January 1
Index
00:00:01 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Blaze's Doss
Happy new year, who do they think they're kidding; the only ones who are happy are the fragging corporate monsters whose joy and happiness comes at our expense. Sitting back in his chair, Blaze clicked off the Trid. The only thing we still have to be happy about is that we're alive, and when the news reports the destruction of yet another of the corporate buildings. Ok, well, that was a waste of several hours of my life. With that thought, he walked into the bedroom of his cramped apartment and went to sleep, the explosion that ended his first life replaying over and over again in his mind.
The next morning the early rise of the sun played across the city of Seattle. Some were still out partying but most had given up long ago and were just now waking up to the new day. Blaze was one of the latter.
Stepping out of his room Blaze began the day as he did every day, with a call to his friend and Decker Squall. "Hey, Squall, I know I ask every morning but each time I hope you'll have found someone for me to eliminate and even the score for my parents' death. You got anyone for me to put at the top of my 'to kill list'?"
Squall's monotone voice came across the static-filled and well-protected com line: "No, yet again I have found nothing specific; I know that they were working on some extremely large project for Ares but as of right now I haven't got any details, and without those I can't begin to hunt down who specifically would want them dead. I promise I am doing everything I can to help you, chummer, but it just isn't there." With that he ends the call with a loud burst of static.
Thinking to himself, Blaze begins his real day's work. Well now, with no one for me to actually hunt down, I think I need to find some employment; bills are starting to rack up. Calling up his Fixer and best friend, Blaze runs his hands over the shades that are his most valuable piece of equipment, and his only connection to his brother. I still have no idea where he is or where he got the cash to buy these things, or why he hasn't contacted me for real, and any number of other things that I don't know. It'll have to wait, I guess, but maybe if I can find him he'll have more information on our parents. As the phone rings on the other end, Blaze shrugs on his red longcoat and slides the shades over the bridge of his nose.
Picking up on the other end Max is alert as usual. "Blaze, it's good to see you, what is the cause of your call this morning? I know you, when you have those blasted glasses on you're planning something, and usually something that involves vast amounts of death and destruction."
Shaking his head slowly Blaze simply shrugs, "Well, that's pretty much what I'm looking for, you got any word about jobs that I might be able to do? If you don't, just put your feelers out. Don't look that way, I know you've got more connections then a mobster, heck, you've likely got more that I don't know about than one of those crazy spiders." Looking around his home Blaze let his mind wander, thinking about his brother and family. Where is he? If only I had some clue other than these shades I could try and track him down, or if he could give me something else to connect us, but no, he's going to help but stay out of my life. I will say this though, it is only because of him and that note that I didn't lose it that week and go completely postal. He reminded me of Leopard's teachings; and that while I have a noble goal and will do everything to fulfill it, losing my life won't help.
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00:01 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Jonesy's Apartment, Tacoma
In a middle-class neighborhood of Tacoma, Jonesy halfheartedly raises a champagne glass in a toast to this dark city. "Here's to another lonely year. But hey, at least we have each other, huh?" he says to the black cat lying on the floor at his feet. In response, the cat starts purring and rubbing against his ankles. "Oh, time for your new year's treat too, isn't it?" He sprinkles some catnip on the cat.
The Lord happily rolls around in this herbal treasure, basking in the rush of endorphins that always accompanies a good hit of catnip. He didn't really understand how humans decided when one year ended and the next began, but he now understood that he got catnip when it happened. He had only experienced one new year's eve before, and he had been too young to remember it. All he remembered from that far back was Miriam, the nice old lady who had owned him until she died of natural causes.
"I think my new year's resolution will be to try and meet more women," Jonesy says. "How about you? I don't suppose you feel like making a resolution? Get some exercise, cut down on the catnip habit, be nicer to dogs?"
The Lord cocked his head in puzzlement. Why would I want to go out of my way to get sore muscles? Why would I want to use less catnip? And I am nice to dogs; I play around with them all the time.
Jonesy laughs at his puzzled expression. "Yeah, you think you're perfect just the way you are, huh? Well, nobody's perfect, but you're good enough for me." He picks The Lord up and carries him into the bedroom. Jonesy gets into bed, The Lord snuggled against his chest, and the two of them fall asleep.
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00:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - An abandoned warehouse in the Redmond Barrens
Meanwhile, deep in the Redmond Barrens, Cao Jaan huddles under the mostly intact roof of a warehouse with a group of similarly desperate looking souls near a trash can full of burning rubbish. Some of the dregs of humanity that surround him have blankets, some don't, but all sit in silence listening to what they can make out of the radio broadcast. The silence lends the scene a feeling of desparation, rather than rapt attention.
As Jaan sits, holding the antenna to try to improve the reception, the ageing radio receiver crackles out the Governor's message as best it can:
"Let this year be a prosperous one for
With that, Jaan seemed to find a good position at last:
"I'm proud and honored to be mayor of such a fine city, and you should all be thrilled ..."
The sound of three T-Birds passing somewhere above, no doubt heading for one of the toxic castles somewhere in the area, drowned out the rest of the speech.
Thrilled, to be sure. Thank you for your patchy speech, Governor.
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00:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Klaus' doss, Tacoma
Stay tuned, for the highlights from 2062!
Klaus smiles as he flips off the trideo. He finishes his Sapporo. "Who would have thought the Japanese could make such a good beer?" he asks himself.
His first year in Seattle was eventful, but the end was OK. Finding a kidnapped little girl, and earning two thousand nuyen in the process on the morning of New Year's Eve, makes the end of the year seem a lot better. Making sure the freak who'd taken her wouldn't be able to chase anyone anymore made it even better. And the beer helps him not think about what happened in the two days the creep had her.
He cracks another one open, staring at the blank screen. "Here's to hoping you heal, Heather. Could have been a lot worse, I guess."
He spends a few minutes, staring at the crooked reflection the trideo screen shows him, thinking about all the bad he'd seen in the world this year, and finished his beer. A little must have splashed in his eye, because there could be no other explanation for his eyes watering like they were.
"Crying into your beer by yourself on New Year's Eve. If some one didn't know better, they'd swear you were a cop. No one else could pack that much misery into their hearts and still get up in the morning. Or, you could be nuts. You are talking to yourself."
"You aren't just talking to yourself," says the deep, soothing voice of Mother Bear. "There is good out there and you know it. You saw it inside the woman who let you into her head, on the off chance that you might be able to find her daughter. You saw it in the face of the medic who took her away. You see it in the mirror. Depression does not suit you. Go to bed."
He'd had to take two years of psychology at the Rhine Institute. It was required for Criminal Justice. He took another year because he liked it. He knew that there was a decent chance that Mother Bear was just a voice in his own head, but he didn't really care. She was always right, and she could make him feel better when he was down. If that's a figment of his imagination, it sure beat the hell out of reality.
Dumping the remaining beer in the sink, Klaus brushes his teeth and goes to bed.
In the morning, with 1100 nuyen still on his credstick, and his rent paid for the month, he figures he'll take a day off with the rest of the world. Maybe go downtown, find a nice "sportsbar", and watch what the Americans call "football". But, just in case, he makes a call to Lucy. Walking out into the street, and three blocks to the left, he slots his certified stick into the payphone, and dials Lucy's drop. After listening to the honey-smooth voice on the message, Klaus says, "Hey, Lucy, this is Klaus. I'm available for work. You've got my number. Thanks."
Hanging up, he calls Norman, being surprised when he gets an answer. "Norman, how are you? This is Klaus. Could you pick me up at home, and get me downtown? Thanks. I'll wait at the Starbucks on 12th."
He walks a couple more blocks to Starbucks, orders a triple mocha grande, grabs a screamsheet, and sits down to wait.
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01:00:00 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Somewhere in California Free State
The light was omni-present, a brilliant pure embrace that reached her even through closed eyelids. She smiled, knowing that it was the dream come to comfort her. But subtle things were wrong. The dream was always warm, always filled with a quiet shush of running water. Here was chill, goosebumps rising over her skin, and all she heard was a distant, dull hammer. Eyes still closed, she groped for the covers, a lazy half-asleep motion that froze when her hand touched smooth synthetic. Opening her eyes, she glanced around, her sleep-fogged mind attempting to reconstruct the events of the previous night. Correction: she tried to open her eyes, something sticky was gumming the lids together, and she could only make out indistinct shapes in the room. She reached up to wipe her eyes clear, realizing only too late that the same substance was also coating her hand.
As if triggered by her gesture, a deluge of water cascaded down over her in an icy bath. Her scream of surprise and shock was cut short by the natural seizing of her chest and diaphragm. Groping blindly for the edge of the bed, she flung herself over it, crashing to the cold concrete floor with enough force to bring tears to her eyes. Mercifully, though, she was out of the frigid shower. Blinking her eyes against the stinging brightness and the foul-tasting slime that dripped from her hair, she hugged her legs to her chest, trying to find some warmth.
The room revealed itself to be a small chamber, only four meters wide and eight meters long. Every surface was covered in dingy white tile, even the ceiling and floor. The near end was dominated by the bed she'd awoken on, along with a dozen unidentified pieces of electronic machinery. On the far end was a doorway, closed by an unmarked white panel. Nearby, set along the wall, was a table with several items on it.
Shivering, Cosmo lurched to her feet, holding on to the edge of the table for support. Folded neatly on the table were, in order: a plain white towel, a cotton/poly blend sports bra and panties, the gray shirt and pants of a set of form-fitting body armor, a charcoal gray blouse, black slacks, black socks, and a pair of Magnum Street Tac boots, also black. Next was a small black nylon bag which proved to have a comb, toothbrush, and toothpaste in it. Behind that was a Colt Manhunter, with two clips lying next to it. Also provided were a carbon fiber dress belt and a Milt Sparks IWB holster. But it was the last object on the table that wrapped her heart in icy fear.
The pocket secretary was the latest model from Novatech Consumer Electronics, snapped into its charging cradle. On the small screen glowed the message "Read Me First!" But what caught Cosmo's eye was the date/time stamp in the upper right hand corner: 01:00:00 / 01 January 2063.
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01:00:28 Monday, 01 January, 2063
Cosmo choked back the rush of bile as it churned up her throat, swallowing the vile-tasting stuff even when her every impulse screamed for her to let it out. The room spun for a moment before she could find her balance again, and while one trembling knee buckled, the other held fast and kept her from crashing to the floor.
01:00:30 / 01 January 206301:00:31 / 01 January 2063
01:00:32 / 01 January 2063
The lines branded themselves into her brain, shrieking all sorts of alarms though the only sound that made it past her lips was a high-pitched squeak. Cosmo's breathing quickened, her pulse raced, lending strength to her quivering frame as her quicksilver mind began to process the room, her tearfilled jade green eyes searching for any indication that she's being monitored in any way, that there is perhaps more in this room than she'd initially scanned.
A soft 'click' from somewhere near the table captures her attention, tightening every muscle in her athletic frame before she recognizes that the Colt is already in her hands and that the sound was nothing more than the faint metallic grate of the pistol's slide falling back into place. A second 'click' finds the Manhunter's heavy clip inserted into butt of the weapon with a reassuring finality. Cosmo lets out a long, slow breath, both to rein in her Chi as well as to expel the last of her uncontrolled panic. The indrawn breath is slower still as the woman finds her centre.
Wet strands of impossibly tangled hair fall over pale shoulders as she leans forward to check this new message, the comforting weight of the pistol in her right hand anchoring her in a situation that was rapidly spinning out of control.
From this moment on, time would be against her.
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01:01:40 Monday, 01 January, 2063
Dust and grime form a heavy layer on the floor of the room, the only clean surfaces of which are the table with gear and the bed which you awoke on. No monitoring devices are present in the room: no cameras in the corners, no ultrasound motion detectors, no pressure pads on the floor, nothing. The machinery, humming idly, may be connected to an external monitor, though.
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01:01:41 Monday, 01 January, 2063
Satisfied that she was clear for the moment, Cosmo brought the muzzle of her pistol down, focusing more intently on the P sec's screen as it loaded.
01:01:42 / 01 January 206301:01:43 / 01 January 2063
Nearly a minute now ...
She grabs for the neatly folded towel, curious as to how it's remained so pristine when the rest of the room is slippery with grime. Panic nearly overwhelms her again as some of the sickly sweet-smelling goop runs down the small of her back and it would be impossible to tell which was gripped more fiercely, the Manhunter in her right hand or the towel in her left as it was viciously scrubbed against every inch of skin within reach.
The screen went blank, finally ready to load.
It's about bloody time....
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01:01:45 Monday, 01 January, 2063
The screen blanks to a neutral gray before lines of text scroll across it.
Good morning, Megan Richards.
- Get dressed.
- Exit storage chamber.
- Locate vehicle.
- Follow instructions inside.
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01:02:20 Monday, 01 January, 2063
Cosmo refused to stop scrubbing until every bit of her skin glowed bright pink, the last traces of whatever were left to gum up the less than pristine towel. Careful to avoid touching the table with anything but the backs of her hands, she dons each article of clothing with rapid precision, pulling on socks, underwear, form-fitting armor, and pants in record time. The bra and blouse, already fastened, take even less.
Slow, deep breaths punctuated every series of movements until something as simple as dressing in a hurry became more and more like a kata, each movement flowing into the next. Cosmo knew that there was no point in taking her time with this, too much time had already been wasted. A quick glance at the p-sec confirmed her suspicions:
01:02:38 / Monday 01 January 2063Damn. Moving more rapidly, she fastens the belt, adjusting her IWB holster to fit in the considerable curve of her hip, just slightly to the rear on her right side. Laces tied. She loses herself in the routine of dressing, finally rubbing her sodden hair in the towel to get as much of the gunk as possible before pulling the overlong, tangled mess into a tight knot at the nape of her neck.
01:02:50 / Monday 01 January 2063With a low growl, Cosmo drops the spare clip into her pocket, resolves to brush her teeth as soon as possible, and thrusts the dirty towel and pocket secretary into the nylon duffel with just enough time to free her hand before the zipper slides home. A few long strides leave her at the door, considering the plain white panel and how to get out of this "storage chamber." Her new name was merely another thing to dissect. Later.
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01:03:01 Monday, 01 January, 2063
The doorway is closed by a plain panel, colored the same dingy white as the rest of the room. It appears to be plastic sheeting over a heavier core, with no latch or locking mechanism. As Cosmo stands there, the door slides open with a hiss, revealing a narrow hallway that opens into a small alcove after only five meters. The alcove itself is open to the night, a faint sliver of orange-lit skyline visible to the right. Sitting on a makeshift chair in the alcove is a young man, perhaps mid-twenties, wearing a stylish, if unadorned, pair of gray slacks, a dark crimson hi-collar shirt, and a gray long coat. His boots, though, are the same style as what Cosmo wears herself.
He looks up as the door opens, a smile appearing on his face. Closing the folding knife he'd been using to clean his nails with, he stands.
"Ah, awake I see. I thought I'd heard something from inside. Not looking too worse for wear. Here."
He offers the knife, a slim Benchmade model with a scaled micarta handle. It fits Cosmo's hand like it was made for it.
"Oh, and these as well. You've got the red BMW out there." He holds out a set of keys, a lasercut car key and thin maglock passkey. He smiles. "Good luck."
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01:03:48 Monday, 01 January, 2063
The tip of her knife flickers upwards, deftly slipping between the young man's sixth and seventh ribs, sliding the top quarter of the slender blade into his lung as easily as a warm knife through Jell-O.
Too worse for wear?
She watched the life drain from his eyes with no expression of her own; she was an instrument ... nothing more. As he slumped back into his makeshift chair with a sigh, the forbidding woman in grey carefully pulled the blade free, directing the flow of his life's blood downwards, watching the crimson hi-collar shirt turn nearly black with a morbid sort of detachment ...
...
Cosmo's fingers twitch around the knife's handle as she admires its keen edge, her vivid green eyes widening ever so slightly as she can fairly smell his blood once the waking dream subsides. The tip of her knife flickers downwards, nestling firmly within its guard as she flips the blade shut. A sultry smile tips one side of her mouth as she leans forward to slide the knife into the top of her boot, her gaze trailing across his shirt, belt, pants, and finally to his own boots while she secures her second weapon.
She straightens slowly, taking even more time as her gaze lifts almost casually to meet his own. Her widening smile leaves no doubt as to her conclusion.
"Red BMW, hmm?"
A subtle shift in pitch warms her voice, its silky tone turns caressing as she steps forward.
"Hardly seems standard issue ..."
Slim, tapered fingers brush against his as she reaches for the dangling key chain. One blonde eyebrow lifts artfully as she takes in every ridge and plane of his face ... commits it all to memory ... Cosmo shudders as if struck by the sudden intensity of what she finds there. The tip of her nails slide lightly down the lapel of his long coat.
