Maybe there was some info on one of them."

Sun watches the the exchange between Ryan and Tara.

"Calling our bluff my dear? You have some guts on you young lady. She's right I suppose, we have very little left we can use for leverage on her. Sweetie, I don't thing we're going to get more out of her. Then again given her Matrix presence I'm sure we can find some way to make a profit out of her."

Sun's mannerisms is businesslike and cold. She watches Tara carefully for any reaction.

"On the other hand if she tells us everything she knows, she may just walk out of here in one piece. It's her choice now. I just hope she's as sensible as she is ballsy."

Interrogation

"The question of course comes down to who you will turn me over to..."

Tara gives out a deep sigh and rolls to face Sun.

"So, since we both know that the worst you can do to me is torture and in all likelihood eventually kill me, let's pretend that I am afraid of you. What do you want to know?"

Hackers

Examining the desktop forge, it is obvious that there is a partial supply of unprocessed stock still inside the forge. The production process was cancelled earlier when it was removed from the bar. If a steady power source is reattached, you believe it will continue automatically. Despite the modifications that Bubbles found earlier, you may be able to find a basic operation manual in the Matrix.

Sun smiles at the girl.

"We want to know about the people who set up the drug production in the bar. In detail please, or we'll sell you to MTC, I'm sure they'd love to open you up and see how you tick."

Bored with wondering whether Hayden was asleep or faking it, and equally exasperated with his inability to find out whether there was a bakery within walking distance of the Kraut bar, Al sauntered over to where Bubbles was working on the forge.

First he emptied his pockets of the vials of chemicals he'd liberated from the lock box - "Reckon since these ain't packaged fer distributation, they might as well be the raw stuff."

Then he squatted down and began offering a steady stream of completely unsolicited advice.

Interrogation

"Right, more with the drugs. Let's start with Keith. You remember him, right? So he hired me to serve drinks and sell some drugs...Keith works in his office, brings drugs to be sold and interacts with the big boys. He's an asshole with a penchant for "need to know" and how I usually don't. The fucker is a lousy lay and has no otherwise redeeming qualities except for the fact that he pays well."

The Forge

With the local grid being fairly shoddy for power consumption, Bubbles begins trying to stabilize the circuit and minimize the amount of fluctuation. Al and Pesto do their best to help out and soon the three of them have the small forge cranking away. As time ticks by, small pills start ticking out at the end of the production cycle.

Examining the forge, there is an opening where the blocks of encased vials will fit. At the moment, the slot is full while the system uses the internal product.

Once it was clear that the vials he'd liberated were indeed the base material for the drugs, Al gathered them up and put them back in his pockets. He didn't know his new companions well enough to be sure they wouldn't just decide to go into the poison-peddling business themselves.

And anyway, the Captain had said not to - which was not of particular concern to the enterprising little man, but he wanted a better handle on just who his employer was and how the fellow was tied up in everything before double-crossing him.

"So, 'nother piece o' the puzzle. That'd call fer a beer if'n I had any. Damn shame, torchin' that kraut bar."

It occurred to him that although the elves were cloistered with Tara, he wasn't hearing any screams. That meant the vixen - the vixen on their side, that is - was probably playing things smart.

But if she was getting what she wanted, the sound of a single gunshot could come at any moment. He wanted to see what was up in there, but didn't want to queer the questioning.

He settled on a quiet text to Flint: <<Made a bit of a breakthrough out here. Come check her out.>>

Then he addressed his mechanically-inclined companions. "Great work. Question is: how's this git us any closer ta shuttin' these people down?"

Now that the slitch was starting to open, Ryan is quite content for the time being to step back and let Sun take over.

For the time being.

As he listens to the prisoner talk, only half understanding what she is going on about, his commlink pops Al's text message up in one corner of his cybernetic vision. A quick scan of its contents has the elf softly making for the doorway, stopping only for a moment for one last look back, just to reassuring himself that the other elf had the situation in hand.