"But what does a girl have to do to get a coat like that?"
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01:04:01 Monday, 01 January, 2063
Closer, the details of his face concealed by the shadows reveal themselves. His eyes are cold and hard, a synthetic icy blue. The replacements are very high quality, as is the implant surgery: no fine cut lines around the sockets, no abnormal smoothness of the skin, no scarring. The planes of his face are cold and unforgiving, and despite his relaxed nature and the smile he wears, a tension fills his body, like the pressure on a trigger spring just before it trips the sear.
He carries a weapon, most likely a heavy pistol, in a holster just behind his right hip.
His hand, when you touch it, is hard with callous and scar tissue. He chuckles, a low, vicious sound.
"Don't ask me about issue, I wasn't the one who set this up. I'm just the watchdog. But if you're wanting to get into my clothes, I'm sure we could come to some arrangement."
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01:04:56 Monday, 01 January, 2063
"Well, Watchdog."
Cosmo smiles in spite of the well-dressed brute's callous reply, her fingers lingering for a few moments longer before she pulls the keychain away.
"It seems as though you've performed," an eyebrow arches as she wonders if he'd visited her while she was unconscious, "admirably. Perhaps if there was more time ... or ... "
Shrugging lightly, she gives his lapel a quick tug as if to adjust the material, testing his balance and training (among other things) under the cover of bringing his ear somewhat closer.
" .. if you could tell me who put you here .. "
Her voice drops to the barest whisper.
" .. how long you've been here, all alone .. "
Where I can find a decent hairbrush ...
"... or anything from my dossier I might find ... intruiging ... and I promise I’ll make it worth your while."
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01:05:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063
Pulling at his lapel reminds you of pulling at the pin of a grenade: the resistance you feel is inertia and the slight shift of his body, lowering his center of gravity. Once you overcome that inertia, though, the results will be just as deadly. You know he won't apply force directly against you, though, should you decide to apply more strength. He will simply slide forward, jamming his off hand up into your floating ribs while bringing his right over to attempt the jointlock. It's exactly what you would do were the roles reversed.
"Sorry, Sleeping Beauty, I've been given no information for you. The terms and conditions of my employment are protected by client/operator priviledge. You'll have to ask them in person, if you ever happen to cross paths."
He pauses, as if to savor the taste of your offer, and a wry, dangerous smile twists his lips.
"In this business, it's invariably fatal to trust anything anyone says, and that goes double for beautiful women. But, I would be lying if I said your offer didn't tempt me."
A slim white business card appears in his left hand.
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01:05:48 Monday, 01 January, 2063
The corners of Cosmo's lips twitch up in a more genuine smile as she considers the prospect of a bit of sparring. Nothing heavy of course, just a bit of exercise after such a long ... sleep? Her expressive eyes mirror this sudden shift in interest for a few moments before lowering to glance at the white card in his hand.
Arching an eyebrow, she takes the card, scanning what's written there with no small amount of curiosity.
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01:05:01 Monday, 01 January, 2063
Printed in a plain block font on the business card is an LTG number, the prefix indicates it's a Cal Free State number.
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01:05:03 Monday, 01 January, 2063
Slipping the card into her left back pocket with a soft, sultry chuckle, Cosmo smiles dazzlingly and gives him a bit of a wink.
"Mmmm, you can trust me on this one, Watchdog. If you can tell me something ... worthwhile ... I can assure you ..."
She glances meaningfully into his lifeless icy eyes.
"You will not be disappointed."
With nothing more than a coy nibble at her lower lip, Cosmo turns on her heel, striding towards the red BMW, keycard in hand, walking as slowly as her agenda would allow.
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01:06:21 Monday, 01 January, 2063
The BMW Coupe shows the new, aggressive lines of the 2064 models, the dark metallic paint glowing wetly beneath the streetlight. The interior is a masterwork of black and gray ergonomic engineering. Dashboard instrumentation glows to life as the vehicle's engine starts with a throaty growl. Tucked into the sleeve on the back of the driver's side sunshade is a business card for Il Grano Italian Ristorante, 11359 Santa Monica Blvd., West Los Angeles, CFS. The name printed on the back reads Drago.
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01:06:48 Monday, 01 January, 2063
Sighing a little as she sinks into the stylish interior of the coupe, Cosmo glares at the back of the business card and the name printed there, just barely able to suppress the urge to roll her eyes.
This is getting bloody irritating. If someone doesn't hurry up and tell me what the HELL is going on, I'll ...
Her growl is nearly as low as the gentle purr of her car as she dials the onboard computer, her deft fingers flying across menu after menu until she's called up several maps of Los Angeles and the surrounding area. If the skyline off in the distance was LA, she could be a few hours away from learning what had happened to her year; if it wasn't ... then at least she'd have a chance to see what this baby can do.
The seatbelt slides home with a 'click' only seconds before she feeds the car a little gas, her glare turning to a look of pure, unemotional focus, and then as the radio kicks in, the beginnings of a smile lighting everything but the determined set of her shoulders.
Bloody bastards.
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01:07:10 Monday, 01 January, 2063
Caska watched the taillights of the red BMW disappear into the night.
"Hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go," he murmured to himself, his smile widening in response to the memory of the languid slide of Cosmo's hips. Pulling out his pocket secretary, he routed a call to the contact number provided at the onset of this job. After several seconds, the stand-by call icon was replaced by a green connected icon.
"It's me. Yes, she's left. You know, if I'd have known she was going to be so hot I would have brought some flowers or something. Whatever. Go ahead. That's it? Easiest nuyen I've ever made. If you've got another task that pays as well, you know how to get in touch with me."
Disconnecting from the call, Caska verified that his fee had been transferred to the disposable account he'd set up for this little job. Smiling, he tucked the p-sec back into his pocket and strode around back to where his car was parked. Reaching into the trunk, he withdrew a small dufflebag. Unzipping the top, he carefully withdrew a fifteen centimeter nylon lanyard from within before closing the bag up again. The pull tab dangled from the duffle like a tail. Moving around to the front of the building again, he glanced around carefully. Then, with a sharp yank he pulled the lanyard free before tossing the duffle into the room. It fell to the floor with a dull thud and slid towards the rear wall. Hustling back to his car, he slid into the driver's side and accelerated into the night.
Seconds later, the satchel charge converted the bed, table, room, and most of the building itself into smoke and rubble.
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01:41:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
The vast river of concrete called Interstate 10 cuts through the middle of Los Angeles, carving through the industrial outlands east of the valley before diving down through the scenic hills of Riverside. From there, it wound through the heart of the city, flanked on either side by towering sentinels of glass and ferroconcrete. The 10 was always busy, always thronged with traffic. Tonight was no different.
Cosmo wove through traffic, threading the BMW through a gap between a pair of Nightskies just large enough for the car. The vehicle's on-board AI was built for racing, all of the standard safety lockouts found on civilian vehicles were disabled. It responded instantly to her power demands, shifting gears in flawless synchrony. Cutting over two lanes, she took the offramp to the 405 North. The BMW snarled out of the tight turn still at 130 kph. She hung in the right lane, though, coming off the throttle to pace the slower traffic. Santa Monica Boulevard was the next exit.
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01:42:58 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
The chest-pounding beat of the classic dance hall music she favored set the insides of the sleek coupe to vibrating as she cruised from the 405 to Santa Monica Boulevard, the tips of her fingers drumming softly against the steering wheel in time to her little 'car dance.' Knowing better than to sing along, Cosmo focuses instead on looking for a good place to pull over before meeting this Drago fellow.
A multi-level parking garage off to her right catches her eye, most likely due to the fact that it's sporting only half as much lighting as any other building so far. The coupe yields to the slightest shift of her foot, slowing just enough to make the turn into the parking complex, navigate to one of the darker sections on the third level, and slide to a stop in the most likely spot to avoid any possible surveillance. She depresses the trunk release button and slides out of the purring vehicle, nylon bag in hand, curious to see if the new BMWs had any standard materials worth using. Her breath caught at what she saw there.
Carry-on bag, hard-sided duffel ... both black, both full ... grapple gun .. stealth line ... black aluminum attaché case ... urban camo jumpsuit ....
Cosmo's eyebrows climb higher and higher as each new item is revealed though her jaw drops at what's strapped to the trunk's lid, a faint sense of dread coiling within the pit of her stomach.
Ares Alpha ... SPAS 22 ... but, no one knew about those.
Eyes wide, she checks the larger duffel, finding still more of her standard gear selections, each either folded neatly or assigned to a hard-sided case within the bag itself. Whoever set this up knew a good deal about her .. more than she found reasonably comfortable. She considered the armored vest and long coat, along with the SPAS within arm's reach, sighed, and shook her head, her hand moving finally to the smaller carry-on bag.
Clothes, finally.
She smiled as only a true clotheshorse could, breathing an audible sigh of relief that she would not have to walk into a four star restaurant in what she was wearing. Trembling fingers trailed lovingly over imported silks and cashmeres, fine cottons and the softest satins. Platinum, white gold, and silver, they were all here ... only three pairs of heels ... but she could work with that. The inclusion of stockings and garters caught her up short for a moment, especially once she realized that no additional hoisery had been provided. Cosmo rolled her eyes. Clearly, the man liked black ... and ... knew her size. She frowned, first tilting a shiny black stiletto towards the light and then a satin brassiere.
Uncanny ...
Resolving to consider this in more detail at a later time (the restaurant was only open until three, after all), she places the items within the smaller bag, already considering what looked to be a disguise kit tucked away in one corner of the trunk ...
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01:51:17 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
A coolly intimidating woman strides out of the parking garage, clothed from head to toe in black, though the garnet lining of her overcoat flashes in the harsh flourescent glow of the Boulevard's streetlights from time to time. Sleek auburn hair with a dramatic left part frames a face that can only be counted as striking, with dark chestnut-hued eyes and vivid red lips.
Cosmo approaches the restaurant at a brisk pace, the heels of her four-inch stilettos 'click'ing ominously on the sidewalk, a pair of lightly tinted silver sunglasses masking her deadly glare.
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01:52:47 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Il Grano sits back from the busy lanes of Santa Monica Boulevard, screened from the passing traffic by a rank of low hedges. The building's facade is that of an old world Italian villa: washed stone walls topped by brick and terra cotta tile. Torches gleam from within the courtyard leading up to the front doors. In the summertime, the courtyard would host a dozen tables of diners, the smell of garlic and bolognese sauce drifting out across the parking lot. Now, though, only the wintery west wind blows, and the yard is empty save for a pair of uniformed valets. The two stare openly as Cosmo passes, duties momentarily forgotten. A group of four men exiting the restaurant pauses to hold the door for her, conversation halting mid-sentance. The Maitre d', a distinguished looking older Italian gentleman in a severe black suit, looks up at the sound of her approach. He smiles, as if he were delighted to see her, coming out from behind his podium and greeting her with a small bow.
"Ah, buona sera, signora. You are luminous tonight. Signor Drago is waiting for you. Prego."
The Maitre d' turns, ushering Cosmo past with his open hand. He leads her to the right, past the large mahogany bar with its gleaming brass rail, into the heart of the restaurant. The downtown skyline is breathtaking through the floor to ceiling windows at the back of the room, while the walls to either side are painted in frescoes depicting a rural countryside. The corner table he takes her to is occupied by a middle-aged Italian man dressed casually in a gray sport coat and tie. A battered Novatech Quantum data display unit is pushed to the side, making way for a large plate of bruschetta. Standing where she is, Cosmo is able to smell the heady mix of garlic, olive oil, and basil covering the fresh roma tomatos. The man rises as the two approach, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin. He smiles, something of a world-weary gesture, and motions to the open seat.
"Buona sera, Ms. Richards. My name is Celestino Drago. I've been expecting you."
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01:54:31 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Smiling over her shoulder at the attendant Maitre d', Cosmo murmurs a soft "grazie" as she glides towards the chair, removing the pale glasses as well as the longcoat which had remained fastened until now.
"Signor Drago, buona sera."
Her tone was amused, even friendly, as she regarded the aging man across the table.
"Words cannot express how I have looked forward to this meeting."
Her smile widens slightly as the coat falls from her shoulders, revealing an immaculately-tailored suit, designer of course, and cut to fit her tall frame to perfection. The Midnight-black silk, sans blouse, stands out in stark contrast against her smoothly pale skin and is offset by the single platinum chain hanging within her breathtakingly displayed cleavage.
She slips into the offered chair, curious to see what it is Signor Drago requires from her, exactly ...
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01:54:48 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
"Prego, signora, call me Tino. Everyone else does. I must say that my client did not adequetly describe your beauty to me. Would you care for something to eat? Some wine perhaps? It's just the house merlot, but I like the taste."
He gestures with his left hand to the half-full bottle on the table. The back of his hand is ridged with burn scars in a distinctive pattern: the forward heat shield on an Ingram Valiant LMG.
"I know you must have a thousand questions for me, however, I do not have a thousand answers for you. I will tell you all that I know, though. I was contacted by a client, someone unknown to me. It's not unusual given the business that I'm in. It was a virtual meeting, the face that he wore could have been real, it could have been completly fictional. Again, it is not unusual for my clients to desire anonymity. What was unusual was how well informed this client was, he seemed to know quite a bit about my business, my operating procedures, and the general capabilities of my organization. He explained that a woman would come to see me tonight, after midnight. He said that you may be a little disoriented, that you might ask some strange questions. I was to do my best to answer them, and to provide you with this."
Drago slides a thin, black plastic binder across the table.
"For this task, I was paid a handsome sum, far more than was necessary to secure my services. Your employer, whomever he is, has access to impressive resources. I don't suppose you would care to enlighten me as to just who it is that I may be working for?"
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01:58:05 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
I'll kill him.
Cosmo wasn't startled by the sheer vehemence of that thought, much less by the utter conviction with which she thought it. Rather, she seemed to relish the possibility of beating this faceless stranger into a fine red mist.
Some of her murderous intent must have bled into her expression, judging from the look Tino was giving her and while she might not have cared one way or another, her training was too good to let such a thing pass. She affected a charming smile and made a point of relaxing within the roomy chair.
"Tino, then, but only if you will call me Meg."
She sighed softly, idly tracing one finger across the top of the slim binder.
"If I knew, Tino I would certainly enlighten you, but maybe we can help each other. I can confirm his resources, yes, as well as his sources since he seems to know a good deal about me. This is where my information falls short, however, since you have spoken with him and I have not. Perhaps this is not a safe place for him? Perhaps he is not yet prepared to reveal himself? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps ..."
Trailing off, Cosmo shrugs lightly, showing only a sliver of how confused she truly was.
"You have met with him. What sort of face did he wear for you? What sort of questions did he indicate I would be asking? Can you tell me how you were contacted? How you came to receive the binder? Tino, anything you can offer would be a tremendous help."
She smiled a bit more broadly though her expressive, imploring eyes remained fixed on his.
"Some wine would be lovely, and if you don't mind sharing that bruschetta ... I feel like I haven't eaten in years ..."
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01:58:39 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Lost Angeles, CFS
"Of course, please, help yourself." Drago poured the wine as he spoke, his eyes breaking away from Cosmo's intense scrutiny.
"My client contacted me originally through one of the many electronic drop boxes I use, leaving only an LTG number and a time to conduct the virtual meeting at. He appeared as a well dressed individual of caucasian descent, rather plain looking to tell the truth. Brown hair, brown eyes, fake tan, manicured nails, polished wingtips, and a plain suit and tie. Our conversation was brief and to the point, strictly business. The entire meeting didn't last longer than fifteen minutes. The folder I received two days later by commercial courier."
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01:59:49 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo masked her disappointed frown by raising the generously-filled glass of wine to her lips and inhaling the heady bouquet.
It could be anyone ...
"Would you excuse me a moment, Tino?"
Setting the glass aside with a carefully impassive expression, she rises from the table, purse and binder in hand, and glides off in search of a powder room. Perhaps not the most graceful exit, but she had yet to receive an answer that shed any light on her situation. Glancing at her watch, she sighed.
Two hours awake, now .. am I any farther ahead?
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02:01:05 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
The restroom facilities are chrome and marble, the modern design at odds with the old world ambiance effused by the rest of the building. Style and class, though, are clearly not lacking in any aspect of this business. Cosmo finds herself alone, with just the barest hint of classical music drifting down from the overhead speakers.
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02:01:05 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Locking the door behind her, Cosmo sets her bag down and finds a place to sit. Resting the slim black binder on her lap, she begins to leaf through its contents, keeping careful note of the time so as not to keep Tino waiting overlong.
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02:06:22 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
The first five pages are surveillance photographs, high quality color digital images of a five story building showing all sides, along with the roof. The next two pages are folded blueprints, presumably floorplans of the building in question. They're labeled as ground and first floor. The last page is simple typed text, a list of five serial numbers followed by a latitude and longitude. An OMC tucked into the back flap of the folder is presumably all of the documents in electronic format.
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02:06:43 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
FTL Matrixware?
Cosmo zoomed in on the image on the side of the building, confirming that she was, in fact, correct. Hardware, software, business infrastructure ... She closed the binder with a frown.
The incongruity of this whole mess dragged at her like a lead weight. If all he wanted was what was attached to those serial numbers, why go to all this effort? She wasn’t quite vain enough to assume that this was all for her benefit, that these little games were an overly-elaborate means of putting her in her place. The black stockings kept coming back to her .. there was a clue there, of course, but not one that made any sense to her as yet.
She felt naked. Someone seemed to know all there was to know about her .. but gave nothing in return besides a wordless riddle.
Letting out a bit of a sigh, she straightened her shoulders and rose, grabbing purse and binder, and headed back towards Tino's table, her own smile turning somewhat world-weary.
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02:08:28 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Lost Angeles, CFS
Drago looks up at Cosmo's approach.
"You look troubled, signora, is there anything I can do to help?"
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02:08:31 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
"Troubled?"
Cosmo sinks back into her chair, a slightly bemused smile playing across her lips as she studies Drago from across the table.
"You trust too quickly, girl."
A voice from her past, veiled in obscurity, reminds her to keep her head, even (or maybe especially) at a time like this. She sighs and shakes her head. "Perhaps, though it's nothing a few days' rest won't fix." The lie falls easily from her lips. "Are you certain he told you nothing else? Gave you nothing else?"
It was difficult to mask the frustration in her voice. On any other night, this could have been a relaxing, congenial dinner with a charming man, instead, she sat across from a person she could not open up to, unable to touch food or wine for fear that neither would sit well.
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02:09:11 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Drago spreads his hands out before him palms up, then flips them palms down, then palms up. It's a quaint gesture, and certainly more expressive than a simple shrug.
"You know all that I know, signora."
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02:09:28 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Her smile softened at the Italian's gesture.
"Ahh, grazie, Signor. It was just wishful thinking and you have already been a tremendous help."
A dimple peeks out of one cheek as she lifts her glass of wine, swirls the stuff around, and takes a small sip. Upset stomach or not, there was no point letting all this good food, and company for that matter, go to waste. She slips effortlessly into Italian for the remainder of their 'meeting,' allowing conversation to go where it will, and answering as honestly as she is able.
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02:37:42 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
"... and it was at the bottom of the pool the entire time."
Cosmo chuckled, her slight wink indicating that the amusing story was over. Her grasp of the language might not be perfect (which was worth a few laughs in and of itself), but her intonation and pronunciation were near flawless. After a quick nibble at the slice of bruschetta in front of her, she regards him somewhat seriously.
"Say, Tino ... do these numbers mean anything to you?"
Opening the binder to the page with the list of five serial numbers, she slides it towards him and smiles, hoping they'll make sense to him, at least.
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02:37:55 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Drago chuckles heartily, his face wide and smiling at Cosmo's tale.
"Ah, signora! Such stories you tell."
Her request, though, brings him instantly sober, and he turns to the data display unit sitting neglected on the table. The matrix search takes only minutes, but is punctuated by harsh, half-muttered curses. Drago pokes the keyboard with thick fingers, glaring at the screen every time the machine takes longer to deliver the information than he wants. The eventual result elicits a grunt and a raised eyebrow. He turns the unit so that Cosmo can read the text displayed.
"Looks like your employer is a bit of a tech-head."
4CX1Q21-4327E: server controller, 6 port, configurable, pack of 4
EW780B5-0210P: optical memory storage deck, RW-R, 5000 Mp capacity, pack of 10
7HK1950-1974J: FICON express 990 superscalar processors, pack of 6
8LP1011-H60B: blade RAM, optical, 1000Mp capacity, pack of 8
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02:40:08 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo frowns at the screen and the lines of text that mean next to nothing to her.
"So it would seem. Thank you for looking these up for me .. are products like these difficult to come by? And Signor, there are only four lines here ..."
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02:40:33 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
"Eh? Oh." Drago gives the display unit a healthy slap, after which it obediently throws up the final line of text.
6XU4263-92C3: rack power supply, 220V, 600W, 80A, air-cooled, pack of five"Hmm. No, not difficult, just expensive. This list here represents about seventy-five thousand nuyen worth of electronic components."
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02:40:47 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Sipping at her second glass of wine, Cosmo nods slowly.
This is getting ridiculous .. only 75 thousand? The car alone is easily worth that .. with all the other gear, double what he's asking me to find. Why?
"Molte grazie, Tino." She winks. "Since I'll be in the neighbourhood, is there anything similar I can pick up for you while I'm there?"
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02:41:14 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Drago chuckles, sipping from his own wineglass and patting the ancient data unit in front of him with affection.
"Prego, no, I'm afraid that when it comes to all of this new technology I'm at a loss."
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02:42:03 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Laughing softly, Cosmo pops the last bit of bruschetta into her mouth and sighs delightedly at the marvelous blend of crusty bread, savory tomatoes, garlic, basil, and fine olive oil. With a whispered sigh of "bellissima," she takes a moment to savor the last of her wine before grinning over at Drago.
"I understand, though I'll be in touch should you change your mind. Now," she dabs delicately at the corners of her lips with the linen napkin, "would you be able to recommend a quiet place a girl can stay for a few days?"
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02:42:40 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
"I believe you will find the Trade Winds Hotel on Madison Lake Avenue to be of your liking. It is not too far from here, only ten minutes down the 10."
Drago rummages through the inner pocket on his coat for a moment before withdrawing a business card and offering it to Cosmo.
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02:43:18 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS (p.20)
Cosmo had saved her best smile, a truly stunning display of pearly white teeth and devastating dimples, for last.
"Grazie, Tino, you are the best." Rising gracefully from her seat, she leans forward and places a feathersoft kiss on each of the startled Italian's cheeks.
"Buona sera, we will talk soon."
Her eyes light mischeviously for a moment as she glances over one shoulder and then back at Drago.
"And feel free to tell your friends that I will be back tomorrow for an afternoon espresso."
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02:44:20 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Outside, it has started to rain. The two valets huddle beneath the umbrella over their stand, watching as Cosmo exits the restaurant.
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02:44:20 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo sighs a little bit as she steps outside, winks at the valets, and turns up the collar of her jacket to keep most of the rain from dripping down her neck.
Go figure.
Her smile vanishes from the moment she exits Il Grano's courtyard, turning instead to more of a bemused frown as she begins to piece together her findings from the last few hours and finds very little that actually makes sense.
...
The parking garage was even less populated than it was an hour ago, much to Cosmo's relief, with very few vehicles between the first and third levels. She sighs, slips into the sporty red coupe, and starts the engine, eager to get on with her surveillance of the Trade Winds Hotel before the hour became truly ridiculous. The full-spectrum glasses she'd found in the trunk of her car were an upgrade to her favourite piece of equipment, and as she adjusted the frames to fit her face and connected the thin, nearly invisible cable to the platinum-toned datajack behind her left ear, she couldn't help but check her reflection in the rear-view mirror.
Sure, the ten-minute drive up the ten would stretch into at least three times that long, but once she was finished, there was the reward of a hot soak in the tub and a badly-needed manicure to keep her going just a little while longer ...
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03:11:38 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
The Trade Winds Hotel appears less than imposing from the parking lot: a faded two-storey structure, with a small office at the front followed by ranks of partially illuminated doors. The front desk is manned by a bored-looking dwarf, barely visible behind the chipped plastic counter. A trid blares from the corner of the room, one of the many twenty-four hour sports shows.
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03:46:38 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
Striding to the desk looking more like a wet rat than anything else, Cosmo gives the dwarf a tired-looking smile.
"Hoi. I'm looking for a quiet room for the week."
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03:47:12 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
The dwarf turns the credstick reader to face Cosmo without looking up.
"Five hundred nuyen for the week."
After Cosmo slots her credstick, the dwarf pushes a keycard across the counter.
"Room 18. Keep the noise down."
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03:50:28 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo spent the better part of a minute in the "front lobby" processing the place while she pretended interest in the overly-loud sportscast coming from the corner. After an initial sweep, she switches to thermographic vision, and then finally to ultrasound to complete her map of the front. The keycard flickers in a quick salute to the dwarf as she heads past the office and into the hotel proper, scanning the halls, doors, stairs, exits, and any common areas in much the same manner. Once satisfied, she slips into her room and takes even more time to secure the area.
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04:10:11 (EST) Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Crofton, Maryland, UCAS
She caught the phone on its second ring, muzzy from sleep and Merlot.
"Devlin."
"Request secure line, ma'am."
Fully awake now, Naomi pressed her thumb against the phone's reader, waiting while the unit verified the second half of the encryption algorithm coded into the subdermal chip injected into the digit. The authentication LED glowed green.
"Secure. Go."
"Priority alert via SigInt. One of the sleepers has been activated. Empress 06."
"What? Who ordered the activation?" She rolled out of bed even as she asked the question, groping on the floor for her clothes.
"Unable to determine at this time."
"What happened? Never mind, I'll be at the office in fifteen minutes. Get the team in."
She killed the connection, cutting off the acknowledgment of her order mid-syllable. Someone, somewhere had discovered the location of one of the operatives she'd put on ice two years ago. Worse, whoever it was had chosen to awaken the individual. Devlin pulled on a turtleneck over her armor. Empress 06, the last of the Spartan project's operatives. Why her? Why now?
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04:25:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
The doors were locked. Her car (carefully parked four blocks away and with easy access to several routes of egress, all programmed into the vehicle's nav computer) was wiped clean of any traces that she'd been inside. All of her equipment was secured in the room with her for now, each piece laid out precisely in front of her as she studied the surveillance photos and blueprints in the thin black binder.
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04:15:38 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
Setting down her cases, Cosmo breaks out her counter-intelligence gear. She sweeps first for anything active. Constant transmission devices were something of the past, or of low-tech snoops, but she was far too paranoid to discount them. Turning on the television, she turned up the volume to something approximating normal conversation before sweeping again. The noise should trip any of the sound-activated bugs. The only thing she couldn't sweep for were the burst transmission surveillance devices, but she would need far more sophisticated gear to detect those.
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04:28:47 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo had been staring at the contents of the binder for a solid ten minutes, studying the layout of the FTL Matrixware building, considering strategy as well as efficiency while she planned the next plausible course. It had become clear to her, also, that whomever had been monitoring her in the 'storage facility' would know she was awake and possibly only a few hours from finding her even now. The heady promise of a long, lingering bath at the end of this stage began to fade ...
Getting up with a bit of a sigh, Cosmo begins sorting her equipment, placing roughly half of it within the carry-on bag and leaving the other half, along with the MP-5 and its ammo, inside the hard-sided duffel. Once the larger bag is stowed within the room's tiny closet, she conceals her SPAS above the bathroom mirror and the Alpha between the mattresses of the filthy bed. Toothbrush and toothpaste are set in a plastic cup by the sink.
After taking a couple of minutes to change yet again, she hefts the carry-on bag, attaché case, and her disguise kit, leaving the room by way of the parking lot. Her slender frame, clothed entirely in black, seems to blend in with the half-shadows of the all but empty streets.
Time to check out the new flop ...
A bit of a smile plays around the corners of Cosmo's lips as she jingles her keychain, knowing that whatever the place was, it had to be nicer than the Trade Winds Hotel.
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04:42:19 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFS
Riverwalk Apartments turns out to be a fourteen story building nestled amidst a dozen other similar structures, well lit with a glassed in atrium and an underground parking garage. Cosmo paused in the street outside, drumming her fingers against the wheel of the BMW.
I desperately need a manicure. Apartment later, target now.
With a feral smile she gunned the engine, accelerating away into the darkness of the early morning.
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05:08:41 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Tech Sector, South Los Angeles, CFS
The FTL Matrixware building sits amidst a fenced in corporate park, eight other similar white structures circling a large central parking lot. Sodium arc lamps mounted on pylons around the site keep the area lit to a constant low light level. Otherwise the building appears identical to the surveillance stills provided in the binder.
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05:08:56 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Tech Sector, South Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo sits within the comfort of her coupe, studying the layout of the complex, analyzing the likely (if not evident) security that could get in the way of an easy grab as well as the relative speed of additional security forces. Her scan, thanks to the designer glasses perched on her nose, covers every spectrum available to her.
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05:35:24 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
The fenceline surrounding the corporate park is four meters of steel done like decorative wrought iron: square rods bent outward at the top and sharpened into spikes. Ten centimeters separate each rod. The fenceline does not appear to be electrified, but it is under camera surveillance, lexan globes mounted on the light pylons have a clear view of the entire perimeter. Entrance through the fenceline is granted via a card reader maglock, unmanned by any guards, but monitored by a pair of security cameras designed to catch both the driver's face as well as the license plate of the vehicle. The other buildings in the corporate park appear to belong to Novatech as well, a collection of offices and light industry. In this early morning hour, only twenty or so vehicles dot the large central parking area.
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05:36:06 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Hmmm, twenty-five meters to the lot. Twenty from the front space to the front entrance. Parking lot looks like ... one hundred. So, three, maybe four seconds after I jump the fence ...
Cosmo shakes her head, still watching the corporate park as though an obvious solution would simply pop out at her.
No. Novatech won't have some slob in a uniform manning their monitors. Think, girl.
She glanced into the lot again, counting the cars that likely held workers for the night shift, possibly security personnel. Her soft chuckle mingled with the soulful strummings of Miguel Sanchez and his Spanish guitar as she began assessing each of the vehicles already in the lot, waiting for a likely target to step out of the FTL building ...
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06:00:20 (EST) Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hoover Building, Federal District of Columbia, UCAS
Technically it was a holiday today, the sidewalks empty of all but snow, the streets host to just a fraction of the normal workday traffic.
If Katerina had been here, they would have celebrated late into the night, probably at some party hosted by one of her friends. She would have insisted on making him dance with her, smiling her soft, enigmatic smile and pressing her body close against him as the music swirled around them. Champagne would make her giggly, and she would fall into his arms at midnight, the kiss leaving him breathless as it always did.
But it was two months now that she was gone, empty spaces in the closet they shared that he couldn't bring himself to fill, empty spaces in the life they once shared that he couldn't bring himself to forget. With a sigh, he ran his passcard through the door, waiting as the maglock verified the digital key. Pushing his way inside, he set his attaché case on the floor before hanging his longcoat on an old-fashioned brass hook set in the wall next to the door.
His office was small by any standards, and made more so by the piles of books and hardcopy printouts strewn about. The industrial beige walls were invisible behind a layer of maps and satellite graphics, surveillance camera stills, ballistics reports, forensics files, and intelligence summaries. The only clear space in the room was, oddly enough, his desktop. Seating himself in the worn leather office chair, he leaned back to stare at the ceiling. Without looking, he reached for the interface cable wound beneath the desk, pulling the fiber optic line free from its spool. The jack on the end mated with the port installed behind his right ear, and he closed his eyes, letting the virtual workspace expand before him.
Two icons immediately highlighted themselves: voice and text messages. He cued the voice calls first, listening with half an ear as his boss wished him a happy new year, Paul asked for a lunch meeting sometime next week, and the documents office reminding him that any requested package not picked up within five working days will be refilled. He deleted them all. His mail queue, though, would require a bit more work. Warrick subscribed to quite a few avenues of intelligence gathering, none of which came in compiled, digest form. Despite the excellent nature of the agent programs he used, it would still take the better part of an hour for him to sort through the information provided, discarding the chaff from the useful intel. All of his plans stopped, though, when he opened the first message.
It contained a single image: a grainy surveillance shot taken at medium resolution, dim light, from a GridGuide camera. The date/time stamp was this early this morning, just past 0130 Pacific Standard Time. In the upper right hand corner was the camera's location, meaningless to Warrick since it was a grid reference, but he could look it up easily enough. The figure, though, was anything but meaningless. Even after two years he knew her instantly. For long moments he sat, staring at the picture of a woman he thought was dead. His agent returned with requested information: the location of the camera. Los Angeles. How appropriate. With a thought, he dispatched his agents again, moving now with a purpose.
Heading south, he passed into Virginia, stopping at a gas station outside Lake Ridge. Stepping out of the vehicle, he gazed around again, spending a full five minutes scrutinizing the area. Satisfied, he connected his pocket secretary to the payphone, waiting patiently while the encryption program ran through its algorithms. Opening up the comm interface, he places a call to the first of seven numbers.
"Ulysses. November three four five three three zero. Whiskey one one seven zero one zero zero. Twenty-four hours."