For the time being.

Al hailed the elven gunslinger when he made his appearance in the chapel. "Looky here, cowboy, we done got this contraption workin'," he proclaimed, gesturing at the forge with his Lucky. "Any luck with the nekkid broad?"

Ryan eyes Al for a moment, puzzled at why the human would call him out of the room right when they were starting to make progress with the slitch. He slowly shifts his gaze to the nanoforge, but after a couple of seconds he merely shrugs in response.

"Gettin' there."

He nods his head at the machinery.

"So ... what's it do?"

"Shit on a cracker, hombre, it makes the damned drugs. It's a manufacturin' an' distributation substation, supplies the local dealers. Only since the drug ties all o' they's heads into the Net, well, that explains how each dealer kin handle seventy-odd blocks o' territory. Helluva cost saver. Leastways, that's whut I got goin' on in muh head fer now."

Al dug into his pocket and fished out the chips he'd read. "Scan the data yerself if ya like. Leastways, we know Seattle here ain't but a test market, but results've been good 'nuff that the high hats an' revenoors reckon they kin live with the body count. More important to our work at hand, we know there's more'n one o' these here contraptions scattered around, but that they ain't no good without the crap in these here vials I done abscondalized with. So rather'n go chasin' down all the different spots where they pump out the final product, we torch the place where they cook up the secret formula here an' we's on our way ta gittin' paid. An' I'd bet a week or three without poon that we gon' find the lab in question at a clinic in Georgetown."

"Nano factory!"

Pointing to the input slot, "Feed it raw materials." then waving her arm through some ARO icons, "Plug in plans." a giant finger hovers over a switch on the machine, "Push button."

*** pop *** "Drugs!" as she points at the output slot.

"Whatever drugs you got plans for. All the drugs you can find explained on the Matrix!"

"Reds, greens, blues, poppers, hoppers, blowers, scams, tranks, tanks, freddies, bennies, debbies, holy smokers, dopes, soothers, curveballs, submarines, roller coasters, rockets, come arounds, nova, red hots, tamales, shrooms, booms, and whatever else you can think of."

*** pop ***

"Can even make aspirin."

Bubbles chews speculatively, "Pretty much anything it can make if you have the plans."

"Well hell, Yer Highness, ya got plans fer a beer?"

Ryan listens somewhat distractedly as Al explains the contraption. Not really caring much for the technical aspects of the mission though, he is just about to repeat his shrug when the troll speaks up. Despite himself, he turns and looks at in her direction, eyes widening in interest as she fully details the possibilities of their new toy.

"So, you're tellin' me that this thing can make any drug. Any drug? Like novacoke? Psyche? Even that trauma patch drek?"

He eyes the machine with renewed interest, his mind spinning through the many scenarios that could be possible with this type of tech. He looks up, returning his gaze to Bubbles for a moment before once again addressing the human.

"How many of these things do ya think there are?"

"Least one, at a place called Location Bravo. Could be more. Reckon gutshot girl might know where it is," Al said.

He paused to hawk up a huge wad of phlegm and launch it into a distant corner of the chapel, sending a black spider with yellow bands scurrying. He had to be careful with this next bit, or things could go all to hell in more ways than one. He spawled out on one of the pews, legs spread wide, cigarette in his left hand, shotgun across his knees. But he used the casual movement to make sure his hand was firmly positioned on the grip of his weapon - he just didn't know these people that well yet.

"I kin guess where yore goin', Pecos, an' I won't say its a bad idea. Hell, just fer straight cash value, one o' these doohickeys be worth a damned sight more'n we's gittin' paid by the Cap'n - and that's IF he pays us, an' AFTER we do a helluva lot more shootin' an' pillagin'. So, bird in hand, an' alla that. Mighty temptin' to take what we got an' call the whole thing done. Or go git another one an' then walk. Or keep these things, an' THEN go finish the job we wuz hired fer."