Fifteen minutes later, he was on the road again, having left the same message at all seven numbers.
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Sean Andersen yawned, rubbing his eyes as he clocked out for the night. Ordinarily the day shift would be here to pick-up operations, but today was New Year's Day. A drag to be working on the holiday, but it was double overtime.
"Happy new year, Sean." Vince waved from the security desk.
"Yeah, happy new year."
The morning sunshine was stunningly bright, even through the low haze of smoke and smog that hung over the city. Sean grumbled, pawing in his jacket pocket for his sunglasses. Once shielded from the glare, he made his way to his Americar. Sliding behind the wheel, he headed out of the parking lot. He'd make a stop at the Stuffer Shack for a smoothy before keeping his long overdue appointment with his bed.
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Well, hello there, Handsome.
Cosmo smiled, her vivid green eyes finding her mark at long last. Setting aside the p-sec with its uploaded copy of 'The SimStar and The Shadowrunner' (evidently Megan Richards was a fan of romance novels), she recorded his license plate number, stifled a yawn and brought the coupe back to life, ready to follow the Americar wherever it led. She groaned when he stopped at the Stuffer Shack, wanting nothing more than a cherry coke and a pack of her favourite berry bombs, but resolved to stay in the car, promising herself an absolute sugar binge when this was all over.
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Sitting down at Starbucks and sipping a triple mocha grande while checking out the latest news in his screamsheet, Klaus Ebert receives a phone call from Lucy.
In her clipped, abrupt English, she says, "Might know of work for you. Show up to the Auburn Center Mall in Renton. You'll be called at 1100 if you're interested and told where to go. I tell them to set it up?"
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The phone beeps, and Blaze answers it. Over the phone comes the static-filled and monotone voice of Squall.
Looks like it's a happy new year for you, chummer. I got a line on someone who said they knew your parents. It isn't much, and I don't have a whole lot to confirm it. Actually, make that pretty much nothing. They said they had proof, but you'd have to meet them in person before they'll give it to ya. Could be some real sweet info, could be drek. I can't tell at this point. I don't know if you want to go through with this, but here's an LTG number to contact them at if you're interested.
An LTG number flows across the screen. Carefully writing it down, Blaze replies, "Thanks, chummer, I appreciate it. Anything else you can tell me?"
Nope, that's all I could find for you, and even that was pretty damn hard to turn up. Thanks is good, but it don't pay the bills. Remember that. I'll let you know if I find anything else.
The static ceases as Squall cuts the line, leaving Blaze with a phone number, silence, and some unanswered questions.
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The normally forty-five minute commute took him barely thirty, the early morning streets devoid of traffic thanks to the late night holiday. Pulling up before the gate of his apartment building parking lot, Sean rubbed a hand across his face again. Slotting his keycard in the reader, he waited for the access port to crank open. Pulling in to the lot beneath the building, he parked in the assigned spot before making his way to the bank of elevators. It would be a short ride up to his third floor apartment, then a shower, and finally, bed.
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Underground parking. Of course. Damn, girl, you're rusty today.
With a sigh that came out as more of a grunt, Cosmo parks the car across the street and down about half a block, watching from the corner of one eye as her mark waited for the garage to open. She hurries towards the apartment complex, hoping to intercept him at the elevator.
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The front doors to the lobby are locked with a passkey reader. A small speaker panel next to the lock features a digital screen with a list of apartment numbers and a small call button. Barely visible through the shaded windows of the lobby front doors is Sean as he waits for his elevator, leaning tiredly against the wall.
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Lightly gloved knuckles rap against the locked door as she tries to catch the young man's attention, affecting her friendliest smile but with a hint of worry creasing the corners of her eyes. She scans the list of names for a likely cover (her mother, who needs medicine) and waits with seeming impatience, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet as she depresses the 'call' button again and again (but with no room selected).
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Sean glances around at the knock before catching sight of Cosmo standing at the front door. With a wry smile, he opens the door for her, stepping back to allow her into the lobby.
"Forget your key?"
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Cosmo dimples, nodding as she steps into the lobby.
"Yeah, thanks, my mistake for rushing. I'm just glad you were here."
She catches his eye and winks before striding over to the waiting elevator.
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Sean returns the smile, running his hand through his hair in a vague attempt to conceal its general disarray.
"It was my pleasure."
Stepping into the elevator after Cosmo, he pushes the button for the third floor before glancing over his shoulder at her.
"Where you headed?"
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"Same."
Smiling shyly, Cosmo makes a point of glancing around the elevator (checking for surveillance), her cheeks perhaps a little more flushed than usual. After a few foot-shuffling awkward moments, she extends her hand towards him and grins.
"Lisa Taylor, and thank you again for helping me."
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"Sean. Andersen. Nice to meet you. I haven't seen you around before, did you just move in?"
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"Nah, I live in north L.A.; I'm just bringing Mom some of the meds she left in my car yesterday. It's good to meet you, too ... maybe I'll make a point of stopping by more often."
She winks again, blushes, and promptly looks off to one side.
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"That's really nice of you." Sean glances over as the elevator creaks to a stop, the doors opening with a chime. Stepping out, he turns right down the hallway.
"Well, it was nice meeting you. Have a good day."
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"You too, Sean, maybe I'll see you around sometime. Happy New Year."
With a friendly wave, Cosmo steps outside the elevator and bends forward as if to tie her boot, watching him carefully through the veil of her hair to see which apartment is his.
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Sean passes his cardkey through the lock on apartment 3G.
That's right, it is the new year, isn't it?
With a sigh, he pushes the door closed behind him. The apartment is chill, having sat empty all night long, with just the barest hint of morning sunshine peeking past the heavy curtains. Sean preferred it that way, it was much harder for him to sleep if it wasn't dark in the room. Even after a full eight hour shift. Yawning, he dropped his jacket on the table and kicked his shoes off. Tugging off his shirt, he pitched that into the corner with the rest of his dirty laundry before sitting down heavily at the end of the bed. Pulling off his socks and heavy work pants left him clad only in boxers. With a sigh, he flopped backwards onto the bed, reaching for the covers with his left hand. A roll to the right left him swathed in comforter, and he scratched his hip where the canvas of his workpants had rubbed his skin over his shift. The last conscious thought he entertained was of a gentle, heart-shaped face framed by a mane of dark hair.
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3G, check.
Grinning at no one in particular, Cosmo straightens, studying the fire route information posted near the elevator to get a feel for the layout of the building. That being done, she heads back into the elevator, making her way towards the parking level to see where Mr. Andersen left his car.
**********************************************************************
Sean's car is parked in space 27, halfway down the far side.
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Space 27, check, and not a bad ride, considering.
Without pausing, Cosmo goes on a tour of the parking lot, planning the best possible route to the gate.
Motion activated, finally something halfway simple.
She grins, heading back into the lobby, around the elevators, and down a short hallway to the rear entrance of the building. Poking her head outside for a brief moment, she scans a sec camera, nods, and hopes that whomever is working off-site is a bit groggy this morning as she rolls up a discarded copy of last month's Cosmopolitan magazine and jams it against the latch. That being done, she dusts off her lightly gloved hands and strides through the front entrance of the lobby, dialing Drago's number on her pocket secretary as she makes her way to her car.
"Ahhh, buongiorno, Tino. I hope you have slept well."
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"Prego, signora, it is far too early. Why aren't you on holiday?"
The voice on the other end of the line is gravelly with sleep, and no video component is being transmitted.
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"Scusa, Signor. I do not take holidays ... and I did not know you'd still be sleeping at this hour."
She smirks. Who am I kidding? I'd still be sleeping, too.
"It's just that I have an order for you, some things I need as soon as possible, when is a good time to call back?"
Ahhh, three, two ...
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Klaus smiles to himself. So much for taking New Year's Day off.
"Yes, I am interested. Thank you for your quick response. I'll be at the Auburn Center Mall before 1100."
He hangs up and goes back to his paper, and watching for Norman to show up.
When he finally does, Klaus drops the paper on the table for the next guy and heads out the door.
"Hello Klaus" says Norman as Klaus folds his troll-sized body through a human-sized opening. Norman's face is completely hidden behind the shield/HUD of his combat helmet, but Klaus can hear his smile.
"Good Morning, Norman" says Klaus. "I've had a change of plans. I need to get to the Auburn Center Mall out in Renton. Heard anything worth passing along?"
"Nothing except trade rumors. The experts keep saying we'll ship Young off to Washington for their number 1 draft pick. Crazy, I say. Who would ship off a star in the prime of his career for an untested rookie?"
The chat goes on for the forty-five minutes it takes to get to the mall.
Klaus slots his stick, pays the ¥40 plus another 40, and heads into the mall.
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"They said they had proof." Those words had been floating through Blaze's mind over and over again for the past 15 minutes. He now has a phone number, and perhaps a connection that could end his need for vengeance. Or at least one of his needs for vengeance; at this point it is all he lives for.
Picking up the phone Blaze quickly dials up Max. "Hey, Chummer, you know how I asked you to put out your feelers, well actually you can cancel that. Squall may have come through with something."
The joy and worry on the other end are obvious and thick. "You mean you may be able to find the people who killed them?"
Responding back, Blaze's voice cracks slightly, "I don't know yet, he gave me a phone number and people who claim to have proof. I don't know what they have and neither does Squall, but at this point I want the free time to follow up whatever leads this may give me. Don't worry, I'll keep in touch."
Ending his call, Blaze sets down the phone and steps into the bathroom. Running a comb through his short hair, Blaze spends several minutes visibly steeling himself for what may give him the answers he has wanted for years. Stepping back out, he adjusts his coat, slides on his shades, and holsters his pistol on his side. Looking over to a shadowed corner of his house Blaze makes sure that his "Traveling" gear is ready to go.
Satisfied that whatever he might get, he's ready, he dials the number from Squall. Hearing the other end pick up he speaks, "This is Blaze. A friend of mine said you had information about the murder of my parents, the blast on June 12, 2043. Where can I meet you for the info and what do you want me to bring?"
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The answering voice sounds surprisingly nervous, despite the fact that the vid pickup remains off. A woman's voice replies, "Um ... be at Miner's Landing in Downtown Seattle, along Pier 63, at 1200. Just bring yourself, and ask for Margaret, party of two."
A pause. "Oh, and if you have a picture of yourself when you were younger, bring that too. I'm looking forward to seeing you ..." Silence, and then, Blaze could almost swear the woman was grinning, even though he couldn't see her, "Richard." Click.
The line cut, leaving Blaze staring at a blank screen, with a lot of silence, and a whole lot more questions.
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Writing down the vague address and the name of the restaurant, Blaze allowed his mind to wander yet again.
Picture of myself, what the frag is she talking about, and what was with her, Richard? I haven't used that name in years. Picture, picture, picture, where do I have a picture of myself when I was younger? I certainly wouldn't have just left it lying around, but I lost everything my parents had in that blast. Maybe Max'll have one, although I can't think of why, or Squall could try to find one of me on the Matrix. What is that woman thinking, who is she the only living people who would know my name are Max and -- All of Blaze's earlier movements stopped as the thought and realization of who must be connected to her hit him -- My Brother.
Quickly Blaze began going over his gear: Pager, Cell, Mirror, Bug scanner, reaching in he pulls out the flashlight and pockets it, and Binoculars, although they likely aren't going to be important for this. That should be all the gear I need.
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Ok, got my gear, and from what I can remember I'm not going to be tossed out immediately for bringing this. Sliding it out of its holster Blaze checks over his Predator. More times than I can count holding this has saved me from Geek the mage. As James always said, "The first thing to being an effective shadow shaman: DON'T LOOK LIKE ONE"; well, it's proven true many times, I think. Adjusting it, Blaze slides the gun into a holster hidden under his arm where he could easily reach it but it won't be easily spotted. Well, let's just see what happens with this, shall we? It's still bugging me though: who the drek is this woman?
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"A pretty girl such as yourself deserves a holiday every once in a while. It's not good to work all the time, not healthy for the skin. Prego, signora, what can I do for you?"
Already, Drago sounds fully awake, and in the background Cosmo hears the clicking of the old Novatech computer. Also, faintly, a sleepy female voice complaining.
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Cosmo laughs softly and shakes her head as she slips inside her coupe.
And one.
"Well, how about I promise to take a holiday once I'm finished with this? Just a few small things to get me by until next pay, Tino, can you get me some grenades? NeuroStun ten, four of them would be ideal; two smoke, two infrared smoke. Tranq patches, as potent as you can get them, I'll pay double for those. A sensor defeating jumpsuit, as well, size five. My priority is to get those patches, though. What do you think?"
Slipping effortlessly into her clipped, businesslike tone as she rhymes off her mental list, she softens her voice for a moment.
"And please offer my apologies to your lovely companion."
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Stepping into the small parking lot below his home, Blaze walks over to his bike. Such a sweet ride, and it shouldn't stand out too much, although it's too bad that traffic will prevent me from really opening up the throttle. Sliding into the seat, Blaze snaps on his helmet and starts the engine. It always takes me forever to get into downtown Seattle. I might as well start now.
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Drago chuckles, his fingers poking spastically at the keyboard.
"Don't worry yourself, signora, she's just a little tart who sleeps too much and drinks too much."
The last part is said loud and not specifically to the phone, and is followed by equally loud Italian cursing. Drago laughs.
"Let's see. I can get you max strength tranq patches by tonight, but it'll cost. 400¥ each. The grenades are going to take a day, though. 150¥ per. Size five on the suit, anti-sensor camouflage, is going to be 1200¥, I can have that for you same time tonight."
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Cosmo laughs softly along with Drago.
"None of that matters on a holiday, Signor. Please have breakfast this morning, on me, with champagne of course, and add that bill to mine. Happy New Year, Tino."
Inwardly groaning at the additional cost but glad to grease the wheels somewhat, she lets out a low whistle as she adds breakfast to the already inflated tab.
So, four hundred for a one-shot patch, one fifty per grenade ... I don't have to use those right away, though, and twelve hundred for the suit, a deal at five times the price. So long as I grab enough while I'm in, profits shouldn't be a problem ...
"Prego, I'll take two of the patches with everything else as ordered. Where would you like me to pick everything up?"
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The smile is evident in Drago's voice as he accepts Cosmo's offer.
"You're too kind, signora. Stop by the restaurant tomorrow at noon, all will be ready. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some blonde business to take care of."
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Miraculously managing to hold back her laughter until the line is closed off, Cosmo turns up the radio as she peals down the still-empty street, the corners of her eyes crinkling with mirth. Slowing to an easier, more legal speed after about a block, she dials the second LTG number from memory, still smiling from her conversation with Tino.
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The phone rings three times before the line connects. A moment of dead air follows before the voice answers, urbane yet playful.
"Well, well, sleeping beauty. I was wondering if you were going to call. I've been thinking about you."
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Cosmo chuckles, programming the Riverwalk Apartment Complex's address into the onboard computer as she leans back in the driver's seat, a slow smile spreading across her face.
"Hmm, have you, now? Anything I'd want to hear about?"
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The vehicle responds to the navigation input even as the voice on the other end of the phone responds to Cosmo's comment with a soft chuckle.
"Oh, nothing special. Just wondering if I'd see you again. You have such lovely eyes."
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Eyes, huh? I'll bet.
"I'd like that, Watchdog, but then it all depends ..."
She leans back and closes her eyes, halfway tempted to take a short nap on the way home. Her voice drops in pitch as everything about her fades to black, a soft 'mmmm,' slipping from between her smiling lips as she finally begins to relax.
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A soft chuckle sounds in her ear.
"As much as I would like to be someone who watches over you, something tells me you prefer your privacy. Call me Caska."
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Her estimation of the fellow rose a notch.
"Caska, then. You can call me Cosmo, I hope I didn't call too early ..."
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"Cosmo." He rolls the name around his mouth as if tasting a fine wine.
"Early for some, late for others, it's a holiday after all. What can I do for you?"
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She sat perfectly still for a few moments, a small smile playing around the corners of her lips as the soft 'purr' of the engine, along with his low, almost sleepy voice, began to unwind her taut, hypersensitive nerves. The sleek sports coupe had reached a good speed and it seemed that the slight adjustments, turns, and lane changes could very nearly put her to sleep.
"Mmmm, that's right; happy new year, Caska."
Cosmo stretched a little, hoping that whoever had known her enough to equip her with all her favourite gear also knew to stock the fridge with cherry colas and to fill the cupboards with coffee ... lots of coffee.
"I have a few things I wanted to take care of this morning but I was wondering how your schedule looks for later on today ..."
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"Later today, hmmm ... let me double-check my calendar. It appears I may be able to pencil you in. What time should I pick you up?"
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"Well, how about seven or eight this evening?"
Cosmo pauses briefly, a soft chuckle slipping out of its own volition.
"What did you have in mind? Since you'll be picking me up and all ..."
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"Seven o'clock it is, then. Wear something nice."
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"Mmm, count on it."
Eyes opening suddenly, Cosmo looks around, her brow lowering suspiciously while a bit of a smile peeks out of one corner of her mouth.
He'd know know the number if he set up the 'storage room,' now wouldn't he? Black stockings it is ...
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"I'll see you then."
Caska terminated the call, waited for a moment, then engaged the counter-trace program. Swapping over to his other line, he re-opened the call interface.
"Sorry about that, one of my important contacts. Change of plans, we'll have to move our meeting up to 1600."
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Cosmo chuckled, resolving to deal with that situation when it presented itself, and not a moment before. It took less than a second to switch from phone call to the main screen and less than three minutes of careful searching to determine that the only saved entry in the p-sec was the message she'd seen earlier that day. Turning the machine off and flipping it over in her hands, she begins the delicate process of taking the thing apart.
Come on, baby .. give me a little something, hmm?
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While the outside casing is Novatech standard, the innards are anything but. No serial numbers on the boards, the memory, or the processor. The construction is non-standard, something far cleaner and precise than should appear in a piece of consumer electronics. Even something high-end.
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Too easy, but ... beautifully made.
Barely even sighing as she goes about putting everything back together, Cosmo re-engages the manual steering controls on her little coupe, pushes somewhat insistently on the gas, and continues towards her apartment with a determined glint in her eye. She'd be damned if there wasn't time for a shower somewhere in her agenda.
Ghost knows what was in that goop this morning ...
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Sliding her keycard through the accesspoint at the underground garage, Cosmo taps the steering wheel impatiently as the heavy metal gate scrolls upward. Easing the BMW inside, she pauses next to the information kiosk and slide the card again. A cheerfully fake female face appears on the screen.
"How may I be of service, Ms. Richards?"
"Which parking space is mine?"
"Second level, number 161." The smiling face doesn't miss a beat. It struck Cosmo that only her paranoia and the fact that it wasn't a real live cheerful person kept her from putting a bullet through the face. Instead, she rolled the window up and went to find her parking spot.
A short ride up the elevator, a right down the corridor, and Cosmo slides inside the apartment, closing the door quietly behind her before drawing her weapon. A short hall opens into a large main room, tastefully done in post-modern minimialist. The curtains on the large windows are drawn, covering the room in shadows. Moving forward down the hall, the corner opens up to a small kitchen, with an open bar between it and the rest of the common room. A sliding glass door in the far wall leads to a small balcony, and a short hall leads back to the bathroom and bedroom. All prove to be empty as Cosmo sweeps through.
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The Lord softly walks across the bed without waking Jonesy, jumps to the floor, and heads to the utility room. Grabbing a light breakfast, he uses the litterbox and heads out into the city, ready to see the new year. He remembered seeing some scientist on the news once who said they would have flying cars by 2064.
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Another day, another nuyen, Andie thinks to himself as he starts to wake up and gets out of bed. He looks over at the clock for the time. 10 am. ... I never was much of an early riser.
After getting dressed and eating some breakfast Andie takes a look around his meager apartment. I know it's not much, but that will change; especially if all goes well ... He cleans up a little and prepares for the days to come; packing his backpack with his notebooks and magic books. Something told him he would not be back for a while.
Looking up Andie heads out the door and goes to the Land's End magic shop to see Sara Lansing, Andie's teacher and mentor in magic. Sara had hinted she had a special project for Andie at her shop; a kind of graduation project. It would take commitment to finish it on his part; something he did not like doing.
His parents were committed to their bar and look what's it got them; working 60 hours a week, a low to medium income, and never allowed a vacation day. Andie had not seen much of his parents outside the bar growing up. The bar took up too much of their time if they wanted to be successful.
Yeah ...I know all about commitment ... I guess I have chosen a commitment, Andie muses to himself walking to the bus stop. I committed myself to the art of magic. I just hope it pays off. Someone is going to have to take care of my parents in their old age and that someone looks like it's going to me. He sighs to himself.
The bus pulls up to the curb and several passengers get off and on the bus including Andie. Well ... Here we go ...
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Cao Jaan is making his usual rounds of the scrapyard, hoping to find something useful to fix the toilet he broke this morning, when he hears something unusual just over the mound of scrap nearby. It sounds like a motorcycle, as well as a few people yelling. His instincts tell him violence could be imminent, and so close to the shelter, it almost certainly involves the gangs ...
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Cao Jaan hesitates for a moment.
If I interfere, there might be violence... but if I don't interfere, there could be more violence. I should at least try to help if I can. Yes, I must try to help, it is only right.
He heads around the junkpile that separates him from the sound of the argument. As he does so, he tries to calm his thoughts so that he may choose the best response dependant on the situation he is entering. Just before the step that will bring the encounter into sight, he adjusts his threadbare jumper to make himself more comfortable.
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Cao Jaan took a deep breath, steadying himself. He could sense fear, aggression, hostility, terror, and the near certainty of impending violence. Taking a step around the corner, he quickly took in the scene at a glance. Surrounded by three go-gangers was a human woman. She looked fairly battered, and he couldn't really get a good look at her.
Besides, his attention was squarely on the three gangers. They were all human, but were not dressed in any gang colors he immediately recognized. Spread out in a rough triangle around the woman, one was straddling a Yamaha Rapier, and holding a chain. The one closest to Cao Jaan had a knife, and the last one was swinging a bat easily by his side.
Looking up and seeing him through blood-matted hair, the woman cried out, "Please! Help me! I don’t know what they’re going to do to me!"
His presence now pointed out, the gangers glanced over at him. The one with the bat sneered at him. "Better buzz, chump. This don't concern you."
Eyeing the girl maliciously, the one with the knife chimed in, "Yeah. We got ... stuff to talk about with this biff."
Measuring Cao Jaan with his gaze, the guy on the bike said, "Beat it now, and we'll let you live. Stick around ... heh heh heh. And you'll see what happens."
The girl tried to stagger to her feet, but seemed unable to finish rising, and collapsed again.
With a mocking laugh, the guy on the bike roared, "Ha! You see that! She doesn't really want you to save her! She just wants to lay there for us, doesn't she, boys?"
All three gangers burst out into laughter, apparently having dismissed Cao Jaan from their thoughts as inconsequential, and focusing on ... other endeavours.
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Happy new year, this leaves me just thrilled to be a resident of Seattle.
"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I don't believe she wishes to associate with you at this time. Perhaps we could come to an arrangement?"
Jaan waits calmly to see what their response is, his relaxed stance not betraying the fact that he has just seen something that could be most helpful to him in the coming confrontation: an apparently intact toilet cistern!
Let us hope a little money can smooth things over here, and let us also hope that that cistern stays where it is while I attend to the young lady's injuries.
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"What the hell you talkin' about?" the one with the knife snaps. "Yeah, maybe you didn't hear us the first time. We said breeze. Now beat it!" his friend with the bat adds.
They look ready to bust a move, but the ganger on the bike, apparently the leader, stops them. "What kind of deal you talking about? But make it good, we ain't got time for no scrubs."
They all look at Cao Jaan expectantly.
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Ah, good - one of them at least is reasonable.
"Well, I'm sure her sins are great for the punishment you wish to inflict on her, but perhaps you would see fit to the imposition of a fine of, say, 200 nuyen?"
I wish I'd spent more time on negotiation in the past!
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The other two gangers' eyes widen. "Boss, that's a lot of jing! Forget the slitch, we can always find another!"
Barking at them to shut up, the leader just squints at Cao Jaan. "200, eh? You must really want to help this biff. Make it 300, even split for me and my boys, and you got a deal."
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Okay, so it should've been less for a first offer...
Jaan considers this for a moment, the inclines his head slightly.
"As you wish."
That's nearly half my cash, but at least it saves any trouble.
Jaan hunts through several pockets, pulling out 300 nuyen.
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The leader looks at Cao Jaan funny, like he can't really believe that he actually accepted the deal. After a moment or two, he grins. "OK chummer. You got yourself a deal. You want her that bad, you can have her."
Motioning to the goon with the knife, knife boy creeps cautiously forward, putting away his knife in the process. He stops within a few feet of Cao Jaan, who tosses him the money. Knife boy catches it, counts it, and yells back, "It's all here, boss!" like he's surprised that Cao Jaan actually paid up and didn't jump him or something.
The leader nods, as if he isn't really too surprised by this. "All right, boys, deal's a deal. He held up his end, we'll hold up ours. Let's go." Turning to Cao Jaan, he adds with a grin, "Nice doing biz with you, chummer. Enjoy your new friend." With a leer, he then turns his bike and slowly pulls away, the other two hopping on bikes that they'd apparently left a bit farther down and roaring off after him.
The woman tries to pull herself to her feet again, finds that she can't, and begins crawling towards Cao Jaan. After a few feet, she collapses face down in the dirt and does not move.
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Jaan moves to crouch next to her. He glances over her injuries, looking for evidence of broken bones.
"Hello, I'm Cao Jaan. Can you speak?"
Now, we just need to get you back to the warehouse. Should I tell the Sickles about these guys though? If I do then there may be trouble, but they said they'd do this again. Happy new year indeed!
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Jaan's medical knowledge is insufficient to properly assess the extent of the woman's injuries. What he was able to discern was that she was unconscious. That was about it. Cursing his ineptitude, he carried her back to the warehouse. Once there, he knew he needed to do something about her injuries. He cleaned off the blood as best he could, but he couldn't determine exactly what to do next.
And of course, he remembered to bring the toilet cistern back with him.
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Jaan, realising the futility of continuing to fuss, makes her as comfortable as he can in a corner of the old gents'. With her comfort assured as best it can be, he sets about the cistern and the broken toilet with a purpose, a hammer, and two screwdrivers.
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Klaus Ebert had been sitting in the food court of the Auburn Center Mall for the past twenty minutes or so, casually watching the passersby go about their shopping. Even on the holidays, the almighty nuyen dictated that the mall stay open so that Joe and Jane Citizen could spend their hard earned money right back into the corporate machine.
At exactly 1100, his phone rang. When he picked it up, a thick, gruff voice came over the line. "Mr. Ebert, since you have arrived at the Mall I assume you have decided to hear out my offer. Go to the elevator by Lordstrum's, and wait for a man in a dark blue suit to get on. Board the elevator with him, and introduce yourself as 'Rex'. He will direct you from there." The line disconnected, leaving Klaus to decide if he was going to meet this man in a dark blue suit, or just take a walk.
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Andie steps off the bus at the Land's End magic shop run by a dear friend and mentor, Sara Lansing.
Well. Let's see what I can learn today ... Andie thinks to himself as he enters the shop.
He peruses the aisles a little to see if there is anything new or on sale, bargain hunter extraordinaire, and makes his way to the back counter looking for Sara. "Hello ... Sara ..." Andie calls out towards the back of the store.
Sara Lansing, human owner of the Land's End magic shop, was in her late thirties, about 6 ft tall, and mind like a steel trap. She didn't miss much and comes out from the store room in the back. "Come on back, Andie. I have some work for you to do," she says.
Andie heads to back of the shop to the material preparation area and looks around. Sara turns back to Andie and says, "To help pay for the magic training we have been doing over the years I have a favor to ask of you, since I feel you are ready for this test. I know it would help you, me, and your parents; a win-win situation for everyone."
Andie replies, "OK. I'm game. What did you have in mind?"
"Over the next lunar cycle I want you to create Orichalcum units. It's a long, tedious process and you will be here most the time monitoring the batch, so don't expect to do much of anything else until it's finished. Think you're up for it?" Sara asks Andie.
Andie replies, "Well, I'll have to let my folks know I will not be able to help them out at the bar for a month, but they should be OK with that once I explain why. Let's do it."
Sara comments, "That's responsible. Call them now and explain everything while I prepare the ingredients. The phone is on the wall over there."
Andie goes over the wall phone and calls his parents at the bar. "Hi, dad. It's Andie. Listen, Sara wants me to help her with something for the next month, so I will not be able to help out much at the bar. Is that OK? ... She did say it would cover the tuition costs for a while, so it sounds like a good deal. ... Thanks, dad. Ask one of the cousins to fill in for me, OK? Take care. Bye."
He turns back to Sara and the preparation table; seeing Sara organizing packets of materials and started measuring ingredients. "OK. Let's do it."
"Excellent," Sara replies. "Here is the formula. Follow the directions precisely and I'll leave you to it. The furnace is warming up and will be ready for you when you get to that point in the recipe. Have fun." She leaves the room to handle other tasks in the shop.
Andie nods to himself. Let's get to work ... and starts measuring and mixing the ingredients according to the recipe. Once that is done he takes the mixture to the furnace to heat it up and starts to monitor the process; using his magic to help control the reaction. Have to remember. This is a marathon and not a sprint. Patience ... Have to have patience ...
He takes a look around the room and notices a cot laid out against the wall; presumably for him, and nods his head. Well, looks like I am in this for the long haul, and gets into a routine for the coming weeks. Monitoring, stirring, cooling, heating, eating, sleeping ...
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Klaus finishes his Smoothie in one big slurp, and tosses it in the can. He gets up and positions his wide-brimmed fedora between his horns.
He moves towards the elevator, browsing the windows as he goes, looking for a man in a dark blue suit heading the same way. Just as he's finished reading the display on enhanced articulation in the window of New U, he sees his guy. Turning and heading straight for the elevator, Klaus ignores the man until he pushes the button and the door closes.
"Hi, I'm Rex," he says, never taking his eyes off the butt of the Orc woman in the tight shorts walking past.
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Without looking over at him, the man in the dark blue suit murmurs, "Walk with me." Easily falling in step with him, Klaus waits for the man to make his pitch.
Still without looking at him, the man begins in crisp, precise English, "You are Klaus Ebert, you specialize in missing persons. I have a missing person. I would like you to find her. I believe she may be in danger." Splitting apart for a moment to dodge two dwarf children running merrily along between them, they fall back in step.
Without missing a beat, he continues, "I have done my homework, Mr. Ebert. You charge 4000 nuyen plus expenses for a case with no mind probe, but a ritual link. I have on my person a chip with details on the person I wish you to find, a material link, 2000 nuyen in upfront money, and 500 nuyen for expenses. Any additional expenses can be settled upon delivery. I wish you to find her ASAP, before harm can come to her, and keep me informed of your progress. Do we have a deal?"
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Klaus is silent for a minute. "I accept your terms conditionally."
Pausing for another moment, to get the words straight, he continues.
"I am a detective, and the fee you are paying is for finding a person who wishes to be found. I am a finder of runaway children and kidnap victims. I can be a bounty hunter as well, but that's a much higher threat business and comes with a different pay scale. If what you are asking of me fits within that realm, hand me the material and we have a deal, Mr ..."
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The man in the blue suit smiles thinly, and nods once affirmatively. Recoiling a bit in surprise (or so it seems), he answers, "Ah, forgiveness for my poor manners. You may call me Mr. Madison. And yes, to your statements, we are agreed. You are, as they say, a professional, Mr. Ebert. I expect you to act like one, and you, in turn, expect me to treat you like one. This is only fair. To answer your question, your objective is lost on her own, and is in need of guidance and protection."
He turns and leans on a nearby rail, looking down at five storeys of mall and metahumanity. Without looking up, he continues, "If ... complications arise from her retrieval, we will reopen negotiations and you will be adequately compensated for your efforts. It is my hope that this will not be necessary, but rest assured you will find your treatment nothing but fair."
Reaching slowly into his jacket, he pulls out a manilla envelope. Extending it halfway across the distance between them, he asks casually, "Do we have a deal?"
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Smiling, Klaus takes the envelope and says, "Yes Mr Madison, we have a deal. I shall contact you every 24 hours with an update."
"Please don't be offended by this question, but I must ask. What is your limit on expenses? Sometimes problems can arise that can be smoothed over with enough nuyen. At what point do I say 'I'm sorry, but that's more than my employer is willing to pay'?"
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Mr. Madison smiles at Klaus' acceptance of the deal. "24 hour updates is good. You are authorized to spend a maximum of 4000 nuyen in expenses with no questions asked. After that, you will be requested to justify any additional expenditures."
Answering an unasked question, he continues, "I trust your professionalism will not abuse this arrangement, therefore I am willing to give you the tools you need to get the job done to my satisfaction. Is this arrangement satisfactory to you? If it is, I believe this concludes our business."
He looks at Klaus expectantly.
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Klaus nods: "Yes sir, it does. You will hear from me by this time tomorrow, barring emergency."
Turning and walking away, Klaus heads towards a restroom, meanwhile calling Norman again on his cell "Hey Norman, got time to pick me up where you dropped me off? Not sure as to the destination yet. 45 minutes? OK, see you then."