His throat was clear, but there remained some annoyance in his nose. Deftly avoiding the lit tip of the cigarette in his mouth, he blew his nose into the space between his left thumb and forefinger, pinched off the product, and wiped it on his fatigue trousers.

"But no matter how ya slice it, there's a few things ya gotta consider afore goin' off half-cocked. The first an' foremost o' which is Her Gloriousness here. Seems ta me she already done foregone her cut o' the Cap'n's money in exchange fer dibs on all various an' sundry loot. Reckon we all agreed on that, so reckon at this point it's clear she gambled an' won. By rights, this gadget is hers. Now I don't mind blowin' off the Cap'n - he was an asshole, an' we already done enuff fer him to warrant our up-front pay. But we done been through fire with Her Majesty here, and that means goin' against her would be wrong an' worse'n wrong."

Ryan's eyes narrow slightly as they move to the troll while Al moralizes, his mind turning over a number of various scenarios. When the human finishes, the elf gives the machine another look, but merely shrugs his shoulders casually in response. He pulls a pack of Virginia Reels from his jacket pocket, tapping the bottom to pop up a smoke. Leaning back against on of the few still intact pews, he touches the flame of his Zippo to the tip of the cigarette.

"So, now that the thing's workin', what does it actually do for us? Is there some kinda way that it can be used to hone in on the other sources? An' speakin' of that, can this thing be tracked by someone else?"

Having spoken his piece, Al didn't have the energy to listen to Bubbles or Pesto's answers to the elf's questions. In fact, he didn't have the inclination to do much of anything. He nodded off right there on the pew. Hopefully when he opened his eyes all these professional shadowrunner types would have a plan.

Sun

You start with the basic question that comes to mind and send out a message to the team to fill more questions in.

"Is that all you know?"

"If I say yes, would you really believe me? If I say no, you are just going to ask me what I haven't told you. Confirming all the things that are, and denying all the things that aren't would take us an eternity. I don't have the time, and you don't either."

"What does Keith look like?"

"Average height and build, just shy of two meters and ninety kilos. He has dark blonde hair, blue eyes and is caucasian."

"Where does he live?"

"Last I heard, he had a flat in Bellevue. I've never been there. He sprang for a cheap hotel the one time I gave him a toss."

"Does he deal with anyone particular about deliveries? "

"Fuck if I know."

"Where's your stash?"

"Keith hands out most of the drugs each day around two. They come out of his office. I know he keeps something else near the shotgun under the bar."

"How do you contact Keith?"

"Mostly I talk with him at work. Other times, I call him on my link. As you can tell, my usual link is at home--I don't use it except when I'm looking for new work. He'll be in the office today unless she called him. Why don't you go by the bar and try to buy a stack?"

"Who else do you know that is connected with this?

"Besides Keith and Hayden, there are several dealers who come in to get more product. Though, at least one of them is dead."

Al's eyes shot open with a start. It was the blind dream again, which was almost worth having just for the joy of waking up and realizing he could see again.

Looking around, it was hard to tell how long he'd napped - probably not long. The trogs were still playing with the forge, and the grazers were a little ways off having their own little chat.

The lone human's (at least since pore Mitch'd bit the dust) exhaustion was matched only by his impatience. So he lit a cigarette and mosied over to the elves. The vixen was polite enough to give him a rundown of what her interrogation had yielded so far. Al asked her a lot of questions, and there were some things that just didn't add up for him. So he went and drained the lizard, and on his way back found his way into the room they had Tara in.

She was awake, trussed up, and glared at him balefully. Of course she was still naked. Just for the sake of being professional, Al occasionally glanced at up at her face while talking to her.

"Well now darlin', ya look none too pleased 'bout bein' here, and cain't say as I blame ya. Reckon ya know the traditional way prisoners is disposed of in this biz, and I gotta say our keeb gunslinger, he comes across as mighty traditional indeed. Now me, I'm a live an' let live type. Water unner the bridge an' all that. Plus, muh Christian upbringing don't take kindly ta hurtin' women any more'n is necessary fer they's own good. Strike not down upon a mother or sister, that's one o' the ten commandments, I reckon."

Al blew some smoke and shifted to enjoy the view from another angle.

"Thing is, my merciful nature could very well put me at odds with said homo sapiens nobilis. An' I'd bet a nuyen or three he's a handful ta lock horns with. So I reckon the more I find myself pleased with your comportment an' general demeander, the more effort I may be inclined to take in defense of my sense o' morality and the Geneva Convention.

"So here's muh thing. When the major sent us ta look in on y'all's progress, he was particalar innerested in what sorts of folks ya done took on staff. An' ya mentioned ta my lady friend a spot back 'at one o' those dealers is now deceased. So I'm wonderin' if you'd be so kind as ta elaborate on that individual."

He stuck a second Lucky in his mouth, lit it, and then held it out toward her lips, not really knowing if she'd accept it, but knowing he'd find a way to smoke it if she didn't.

Interrogation

When Al walks into the room, Tara stays focussed on Sun. As the old man begins to speak, she shifts her focus to him. Her body language shifts. Instead of being stock rigid, her shoulders shrug and her muscles slack. She leans forward and takes the cigarette in her mouth from the ex-sailor's hand.

"Well, ya see, each of them dealers are fitted with biomonitors an' DocWagon can tell when one of them croaks. The staff all gets told, just in case ya know, if some yahoo tries to come callin' and collect."

That fit. Yes it did.

Al's legs were starting to cramp up, squatting on his haunches, so he sat down on the floor beside her. Was there any part of him that wasn't still hurting?

"So the rag dude was one o' yer dealers. Why'd ya say he warn't ta the lady here? An' more important, why'd the sorry sumbitch go and trigger his brain bomb when we laid hands on 'im?"

Interrogation

"Now I ne'er said he was no dealer. I told the joysack on legs dat he was a daggum sum'bitch. If'n he started trying to breathe blood, that means da boy was tastin' instead of sellin. Some of 'dem dere drugs ain't meant foe human consum'shin."

Being trussed and tied, it's hard for Tara to move. When Al sits down, she shifts her weight and falls more than leans against the older man. Shoulder to shoulder, they are facing in different directions but their heads are close enough for a tete-a-tete and a quiet conversation.

Al had a notion he was being played, but that didn't matter - as long as she was talking he was learning. That last answer had said she was telling truth - sort of. He had more questions on that line, but the fact was, he didn't care very much. The raggamuffin chat was just to get things rolling.

"Li'l darlin', you ain't half the hellion I heard you was." Wary of her virtuokinetic abilities, he casually thumbed his commlink's power off, and with her tied hands now right next to where he kept his knife, he pulled it out and started cleaning his tobacco-stained fingernails. "Cain't hardly say the same 'bout yer pore friend. An' her with a sweetheart, too. Damn shame, that."

Interrogation

"Well, ma papa used to say 'ya get more flies with honey than with a sharp stick.'"

Seemingly unaware or uncaring about the predicament of being naked and trussed, Tara smiles and pats Al's leg in a sign of camaraderie.

"And yeah, Hayden can be a hell cat. She's a bit like this'un and the the keeb in the coat. Fulla piss an' vinegar with too short a fuse."

"Short fuse ain't the half of it, darlin'. That li'l missy took us all on at the drop of a hat. Any idea why she'd try somethin' like that short of a hankerin' fer an early grave? Had ta put the she-devil down hard. An' gut shots is touch 'n' go. So in case I wuz to send a condolence somewheres, as perfessional courtesy, any idea where she got that rock on 'er finger?"

Interrogation

"She'd a called it 'Operational Parameters' or some nonsense. Basically, seeing as how I didn't call 'er and say that I wanted an apple tart, Hayden done figured that ah'd been rightly compromised. It ain't like her to come shootin straight though. She'd a figure a way to be sneaky like.