Finding the restroom, Klaus steps into the handicapped/meta-sized stall, drops his pants and sits on the stool. He then opens the folder, putting the credsticks into his pocket and examines the rest of the contents.
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Inside the envelope, Klaus finds a credstick for 2000 nuyen, another for 500 nuyen, a small cannister very cold to the touch that most likely contains the material link preserved inside, and a datachip. Everything that Mr. Madison said would be there. There is nothing else.
The next stall over, the disgusting sound of someone taking a very large, very loud, and a second later, as the stink hits, very smelly dump assaults Klaus' senses.
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Klaus stuffs the chip and the canister back in the envelope, puts that in the inside pocket of his jacket, puts the credsticks in his front pants pockets, and flushes. He stops to wash his hands, and heads to the You Should Not Eat So Much booth on the food court, for a troll-sized order of General Tso's chicken with white rice. There he contemplates purchasing a pocket secretary, so he can read the chip. He's needed one, but he decides to wait as he may need the money for other things.
He heads out front, and fires up his heavy English Briar pipe. The heady aroma of brandy mixes with the tobacco smoke, instantly bringing on a state of relaxation and thoughts of a fireplace on a cold winter night. Thoughts of Inga, an old girlfriend who had shared that cabin with him, start dancing through his head until he sees Norman pull into the parking lot.
Coming back to reality, Klaus lets the pipe die, drops it into the overcoat pocket, and climbs into the cab. "Hey, Norman, long time no see. I think I'll just head home. I guess the Sonics are playing the Knicks tonight. What do you think?"
And with that Norman is off and running.
Forty-five minutes later, Klaus gets out of the cab, pays another eighty nuyen and heads upstairs to his flat.
Firing up the telcom, he grabs a bottle of water, a notepad and pen, and an empty ashtray. Slotting the chip in the telcom, he kicks back in his oversized armchair with the remote in one hand and the pen in the other, and the pipe clamped in his teeth. The chip opens the first document on the chip and Klaus begins taking notes.
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Max always said the first rule of shadowrunning was to show up early to the meet and check out the place. Well, here I am. Wandering around the outside of the building, Blaze works at making a mental note of where the exits are and where the roads lead out of the building. After wandering about for a few minutes, Blaze slides his senses over to the Astral Plane. Almost immediately the City's cars and buildings blur together, but the people, wow, around here there is actual happiness, coming from the people wandering about enjoying their holiday, whaling their holiday drinks from the night off before. The emotions of the area permeate his sight as Blaze focuses in on the building and its inhabitants, so many happy and, I assume, smiling people. Allowing his vision to go back to the physical world, Blaze watches the entrance for nearly 20 minutes, taking note of the people who enter, trying to discover who this Mysterious woman might be. After exactly 20 minutes Blaze walks into the building.
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The toilet now works. Sort of. The water doesn't really look like water, and there's a 50/50 chance it'll flush or flood, but technically, it works. Jaan makes a note to self to get himself some real tools if he's going to keep up this do-it-yourself thing.
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"Hey man, wake up."
Avalanche groaned and blearily opened his eyes. A gigantic werewolf was shaking him lightly. "Hey, it's almost noon. You told me to wake you at ten til."
With a pounding headache, Avalanche managed to slide off the bar stool and onto his feet. "Thanks, Fuzz. Hey, could you gimme one of those anti-hangover progs? Reality is nice, but this pounder is a little too real."
"Hey, you can do it yourself. End the buzz program."
"Ah, didn't see it still going. Thanks."
With a thought, Avalanche ended the "buzzer" program that simulated the effects of alchohol. His headache immediately stopped, and he rubbed his virtual forehead gratefully. "Well Fuzz, I guess I need to get back to the shop." With a virtual hand (made entirely of snow, like the rest of his snowman icon) he gestured in the direction of the various icons passed out around the virtual Matrix nightclub. "Let the boys know I had a good time, eh?"
"Sure thing, Ave. See you around." Nodding at the bartender, Avalanche jacked out of the Matrix, pulling the deck lead out of his head.
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Yawning, Avalanche changed his clothes, careful to keep his sheet-white skin away from the sunlight streaming in through his window. Hmmm, another year. What should my resolutions be? the decker thought as he stashed his beloved cyberdeck in its usual place underneath the floorboards in his closet. Drink less? Hell, when was the last time I actually even had a real drink? Be more cautious? Hah, like I've ever had that problem. Besides, a good decker is a cautious one. Hmmmm ... not kill anyone?
Heading downstairs to his electronics shop, Avalanche paused. Hey, not bad. Okay, that'll be it. Stick to my taser in my meat bod, and just non-lethal attack prog in the 'trix. Oh, that reminds me, I need to BUY a lethal attack prog first. The deck-head smiled at his own joke. And of course, I resolve to become one of the best hackers to ever grace the shadows of the Space Needle. And to ... gah, let's not kid ourselves. Girls like that don't go for guys like me. Opening the door to his shop, Avalanche flipped his sign from "Closed" to "Open".
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Entering the building Blaze looks around for a moment then turns to the Maitre d', "I'm here with Margaret, Party of two. I know I'm slightly early and I apologize but do you know if our table is ready?" As he speaks Blaze slides his hand into the pocket of his longcoat, fingering the edge of his bug scanner.
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The hostess looks at Blaze and smiles. "Certainly, sir. I believe your party is already here. Please follow me." Grabbing a menu, she turns and starts walking towards the table. Blaze is nearly shaking with anticipation. Who knew his name? What would they want? Where had they been all this time? What the heck was even going on? All these, and so many more questions besides.
The answer to all those questions ... resided in a middle-aged woman. At least, it appeared that it would start there. Waiting at a table, seated facing him so that she watched him approach was a human woman who appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties. Her hair was a light platinum blonde, and she had obviously aged fairly well. Whether that was thanks to money or good genetics was uncertain, but the results were unmistakable.
"Here you are, sir. Enjoy your meal." The hostess places the menu on the place setting in front of Blaze, who sits. At a smile and wave from the woman across from him, the hostess takes her cue and departs.
"Are you hungry, Richard? Have you eaten yet today? You should try the house special for a drink, it's quite good." Casually making conversation without even remotely hitting on business, she ordered for both him and herself when their waitress arrived. Continuing to chat with him about the weather, Seattle sports teams, and everything but what he was here to talk about, Blaze started to get frustrated.
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Looking across the table at this woman who pretends to know him by using a name, that for him, has long been dead, Blaze begins to anger. "I don't know why you insist on calling me Richard. As I said over the phone my name is Blaze, Richard was a kid who died in the streets years ago after his parents died. Don't use that name. We both know why we're here, and as pleasant as this small talk is, I'd like to get to the real discussions. I'm truly interested in two things. First off, how is it that you know the name of that child, who are you connected to that knows of that name? And secondly, what do you have about the murder? If you're worried about something you can use this," sliding out the bug scanner just enough so that she can see it Blaze continues, "to check our table and the like. But whatever the case, I would like the answers now." At the end of this he turns to his meal and begins to eat.
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The woman gives him a sad smile. She has a far away look in her eyes, like she's remembering something. Slowly, she sets aside her glass and her plate, and rests both her hands palm down on the table in front of her.
"I'm sorry Richard. I'm not trying to toy with you. It's been such a long time since I've last seen you ... it's so good to just sit and talk with you."
Blaze's anger dims slightly to confusion. Seen me? What the heck is she talking about?
She looks down, and when she looks up again, the youth seems to have faded from her a bit, replaced by age and weariness in her eyes. "I've been looking for you for a long time. I know you probably don't remember me, because you were very, very small when I last saw you."
She gazes into his eyes, pinning him in place. It almost seems surreal, that this woman should know so much about him. Or claim to, at least, he reminds himself cynically.
"My name is Margaret Smith. Your father was my brother. I am your aunt, Richard."
Silence descends on the table as quickly as the bomb she just dropped.
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Blaze did not respond to this bombshell, instead just sitting quietly and continuing to eat. Despite Margaret's repeated inquiries as to his thoughts, he just silently sat there eating. Eventually, she just gave up and the two of them sat and worked on their meals in silence.
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My aunt. This woman was either high on some sort of megachip-causing hallucinations, trying to trick me into something and kill me, unlikely given that she knows my old name. Or it's possible I just found some of my family.
The sheer amazement at her comment obviously apparent on his face, Blaze finally continued his few questions. "How did you find me? Have you talked with Irving? why haven't you gotten in touch with me before?" After speaking each of his questions he gives her a brief moment to answer before continuing on, finally getting to the one most important to him. "Finally, what do you know about that night?"
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Looking at him sadly, Margaret replies, "It was really hard sweetie. I ... I've taken a lot of personal risks in finding you, and it cost ... a lot. Irving ... no, I haven't been able to find Irving yet. I was hoping that you might have been in touch with him."
She looks down for a few moments, and when she looks up again, her face is streaked with tears. "I ... I ... didn't look for you for a long time because I didn't think you'd want anything to do with us ... I actually found you several years ago. But I found out that you hated corps, all corps, and you had a reputation for doing ... terrible things to corps and people who were a part of corps. I didn't want you to hate me ... for things I had to do."
She turns away, and sobs silently into a tissue. After a minute or two, she composes herself and looks up again. She's visibly shaking, but appears to be a bit more in control of herself. "I know you have a lot of questions ... I might have some of the answers for you ... but right now ... I need your help. I know I have no right to come out here and ask you for help, after all this time, but I have nowhere else to go ..."
Margaret reaches into her purse and rummages through it for a bit. Pulling out a tattered old photo, she slides it across the table. Although old and worn, the image is still clear and strong. It almost leaps out to Blaze as he looks down at it.
Stunned, almost unable to speak, he manages to choke out in a whisper, "Where ... where did you get this?" On the photo is unmistakably him, albeit a much younger him.
It is a picture of his whole family. They are at the Seattle Aquarium, and they're all smiling and looking alive and happy. He's maybe about 3 or 4, smiling, holding an ice cream cone, and being held in the air by his father. His brother is holding their mother's hand, and both Blaze and his brother are wearing big smiles on their faces and matching shirts that say, "I went to the Seattle Aquarium and saw the sharks!" with a big picture of a shark on it.
Smiling through her tears, Margaret whispers, "They were so proud of you both. They loved you so much. They sent it to me, not long ... not long before they passed away." Pulling out another tattered old photo, she slides it across the table.
It is a photo of a much younger woman, but unmistakably the woman sitting across from him. She was with his parents, also younger. His mother was younger, not having carried the weight of two pregnancies yet, and his father hadn't quite packed on those extra pounds. They looked young and happy, and all of them were smiling the smiles of those who life hasn't quite smacked in the face yet with the hard grim weapon called reality.
Old times Blaze thought. Better times than these. Looking up, blinking the tears out of his eyes, he clears his throat and gruffly replies, "You said you needed my help?"
Nodding, Margaret replies shakily, "It's ... your cousin ... she's missing, and I think the corp she used to work for wants her back. One way or another."
Cousin ... corp ... corp employee ... possible death sentence ... looks like all those family problems Blaze missed out on growing up just came back to dump on him. With interest ...
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A job, now that is something I can understand. All this just continues to prove to me that corps have no right to exist in this world, but I'll help them this once. For family I'll do anything.
Looking up from his reverie and masking his sadness and anger behind his face Blaze looks directly at his aunt. "What do you want done, who do you want it done to, and finally when do you want it done?" After pausing to let her respond Blaze continues on. "What extra information can you give me on what might have happened to her?"
Meanwhile behind his all-business face Blaze mourned. Each of these pictures had hurt him, torn into the shield that he used to protect himself from their pain. When the job was done and he had time for himself it would be weeks before he properly recovered from it.
My mom, dad, Irving. Why did those happy times have to come to an end, why? What did those people ever do to others? Those corps never had a right to take that away from them, and one way or another they are going to pay for it.
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Jaan looks most pleased that the toilet seems almost functional.
I must be improving, it took me three days to dry my clothes after the last time I tried this!
With the repairs complete, Jaan goes back to tend to the injured woman. His smile quickly dies as he realises she doesn't seem any closer to waking than before.
Is she getting worse? Maybe I should see about getting someone to take a look at her. Should I move her, though? Oh, for an extra pair of hands!
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Shaking her head fearfully, Margaret stutters, "No no no, don't get me wrong, honey. I didn't find you because I wanted you to do something for me ... I came because I wanted to find you and see you again. I just ... I waited so long because I thought you'd hate me. I just got desperate because I had no one else to turn to. I thought that maybe even if you hated me, you'd help Melissa and I because we're family."
She looks down. "Melissa was a good girl. She didn't deserve this ... Just like your family ... they didn't deserve it either ..."
She breaks down and completely starts crying, covering her face with her hands. It's painfully apparent to Blaze that she's a normal woman in an abnormal situation, and her lack of experience in dealing with the pressure, as well as the relief of finding her nephew again, combined to make for an emotional experience that's a little too much for her to bear, let alone deal with in the professional, businesslike way that Blaze is used to conducting himself with.
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Standing up, Blaze reaches his arm around his Aunt's back. "I'm sorry, I understand that this is difficult for you. I've had many years to get used to running the shadows. You haven't. I didn't mean to be so harsh, it's just how i stay alive, and it's hard not to act that way. I'm very glad to see you, and thankful that I still have family that's alive. I will do anything to help Melissa, I promise, but for the time being let's just eat and talk about something other than corps. You know anything about magic?" Continuing on, Blaze tries to make small talk with Margaret in order to calm her down.
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Leaving the wounded woman in the care of one of the more trustworthy of the squatters - with 20 nuyen and a ration bar (and the promise of more) - Jaan had walked out to pay his 'rent' for the month and see if he could find a healer.
Paying Lump Hammer, the elven leader of the sickles, Jaan decided to see if he might be able to help.
"Happy new year, Hammer. Here's your money - and the hoping that it aids your celebrations. I'd like to ask a favour though. If I were looking for a shaman or street-doc, who would you recommend?"
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As Blaze reaches around Margaret's back, she wraps her arms around him. He suddenly feels a crushing pressure on his waist and lungs. The air rushes out of him and almost immediately his combat-honed reflexes nearly kick into high gear. Then he realizes that it isn't an attack; rather, it's something he hasn't felt for a long, long time: a genuine, loving, hug. His aunt is squeezing him tightly, happy and relieved to have found her nephew again.
Partly relieved it isn't an attack and partly pleasantly surprised, as he gets used to the sensation, Blaze reflects, Has it really been so long? Perhaps I've lost a bit of my own humanity when my family died. More than I realized, maybe. Oh well, it's so good to be with family again.
After a few moments in which both of them seem to be relieved and relaxed, enjoying the moments of genuine warmth in so dark and cold a world, they disengage from the hug. Margaret wipes her tears with a napkin and says, "Oh dear, I'm sorry Richard. It's been a very overwhelming meal for me. Don't," she takes a deep breath, calming herself, "don't you worry about upsetting me. You've been through a lot, and I understand it's not always pretty sometimes, the things one has to do in life."
She gives him a wan smile, and continues, "Oh yes, magic. Melissa used to show me just the most wonderful things she could do with magic. So amazing, really. You two would have so much to talk about and so very much in common! I just can't wait for you two to meet."
She's smiling broadly, almost gushing as she thinks of the idea of them meeting for the first time. With a dismissive hand gestures, she continues, "Oh dear, but listen to me babble on. Please, tell me about magic. I'd love to learn more about it from you. I'm sure there's quite a few things you could tell me about magic that she couldn't." Placing her elbows on the table, she rests her chin on top of her hands, gently folded on top of each other, and looks at Blaze, eagerly listening.
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Hammer grunts something that remotely sounds like Happy New Year and starts counting the money. Hearing Jaan's question, he squints and looks up.
"Hmm ... street doc, eh? You be wantin a legit doc with a gen-u-ine real hospital, or just a little somethin' for folks like us?"
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"The facilities are not of importance to me, I am simply looking for a first diagnosis at this point. Any help you might provide would be gratefully received."
Jaan gives a half bow to Hammer, and smiles.
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Hammer looks at him funny. "Right ... whatever you just said ..." Shrugging his shoulders, he says, "Me and the boys usually use Dr. Bob's Quickstitch out at 15001 NE 40th Street. You catch that?"
Jaan nods. "Thank you very much for your assistance." He turns to leave, and adds, "Have a Happy New Year."
As he is leaving, Tiny stops him. "Hey ... herd u wuz lookin' fer a doc o' somethin'. I be herin' u aight?"