"As long as she's got a pulse though, she'll pull through."

Tara fidgets some more, the pressure on her ankles and shoulders becoming obvious as she tries to find some way to sit and stretch even a single limb.

"I know you gotta keep me tied up for both our protections, but could you change the knots a bit and let me put ma legs out?

"Hayden's man is like you folks--sumtimes he has to be doing unpleasantness cuz he needs da money, but he's a good man. Reminds me a bit of my pappy, served in the war. He always told me dere was a time for everything. Time to heal, time to kill, time to rest and time to fuck. Even time to walk the dog. He reminded about that last one a lot."

"Well, there ain't no denyin' much o' this here bizniss is unpleasant, an' I won't controvert that I'm doin' it fer the money, neither," Al replied as he pried a last bit of grime from under his left thumbnail. "But I reckon we'd best work ta minimize the former an' maximize the latter. So here's why I'm askin' 'bout pore Hayden's hombre - like I mentioned earlier, my associate like to make a clean break, so to speak, with folk such as falls into our hands. Me, though, I don't make no nevermind 'bout a few loose ends if it'll further the cause o' Christianity. Ah'm jist a workin' man, bound for sim stardom though I am. Now, what'd really help me rein that pointy-eared mustang in would be if we could set up some kinda third-party thing, somethin' to provide assurances o' good conduct an' maybe a modicum o' cred in the deal ta boot. Cain't be Keith or no other yahoo confabulated with this current biz, though. An' that's why I was hopin' fer a name or a handle or a commcode on dear Hayden's bump-buddy. Fer her sake, an' fer yore'n as well."

He topped his offer off by brushing the edge of his blade against the ropes on her legs - not enough to cut them, just a promise of relief to come. For his own part, he certainly wouldn't mind a chance to watch her stretch her body out a little. And then he stuck the blade into the wood floor just within reach of her bound hands, wondering what she might do.

Bored with the proceedings, and not having anything else to do, Ryan wanders toward the front of the church. Stepping out the door, he lights up another cigarette and takes a look up and down the street. Drawing in a deep lungful of smoke, the elf slowly exhales as he pays extra attention to the rooftops and storefronts in the direction of the Princes' turf.

Outside

A crow takes to wing as Ryan comes outside, disturbed from its solitary perch along the fence. It lands further down the fence, cawing at the gunslinger.

Scanning the streets, some of the low lifes in the area are beginning to reassert themselves. Cautious roaches probing the area now that the kitchen lights have gone out. The church with step-van in the parking lot is still being given a wide berth but the streets are no longer as abandoned as they had been earlier. Several trolls and orks are starting a pick-up game of murder-ball. They appear to be sorting out boundaries and dividing into teams.

Interrogation

"Ah think he's a Russian, but goes by Mickey. Klavikov, Klavitsnov, sumthin like that..."

After giving you the name, she sidles back and wiggles her body to drag the cord against the blade. The handcuffs on her wrists and ankles stay, but the plastic tubing keeping her trussed up gives way. With a long deep-throated sigh that reverberates down to her toes, Tara stretches her legs out in front of her. Several of the poses she takes while stretching are extremely provocative and revealing.

Finally finshed stretching, she rolls her shoulders--appearing to dislocate both of them--pulls her bound hands under her and up the length of her legs. She sits quietly, knees pulled into her chest with her bound wrists resting on her bound ankles. Compliant and ready to be tied up in a new pose.

The unshaven man knew he should stop the girl from getting her hands in front of her, but the way she was doing it was simply too good to interrupt. Of course it was on purpose, but hell, that just kept quality high. He also noted her contortionist abilities with great interest - both professional and personal.

"Well, reckon you could give a blind man sight. Thank you kindly fer yer assistance."

Al collected his tool and returned to the main room, confident he could count on Sunny to decide how best the girl should be restrained.