Jaan takes a moment to digest this before nodding. "K ... well herz the thing. I nows 'is guy, he's tryin' to get 'is own clink goin'. Maybe he 'elp u out, cuz he neds the biz, u now? 'Nd 'e be carin' 'bout hows 'e does, cuz 'e needs the rep, ya nows? Yer chummer, youse probly wantin' qua ... qua ... qua ... za ggood schtuff, 'm I rights?"
Luckily, Jaan had been around Tiny enough to understand what she was saying. Sort of. He paused to think it through before answering.
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The first document comes up as Klaus takes a swig of the water. First, a picture comes up, showing a pretty human woman with a lovely smile. Her eyes are filled with life, and even through the electronic medium, display a zest and joy for life, with a deeper sense of ... something ... compassion maybe?
Klaus raises an eyebrow. Hmm ...that's a really good picture ...
Pulling up the next few documents reveals more photos from several angles. Generally, she seems to be a fashionable, but tasteful, dresser. After a few more photos, he comes to a printed text document with the following data.
A solid overachiever, upon graduating from MIT & M with a degree in biotechnology, she entered a solid job with Universal Omnitech as a researcher. All this by the age of 20. She was married shortly after, at 21, and her life seemed set. However, she manifested magical abilities late in life at the age of 24, and the resultant trauma caused her mental condition to destabilize, even as she learned to control her powers. The company paid for her magical training, but the trauma continued to manifest in a rebellious and independent streak not previously seen.
Matters apparently came to a head recently. When her husband, David Walker was killed in a tragic accident during an experiment a week ago, she snapped, and vanished from their condoplex. The company is worried about her, and wants her safely returned so she can undergo counseling and therapy to help her deal with the shock of her husband's death as well as residual trauma from her late magical manifestation.
Klaus takes another swig of the water as he finishes digesting the contents of the file.
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Looking to his Aunt with care and actual happiness in his eyes, Blaze begins talking about his magic. "The energy to cast spells comes from the power of Leopard. He grants me the strength to manipulate and see manaflows. Once you can see them getting them to follow your will is a relatively simple matter of focusing your conscious and uncouncious mind on creating the desired result with those manaflows. Think of it as weaving them into what you want to occur. But, I know that how I do it is distinctly different from how everyone else casts spells." Losing himself in the discussion of different ways of bringing about the same effect, Blaze begins to go back to his childhood moments and his time with James.
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Looking across at a clock, Blaze wakes out of his discussion. "Now before I go, and I'm sorry but I really do have to go, what can you tell me about Melissa's disappearance or what corp she worked for and who might have taken her away?"
This time in his questions he fights to keep his voice human and forces himself out of the void that he enters when normally taking a job.
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Giving him a wan smile, Margaret pats Blaze's hand affectionately. "Of course, dear. I know you're a busy person, and you have lots you need to be doing. Her full name is Melissa Walker, she married David Walker, and he died in an accident just last week, at his lab. They both worked for Universal Omnitech as researchers."
Digging into her pocket, she hands him a photograph. Smiling at him from the photo is an attractive blond, about 5'8-5'10, roughly 135-145 lbs. She has deep blue eyes that sparkle, and she seems to have a genuine joy in her smile.
Looking up, Blaze says, "She's very pretty. So she worked for Universal Omnitech since ..." Picking up the unspoken question, Margaret answers, "She's been working there for the last six years. She didn't manifest her magical abilities until about two years ago. It was very hard on her emotionally. I don't know what might have happened to her after her husband's death, she was very distraught about poor David. I think it is Universal Omnitech that wants her back; yesterday, some members of their HR department came asking about her. They were very unfriendly, almost threatening. I'm really not sure what they want with her, but I'm worried it isn't good."
She looks up at Blaze. "Please find her, Richard. I don't think the company really cares about her, I don't know where she is or who she's with or even if she's still alive. I haven't heard from her in two days and that visit from those men just scared me." Absently paying the check, she slides a phone number and address over to him. "You can get in touch with me here. If there's anything more I can do to assist you, please let me know."
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Now that I know what I'm looking for, I can get to work. This is terrible, the pain of everything, and now My cousin. WHY CAN'T CORPS KEEP THEIR FRAGGING NOSES OUT OF OUR LIVES!
It hurt him, God it hurt, but now was the time to do the one thing he knew how to do. Reaching for his phone Blaze put on his "Business Face". Time to find his cousin.
"Yo, Squall, I got another job for you, thanks by the way, that lead was just what I've needed for a long time. I need you to run me up as much info as you can on two things. One, A young woman named Melissa Walker, she worked with a husband, David Walker, at Universal Omnitech till the husband died in a car accident last week, no Idea if it was a legit accident or not. She went missing about two days ago. I need as much info on her and possible hit jobs/extraction runs to pick her up as you can get me. Possible locations, anything. She's magically active, no bead on possible skills, just know she's awakened. It's likely that UO wants her back after she took off time after the accident. Anything you can get me is what I want, standard pay rates apply."
I know this is terrible for me to have to do, but Paranoia is only an illness if everyone isn't out to get you.
"The second is info on a phone number and second person, Margaret, I don't have anything more on her other than the name. She should be Melissa's mother, although that isn't a guarantee. The number is" Blaze reads off the number that Margaret gave him. "Anything on it is welcome too."
Static cackles back across the line in response to Blaze's inquiries, followed by a single phrase: You got it. Immediately a click follows as Squall hangs up.
Blaze's mind wanders as his body goes through the business at hand; inside, he still grieves over his losses.
My entire family is being hit by them, Universal will pay if they are responsible, and if not, whoever is will. My God, look at me, all I have now is my vengeance and Leopard's dedication to my goal of bringing down corps. I have nothing, no family of my own, only lost connections to a slowly dying one, no woman for me, only the shadows. I think I have lost my humanity. When she hugged me I couldn't even recognize it until after I began to fend it off as an attack. I hope to god that I can find Melissa because if I can't, I can't begin to imagine what it will do to Margaret, a woman who is still human.
Dialing a new number, Blaze calls up Max to try and pick up some more info and a new job.
"Hey, Max, what's up? I have two things I need from you. The first, my oldest friend, is any info you might know or be able to pick up on a Melissa Walker. She works for Universal Omnitech and had been slacking off a little bit; they might want her back to work, they might not, either way I need info on a likely extraction run to pick her up, would have gone down about two days ago. The second is I need a job, I'm financing that run on my own and I need a payday, please, try to find me something."
Max's face breaks into a small smile. "You know I'll do whatever I can for you, Blaze, just be careful, Ok?"
Blaze nods and cuts the phone line.
Max is the only Humanity I still have and He's a fixer for God's sake. I need to find Melissa and Quickly, if only for having another human being in my life.
**********************************************************************
As Cao Jaan was thinking about how to answer, a member of the Sickles walked in and asked Tiny if she and her friend would like to play cards. She eagerly accepted, and she and Cao spent the next two hours playing cards with other members of the Sickles.
As one of them was getting some beers for the crew, she turned to Cao and asked, "'Ey there, 'bout ur chum, ya be wantin' the name o' tat doc o' what? ur chum need medikal 'elp bad o' wat?"
**********************************************************************
Jaan nods to Tiny.
"That would be most helpful, thank you."
**********************************************************************
Tiny nods, like Cao Jaan made a good decision. " 'Aight. 'Ere's 'is number." She enters a number into his pocket secretary. " 'E's 'ere in the Barrens, so ya shouldn't be havin' no trouble trackin' 'im down. I dun 'member where he is. Just moved to a biggar place, so's you'll hafta buzz him and ask him yerself. Oh, and lemme kno where he's at now, wouldya?"
**********************************************************************
Jaan thanks Tiny, and promises to return with the new location of her friend for her.
Jaan then walks over to Keith Nasty's store, where he knows he can find a working (just) telecom.
I'd better pick up some supplies before I head back too.
With a moment's hesitation, Jaan inputs the number Tiny gave him and waits for an answer.
**********************************************************************
A recorded voice picks up Jaan's call. "Hello, you have reached Dr. George's Quick Fix Medical Clinic. We are currently closed for New Year's Day. Please leave a message and we will get back to you as soon as possible." *BEEP*
**********************************************************************
Klaus frowns as he sits down with a beer. As usual in cases where a private investigator is called in, things appear to be morally and legally murky. Has this woman lost her mind? Probably not. Is she lost and in need of help? Maybe. Was her husband's death an accident? Maybe. Well, no time like now to answer a few of the questions the file has brought up.
Klaus hits the restroom, finishes his beer, and sits down to do some real work.
Relaxing into his overstuffed armchair, Klaus reaches into the astral plane and calls for a watcher: "Come to me, Little Bear, I have need of your services."
"I'm here. How can I help you?"
"Well," says Klaus, "first, you can rest for about 15 minutes while I do the last couple of things I need to do."
With that, Klaus opens up the canister and removes a sample of hair. Switching his vision to the astral plane, Klaus studies the aura from the sample for 3 minutes, trying to memorize it.
Between the aura and the photo's, Klaus feels he has a pretty good picture of Melissa in his head.
He kicks back in his chair and relaxes, letting his mind float free for 10 minutes, recovering the strength he lost summoning the watcher.
When he feels refreshed, Klaus sits up and says "OK, Little Bear. See if you can find this woman."
The spirit circles around Klaus for a minute, looking at the picture he's projecting and sniffing it, then it takes off. Klaus follows immediately behind, hoping to keep up.
**********************************************************************
Jaan hangs up.
I'm not sure if she should wait until tomorrow for medical attention. I'll have to try the one Hammer suggested.
Jaan heads purposefully towards 15001 NE 40th Street. On arrival he looks for any sign of activity.
**********************************************************************
Seeing no sign of activity, Jaan walks into Dr. Bob's. A tired and somewhat hungover looking receptionist looks up at him tiredly. "Can I help you?" she asks in a monotone voice.
**********************************************************************
Jaan shifts his bag slightly as he takes a quick glance around.
Well, maybe it's still a good clinic?
"Hello, miss, I was wondering how much an examination for a friend of mine would cost? She's asleep and seems to have been involved in some kind of trouble."
**********************************************************************
The receptionist looks at him. "It depends on how serious her injuries are. Is she here right now? And if not, how soon can you bring her in?"
**********************************************************************
"I'm afraid I'm not certain how serious her injuries are. She was having some trouble with a gang. She was conscious when I arrived, but as far as I know she hasn't woken since I left her. She doesn't have any major injuries visible though."
Is a basic idea of cost too much to ask? Where does she think we are, Downtown?
**********************************************************************
The receptionist looks at him. "Well if you need a house call, it'll cost you 150 to have a doctor go with you. After that, depending on the extent of her injuries and what you want done, he'll quote you a price. Should I call for a doctor?"
**********************************************************************
"Certainly. Thank you."
Jaan relaxes a little seeing that something should be able to be done about the woman's injuries now.
Of course, I think it's a diet of ration bars for the next month. Still, I suppose it's worth it. If only things could be a little simpler.
**********************************************************************
The nurse buzzes a doctor, and lets him know the situation. In a few minutes he comes out, carrying a small black bag. "All right, I'm ready to go," he says, shaking Cao's hand briefly. "Lead the way to the patient."
**********************************************************************
Jaan leads the doctor back to the warehouse, making a little polite conversation. Arriving back at the warehouse, he leads the doctor to where he left the young woman.
**********************************************************************
After about an hour of zipping around Seattle, it was becoming increasingly clear that this Little Bear wasn't finding anything, and wasn't going to any time soon. Annoyed by the lack of success, Klaus went through his options.
I guess I could try again with another watcher, or go do it the old-fashioned way. Either way, I need a new plan, because this little guy isn't finding anything.
**********************************************************************
Upon arriving, the doctor glances around with obvious distaste at the wreck the warehouse is. Still, he keeps his silence and examines the young woman carefully. After a brief examination, he steps back and says, "Well, the good news is her injuries don't appear to be serious. Cuts, scrapes, bruises, but nothing a week or so off her feet shouldn't take care of. She does however appear to be a bit malnourished, although without more tests I can't say for sure."
He looks around, and continues, "With these facilities there's a risk of infection and things taking a turn for the worse. I recommend you keep her off her feet for a few days, be sure she gets plenty of rest, and try to feed her as nutritionally sound as possible. Is there anything else you'd like to ask me while I'm here?"
**********************************************************************
Klaus had stopped following the watcher and had been cruising around in Astral space for a while. A friendly little spirit came up to him and sniffed him. Klaus absently petted it on the head before sending it on its way.
Hmm ... ok, that watcher didn't turn out too well ... what should I do next he wondered.
**********************************************************************
Well, crap, there goes my profit margin.
Klaus heads back to his meat, hits the john, nukes two giant bean burritos, grabs a 1 Liter Sapporo, and kicks back to watch some American football.
**********************************************************************
It's been a long, slow day at Key to the Future for Avalanche. Probably because it was New Year's Day or something. Oh well, he just sat around and browsed the latest tech developments. No sweat off his back, even if he wasn't making money. Sorta like a day off, yet not.
At 1700 hours, a small human man walked in. He takes a few minutes to casually glance around at the stuff before silding up to the counter. Leaning over it, he asks Avalanche, "Hey man. You the owner?" Avalanche nods affirmatively. "Can I help you with something?"
Glancing around, the man replies, "Nice place you got here. Anyway, yeah, I was wondering, do you do um, custom work?"
Avalanche raises an eyebrow. Custom work, huh? Interesting ...
**********************************************************************
Avalanche strokes his chin thoughtfully. "I might, sir. Depends on the job. What kind of, er, custom work do you have in mind?"
Finally, some biz. I knew being open on a holiday would have some benefits.
**********************************************************************
The man looks at him a bit uneasily and shifts from side to side. "I'd like a cyberdeck. Not really custom made per se, just, um ... modified so it's not quite off the rack, you know what I mean? Maybe if you could just ... I don't know, tinker with the MPCP chips so it's got a little extra than it normally would? How much would that cost me?"
Subtle like a sledgehammer, thinks Avalanche. Oh well, he's a customer, and biz is biz ...
**********************************************************************
"That's a special order, that. Normally I don't do the deckmeister thing, but I might be able to help you out. What kind of stock cyberdeck do you have in mind, and just how much 'tinkering' do you want done on it?"
Hmmm, I'll have to put in a call to Zig and see if he can rustle me up a contact who can supply a deck.
**********************************************************************
The man shakes his head. "No, I think you misunderstood. I don't want a stock cyberdeck with mods. I have the deck, I just need its MPCP modified so instead of two attributes, it has four. You scanning me here?"
**********************************************************************
"Yes, I scan you. Here, let me see the deck."
After looking over the man's Sony cyberdeck, Avalanche sets the deck on the counter and quotes his price.
"Ok, I'm going to need to buy Masking and Evasion proggies for this, and I'm going to need ¥30,000 for the quality you're looking for. For the actual installation, ¥3000. Naturally, if you can get the Masking and Sensor to me yourself, I won't charge you for them, just the base installation fee."
Avalanche waits patiently for the man to decide.
**********************************************************************
The man's eyes widen at the price. "I'll get the programs to you myself, I just need someone to do the installation for me. When should I bring them to you, and how long will it take you?"
**********************************************************************
"A couple of days, six at most but I doubt I'll need that much time. The sooner you get me the programs, the sooner I can start. A word of warning, however."
Avalanche leans over the cyberdeck on the counter. Avoiding eye contact, he gently traces the Sony logo on the deck.
"The ratings you want will make your Bod and Sensor ratings suffer. The sum of their versions won't be able to exceed 5.0. ... So, the max you could get them to is a 3 and a 2. Or, if you really feel suicidal, a 1 and a 4."
Avalanche looks up suddenly, and comfortable in his field of expertise, his normal shyness burns away. His light pink eyes lock with the man's own.
"No matter how you slice it, this deck will be about right for cutting into Blue systems. Maybe, maybe, it might be able to handle a Green on a good day, and with some good software. However, you don't have a snowball's chance in Hell of cutting into an Orange system, and I doubt you'll even be able to get close enough to a Red one to see how fast you'll die. I can mod this deck for you, but don't do anything ... stupid ... with it. Scan me, omae?"
**********************************************************************
"Relax, I scan you." The man nods. "I'm not planning on anything heavy, just need a way to not be a completely visible user." He slides over two chips. "Here they are. Can you call me when the job is done?"
**********************************************************************
"Sure, chummer. Leave your LTG and I'll let you know when the job is done."
**********************************************************************
The man writes an LTG on a scrap of paper. "Here you go, call me when it's done." He smiles briefly. "Nice doing business with you." And then he walks out, leaving Avalanche with an easy 3000 nuyen job on his hands.
**********************************************************************
There was something to be said for the benefits of sleep and steam, both worked wonders for clearing her mind, helping her find some sort of focus after such deeply disturbing events. Cosmo tilted her head back a bit, lazily trailing a finger along the edge of the tub as a chest-pounding reggae beat brought her small-ish apartment to life.