Approaching the troll and ork, who were deciding the best way to get at the headware of the other girl, he said, "Mickey sounds-like-Klavikov, that is the name of the feller dips his wick in our gutshot friend. Bet muh last nickel she knows more this other girl, but will also be a mite harder ta crack. So if ya could round up some more detail on this Russky sweetheart, could be persuasive."

Saying that, he remembered that it was the Vory that were pushing into new drug sales channels around the docks. "Ya might wanna also check fer his connections ta the Russian mob. Reckon we talk to her once we got some of that info."

Looking around for Flint, he saw that the front door was slightly ajar and stepped out into the street. It was time to stop beating around the bush. He had left his shotgun with his rifle where he had stowed it in a corner.

Lucky Strike in the corner of his mouth and hands thrust into the pockets of his ancient brown leather jacket, he sidled up to the much taller elf. Staring off in the same direction at the ball game in the street, he said quietly, "Told that little missy if she talked she lived. Kin scarcely see no good reason ta do her anyhow. So now I find muhself ruminating on just how much, if any, of a problem that is gonna be."

Ryan slowly exhales a lungful of smoke, only then turning his head to look at the human standing beside him. His emerald eyes narrow slightly as the elf considers Al's words.

"I ain't no psycho! Jus' practical."

He pauses to take another drag on his cigarette, his eyes returning to survey the street. Finally he shrugs.

"Makes no diff'rence t' me one way or the other."

Ryan pauses again, turning to face the human eye-to-eye.

"Long as she ain't been lyin' to us! And ... as long as you're sure she ain't gonna be a problem in the future!"

The little man breathed a sigh of inward relief - getting a job done needed friends, not enemies.

"Amigo, if she's lyin', I won't stand inna way o' yer retributionalizin'. As for bein' shore about the future, hell, ain't no man shore 'bout five minutes from now. But there's some folk, killin's the best investment inna future. Fer others, though, it just invites more trouble on down the road. I reckon if we do our jobs right on this deal, then both o' these fillies'll fall inta the latter category."

The elf takes another drag on the cigarette, nodding as he breathes the smoke out in a long sigh.

"Fair 'nough."

Ryan once again lets his eyes rove along the street, more out of habit than for any other reason. He is pretty sure that the neighborhood denizens would serve as a decent enough alarm system if the need arises. Taking one last drag on the smoke before flicking the butt toward the street, the elf continues on without looking at Al.

"What about the other slitch?"

Pesto looks up when Al walks into the room and nods his head when given the information to search on. The orc then fires up his browse program and starts to search through the matrix looking for any references to Mickey sounds-like-Klavikov and any connections to the Vory.

"Well, I ain't hardly talked ta her none yet," the little man replied. "But if'n she's a pro, she'll have no reason ta come after us if we shut this here poison bizniss down like we's s'pposed ta. An' if'n she's connected ta the Vors, which ah'm beginnin' ta suspecticate might be the case, then hurtin' her more'n we gotta seems likely to come back 'n' bite us hard an' where it hurts."

He shrugged. "But we'll see. Pesto tryin' ta find out if alla that's the case right now."

After a short pause, he added: "She better be worth it - she took the place of the beer we wuz gon' steal, an' I am gettin' good an' parched."

Pesto
Starting with keywords as you know them, the utility slowly churns through information. You work your way through the relevancy and narrow down the search as you go. Most of the references locally come from newsfeeds and an insider's expose on the Atlantean Foundation.

"Atlantean Foundation reports successful dig in Western Africa"

"AF team 237-Alpha completes salvage operation in South Pacific"

"Foundation denies allegations of genocide and indentured service at dig site"

A partial biography of AF Team 237-Alpha gives you specific information about Mickey.



Seven members on the team, four of whom show similar educational backgrounds. The two remaining have minimal educational experience with extensive military training in Counter-Insurgency, Counter-Intel, and Demolitions. As you scan through the list, you quickly see how allegations of genocide could be quite realistic.

As information starts to turn up from the search Pesto is quite surprised with it. The orc scratches his head and starts to sort everything. Once he has a bio for the Russian he sends it over to everyone's commlink along with the following message:

"Not exactly what I was expecting to find. I wonder if Hayden was a member of this guy's team."

He then sends the rest of the info to the team.

Standing beside the heavily armed elf and scanning the screen on his commlink, Al let out a low whistle. "Now looky here," he rasped, gesturing with his comm but assuming the gunslinger was already reading the file on AR, "this here's the sorta cat even ol' Al thinks thrice about afore puttin' on his till-death-do-us-part handy list o' lifelong enemies. Smart an' mean, with meaner folk backin' 'im up. Reckon we play things perfessional with the li'l missus an' maybe, jist maybe, we don't have a whole separate headache keepin' us from walkin' away from this deal once the job's done. Natcherly we do what we gotta do, but ain't no reason nohow ta do anything we ain't gotta do."

Satisfied with is infallible logic construction, the future simstar headed back into the church.

Thanking the ork for the job well done, he listened idly as the larger members of the team discussed ways to extract data from dear Hayden's head. But the fact was he was a people person, and he was eager to interrogationalize someone who wasn't crazy.

Gathering up his medkit, he went into the room where the naked and wounded woman was tied up and unconscious. Sitting down beside her on the tattered and mouldy carpet, he opened his medkit and took out an IV kit. Gut shots hurt like a son of a bitch, and he figured the lady would be in a lot of pain when he woke her up. His plan was to start her off on a decent morphine drip before she came to, then if he didn't like the direction of the conversation, he'd see how she felt about him turning it off.

Once he had it set up, though, memories of Phnom Penh started creeping in around the edges. He knew from experience that pain could piss some types off enough to shut them up, rather than loosen their tongues. Not to mention she was a lady. In the end, he decided not to start the drip at all - let he wake up in agony, that part she'd done brought on herself - then if she played nice, he'd surprise her with the painkiller.

That way he could be the nice guy, not the bad guy. Sort of a good cop/bad cop all rolled into one.

He liked that.

Al

With the IV inserted and the medkit attached, you begin to watch the biomonitor readings. Sitting back and watching, you notice that her neural activity is higher than you would expect. The slackness of her body isn't from unconsciousness--rather something has cut the connection to her nervous system so that her arms and legs don't move.

A quick comparison against the medkits preset standards confirms that her brain wave patterns match someone in VR.

Well nail my balls to the outhouse door, thought Al. This one was clever indeed. His first impulse was to go over and start kicking her in the head - or better yet her stomach - to force her consciousness back to her meat, and then deal with her from there.

Instead, he saw an opportunity - he rapidly typed a message to the team on his comm. <<Bitch not out, she's under - VR under. Play it cool and intercept her signal, listen in...If she's hurting us, let me know and will shut her down. Otherwise, could be good intel.>>

Bubbles
After you filter out the noise of electronics that are unable to accept external signals, you are able to find the primary node that Hayden is using. Viral code slams against the firewall repeatedly, trying to find access into the system. It becomes obvious that the woman has not applied the latest Renraku security patch, and you push through an exploitable port. Inside, the system flashes red alerted to an intruder. No IC is immediately present.

Pesto
Localizing the signal isn't difficult due to the lack of traffic in the area. The encryption that she is running sets off warning bells in your head--this stuff floats around on shadowboards with flags of FBI and NSA attached to it. Breaking through, there are multiple tracks within the communication. It is obvious that Hayden is operating on multiple access levels with several nodes.

The first line is carrying telemetry data, a track program has secured a lock on her commlink and is giving precise GPS information. Depending on where they are coming from, response this deep into nowhere could take fifteen minutes to an hour. From the time that the track completed...

Video and sound data is carried on line two. You are able to spin off a small section and run it through a video imaging utility. It looks to be Bar Krutenau with her voice laid over the visuals. She is giving an after-action report from the sounds of it, identifying at least three hostiles.

Line three is data file transmission.