Search apartment for signs of surveillance: Check. Nothing found.
Secure doors and windows, trip-wire balcony door: Done.
Self-check for transmitting devices: Done. Nothing found.
Nap ... three hours: Done, not long enough, dammit.
Espresso at Il Grano: Delicious; emergency pastries in the cupboard.
Manicure, haircut: Check, and check.
Bubble bath ...
Cosmo smiled softly, examining her freshly painted nails with a critical eye. The polish's pale rose hue had never been her first choice ... but then her trademark apricot had always matched the tan she’d maintained so meticulously. Pale skin, pale polish. She patted the loose pile of curls pinned on top of her head. Long hair certainly was a luxury, one she had every intention of enjoying before it became necessary to return to the shorter styles she favoured. A sigh of pure, feminine bliss slipped from between her lips as she sank further into the softly scented bath.
Profile both shoppers ...
"Resume list. Subject one ..." pausing for a moment to ensure that the p-sec was, in fact, recording her words, Cosmo continued, her normally throaty voice made all the richer by the sultry lap of warm water about her shoulders, "... male, mature, with classic taste. Favors basic black, European fashion ... silk rather than lace." She sighs again. "Controlling. Extensive resources and no apparent motive. Cautious. Well informed. He knows my shoe size, dress size, equipment, standard and non-standard, quite possibly my methods; he knew where I was last night ... potentially knows what put me there in the first place. Apparently a 'tech head'," a dimple peeks out of one cheek at Tino's appellation. "Supplied luxury coupe, clothes, weaponry, and equipment. Linked to Drago and Caska. Provided cover identity Megan Richards. 'Trix persona: an unremarkable man ... needlessly false tan, brown hair, brown eyes. Conclusion: none as yet. Pause."
There was no helping the wry twist of her mouth at that last admission; even though she was fairly certain that the pocket secretary wouldn't judge her, a failure was still a failure and the better part of a day had already been wasted ...
Not wasted, Meg. You're clean, alive, and safe ... for the moment ...
She grinned and took a sip of ice-cold cherry cola.
... and you have a date tonight. Things could be a lot worse.
"Resume list. Subject two ..."
There was something different about the way her apartment had been set up, a complete contrast to the luxuriousness of the BMW and all of her new clothes. "Furnished apartment, stocked with healthy food, cherry cola, no alcohol. Gender undetermined, although scented products seem too contrived to be selected by a person of discerning taste." Cosmo paused, chewing on her lower lip as she considered the too-sweet scents of vanilla and lily of the valley as they wafted around her. "Conclusion: indeterminable. The apartment could have been furnished by proxy. Mail order. Also possibly to fit more firmly with the Megan Richards cover. End list."
**********************************************************************
Cosmo drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly as she resolved not to look at the clock again. There'd be plenty of time to properly pamper herself before seven and get enough rest to last her for a while longer; who knew when she'd have a chance like this again.
Rest is a weapon.
Now where did that thought come from ...?
**********************************************************************
Caska stands just to the side of the door, out of view of the peephole, knocking twice. He listens closely for the sound of footsteps, judging when the time is right to hold out the small bouquet of flowers. This time, there's no mistaking the trill of feminine laughter from within. The door opens, and Caska offers the Irises and Baby's Breath to Cosmo.
"You look beautiful."
**********************************************************************
Cosmo's smile was warm as she pulled the door open, her cheeks gently flushed as though she'd rushed to get to the door in time (which she had). There was a bit of a playful sparkle in her eyes as she nodded, accepting the compliment for what it was, her fingers lightly brushing against his as she accepted the bouquet, sighing as she breathed in the heady floral fragrance.
"Caska, thank you."
She laughed softly, not bothering to adjust the loosely tied robe that was barely long enough to cover the satin garters she wore. Vivid teal silk contrasted sharply with translucent black stockings and stylish stilettos that already encased her delicate feet. Her already-striking features were subtly enhanced with warm shades of peach to compliment the soft blonde curls that fell to either side of her face.
"Would you come in? I'm not quite ready yet though it shouldn't be much longer ..."
A dimple peeked out of one cheek as she glanced meaningfully up at him, saying 'you're early,' without actually speaking the words themselves. A quick wink took any sting out of such an implication, though, and she spun around before any apologies could be offered, revealing the long, straight seams that ran up the back of each stocking.
"There's bottled water in the fridge if you like," she called over her shoulder, already striding towards her room at the end of the hall, "and a few cannoli on the bar if you're hungry. Please, help yourself, I won't be much longer."
**********************************************************************
Caska leered at Cosmo as she disappeared from the front hall, his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. He'd read the message well enough in her body language, but it took conscious effort for him not to be on time to his appointments. Closing the door behind him, he drifted down the hallway into the kitchen, inhaling the heady scent of her perfume mixed with that of the flowers. Pulling a bottle of water from the fridge he smiled to himself. Tonight is going to be a good night.
"You seem to have settled in fairly well, no lasting after-effects from yesterday, I hope?"
**********************************************************************
It was all she could to do suppress the shudder that threatened to overwhelm her there and then,
She fought for balance, willing strength back into her trembling limbs, her fingers closing vise-like around the bouquet of irises. The smile she forced into her voice did not reach the rest of her face, though thankfully she was well out of sight.
"Nothing lingering, no, thank goodness." She laughed wryly and shook her head as she finally made her way to the bedroom at the end of the hall, leaving the door partially open as she began her final preparations. "I'm still adjusting, though, and praying that I never have to wake up like that again ..."
...
**********************************************************************
All right, girl, here goes ...
Cosmo glanced in the mirror one last time, nodding her approval at the immaculate fit of the short black dress, a bit of a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth as she appraised the modest 'V' neckline but half a turn would reveal a shocking expanse of her smoothly pale back. The finest imported silk fluttered just above the tops of her knees as she stepped into her small kitchen, a small beaded handbag dangling from her wrist.
"Your concern is touching, Caska, thank you."
**********************************************************************
Caska smiles at her, but doesn't reply for a moment, just drinking in the vision before him. Cosmo preened beneath his gaze, looking good and knowing it, reveling in it. Every survival instinct he possessed screamed at him to stop this, to leave this obviously dangerous woman to whatever destiny had in store for her. But he couldn't. That was part of the excitement, the allure to this game that they were playing: the danger, not only the paltry possibility of rejection and humiliation, but the very real threat to life and limb. The realization was like fuel into an afterburner, desire coursing through him. He straightens, setting down the half-empty bottle of water in order to settle his long coat about his shoulders. A wicked half-smile plays across his lips as he dwells upon the possibility of 'touching concern'.
"You are most welcome. Shall we go?" He offers her the crook of his arm.
**********************************************************************
Arching an eyebrow at Caska's wholly unscrupulous smile, Cosmo found herself returning the look with a playful leer of her own. There was something refreshing about putting her agenda on pause for a while and an unmistakable rush from spending time with someone that quite possibly had as many enemies as she did, someone that could just as easily be hired to kill her tomorrow.
She chuckled, slipping into her own stylish long coat and wrapping a long violet satin scarf around her neck before delicately taking his arm.
"Yes, let's."
Hurry .. before leaving isn't an option ...
**********************************************************************
The elevator ride down to the parking garage passes in comfortable silence, Caska standing close by Cosmo. He uses the time to put on a pair of black leather driving gloves, although the evening isn't quite cool enough to justify them.
Stepping out of the elevator into the parking garage, he leads Cosmo to a Mitsubishi Shadow parked in one of the visitor spots, its storm gray metallic paint gleaming beneath the overheads. The door unlocks to his access code, and he hands her in to the passenger seat. She notices that the interior light does not go on when the doors open. He closes the door, moving around to the driver's side. Sliding into his own seat, he clips a jack from a reel mounted to the headrest of his seat into a jack implanted just behind his right ear. The vehicle snarls to life, backs from its resting spot, and accelerates out of the garage.
Caska drives with skillful agressiveness, playing two layers of traffic against one another, but not so viciously as to draw law enforcement attention. Soft jazz drifts from the multitude of speakers recessed throughout the passenger compartment of the vehicle. Cosmo is almost certain that it's for her benefit and that it's not the usual music he would choose.
"So, where are we going?" she asked in an off-hand manner, her voice perfectly pitched to say not that I care at all. Caska smiled.
"Well, you're no ordinary girl, so I figured that no ordinary restaurant would do."
"Don't be silly, any old place would have been fine." Cosmo patted his thigh with her hand, her face turned away as if she were watching the traffic out the window and not his reflection in it. She felt the muscles there jump as she let her fingers trail away, and he laughed, that throaty, sinister chuckle.
"You are such a liar."
Cosmo matched his chuckle with her own amused purr. The Shadow passed East of downtown, turning away from the entertainment district before starting its climb into the hills above Hollywood. Thirty-five minutes after leaving her apartment, the sleek sportscar pulled up in front of a wrought iron gate that was not less functional for its decorative appearance. Caska rolled down the window and keyed in a combination to the callbox. After a moment, the gate cammed open, and the Shadow wound its way up a curving driveway. The mansion revealed at the summit was stunning, bone white walls set at right angles in a post-modern homage to the suites of Old Hollywood. Point spots, hidden by immacutely manicured grounds, throw fans of dusky illumination across the walls.
Caska parks in front, moving around the vehicle to hand her out. The cacophany of the city is far away and muted beneath the rush of wind and again, the haunting strains of a saxophone jazz riff. With a start, Cosmo realizes that it's the same music they've been enjoying on the ride up here, synchronized to the point that it's picked up from where the car stereo left off.
The front door of the mansion stands open, a marble-floored hallway leading in to the main floor. Arm in arm, Caska leads her through the elegantly decorated entrance hall, beneath a massive gilt chandalier in the atrium, through a lavish sitting room, and out onto a wide patio.
Beneath them is spread the whole of the City of Angels, jewels glittering on a carpet of velvet. The view is amazing. Caska moves to one side as Cosmo leans against the iron railing, the gentle evening breeze caressing her hair. After a minute, he's at her side again, offering a glass of red wine.
"What shall we drink to?"
**********************************************************************
Cosmo turned about slowly, finally having to wrench herself away from the spectacular spread of the city below, just so she could meet Caska's gaze. The flowers, the drive from her apartment, the music, the mansion (part of her was still reeling from this one), and finally the whole of Los Angeles laid out before them .. everything fit so flawlessly she couldn't bring herself to over-analyze the pieces; the whole was simply too overwhelming, too overpowering to cheapen with petty things like "instinct," and "training."
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
This was not to say, however, that "instinct" and "training" had abandoned her to a night of witless romanticizing but rather that they prevented her from becoming completely caught up in the moment, lost in the titillatingly dangerous presence of the creature beside her and the night's potential. As much as a part of her might have wished for things to be different, wished for a full, normal life, she knew that nothing would be half as exciting, or potentially satisfying, as they were now. A small, enigmatic smile crept across her lips as she reached for the goblet, her soft, slightly chilly hand lingering over his. Cosmo spent a few long moments studying his face; his eyes, the set of his jaw, the curve of his lips .. her intense perusal as tangible as any touch as she began to reform her opinion of the man who called himself "Caska."
If the low baritone of his voice caught her off guard, she gave no sign of it beyond a slight widening of her eyes and a softly indrawn breath.
"To new ... friends."
Cosmo arched an eyebrow, her quietly confident voice trailing off with the barest hint of a question.
**********************************************************************
Caska rings his glass softly against hers.
"New friends." He holds her eyes as he drinks from his glass. "Shall we?"
Cosmo follows the tilt of his head to the corner of the patio. A table for two, in the shape of an open crescent, is set immaculately with silver flatware and dark crimson linen. Betwen the horns of the crescent, set ten centimeters lower, is a shallow bronze bowl filled with gray lava rocks. A small gas-fed flame flickers in their heart, enough heat radiating to the table to ward off the evening chill.
Caska holds Cosmo's chair for her, before serving the first course himself: a light Mediterranean salad with romaine and cucumber, black olives and red onions, dusted with olive oil and white wine vinegar.
**********************************************************************
A small, slow smile deepens the dimple in her left cheek as she settles onto the offered chair, deftly draping one of the vivid napkins across her lap as she watches Caska move about the table. There was something ... otherworldly about all of this, thrilling too, as she considered how she had begun this day with a pocket secretary and a handgun. Cosmo chuckled softly as a saxophone wailed in the background, idly trailing a finger across the supple linen, almost unconsciously testing the texture of the fabric, savoring its luxuriousness as she realized it was the very best. She was thrilled ... but not at all surprised. This race against the clock, a dance between life and death, crawling through the slime of the inner city only to find herself stalking among the beautiful and the powerful a few hours later .. it was all as familiar to her as breathing, somehow, and she knew that nights like this one ranked among the deadliest. It was easy to lose oneself in a slow, seductive moment, to drop an otherwise ironclad guard ... that was how she'd operated before ...
Cosmo paused and considered the slender knife resting against the inner curve of her thigh, something she had placed without a thought but felt there was a reason. Now she knew.
Not just a soldier, then; a killer.
She smiled more broadly as the salad was placed in front of her, murmuring a soft "thank you" while she fought against a surge of nausea. A killer. She appraised Caska from across the rim of her goblet, her bold, expressive eyes reflecting the small light of the gas flames until they seemed to glow with their own inner fire. Cosmo took one last sip of her wine as she waited for him to settle himself as well, admiring the easy, predatory grace of his movements, the strength just barely held in check ...
To her credit, she did restrain herself from taking a bite of the exquisite-looking first course until Caska had his fork in hand, though a fragrant hint of white truffle made it a truly herculean effort. She sighed blissfully, savoring the delicate balance between ingredients almost as much as the salad itself. A few moments pass before she glances back up at her partner and blushes becomingly under his intense stare, the plate before him untouched.
"It's delicious, Caska, won't you have some?"
**********************************************************************
Caska glances over at Cosmo, his expression fixed for the second it took him to decide whether eating the bite of salad on his fork would constitute a concession in the game. It was more of an invitation than a direction, though, following it would not endanger his control of the situation. He fades the text notes that hover in his vision to a twenty percent mask, ghostly pale letters framing the left side of Cosmo's face. The food was, predictably, excellent. He rarely saw Ankaros, but he kept the lines of communication open for occasions just as this.
Taking another bite of salad, he dismissed the list of notes and possible topics of conversation and questions altogether. He set his fork down on the plate, and looked over at Cosmo, his gaze as intense as hers of a moment ago.
"There is no mistaking the truth in us, we are both proficient in our chosen craft. I know you by your professional name, as you know me by mine. I'm sure if I were to ask you would be able to provide me with another name, complete with history and personality, all believable yet fake. You could expect the same from me and not be disappointed. Something tells me that I shouldn't waste our time like that. Instead of trading lies tonight, tell me one true thing about yourself. Anything."
Taking his glass in hand, he stared out into the night sky, his gaze far beyond the city lights and the stars on the horizon. When he speaks, his voice is not the urbane and playful thing Cosmo has heard so far, but something remote and gravelly. It is his true voice, the animal's snarl left when the conscious mind exerted no control.
"For myself, I love the rain. To stand out in it, to let the heavy drops wash down your face, to feel it soak you to the bones. In my life I have never been happy. But the rain brings me a sense of peace.
**********************************************************************
Cosmo tilts her head to one side and listens quietly, actively, as Caska speaks, nodding slightly in agreement. She set the game aside for a moment.
"Instead of trading lies tonight ..."
Her smile softened somewhat. No one respected the truth as much as someone that lied for a living and if Cosmo was anything, it was a liar.
And a killer ...
One finger trailed along the line of his forearm, a silent reminder that she was there, listening. She found herself glancing at the fine hairs on the backs of his hands, wondering at the thin network of scars that webbed across his knuckles and prevented new growth, wondering how a person can live for so many years and never find a second of happiness.
"The old movies," she began in a voice that was hardly a whisper, "black and white but so classic ..." Cosmo sighed, idly tracing a finger along the stem of her wine glass. "I've been fascinated with them since I was a girl. There was an innocence to them that I've never seen anywhere else and values I didn't know existed. Things that were important ... should still be important." She trailed off and raised the wine glass to her lips to cover another, louder, sigh.
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After paying the doctor and sending him on his way, Cao Jaan spends the next few hours trying to fix the toilet as well as the rest of the warehouse. Sanitary? He'd be lucky to make sure it wasn't deadly. Still, he'd do his best. After a while, the woman on the cot stirs slightly. Groaning, she places a hand on her head and tries to sit up.
Immediately Cao rushes to her and gently lays her back down. "Don't try to get up. You need to rest." Groggily, she replies, "Who are you? Where am I? What happened?"
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Her touch brings him back from the dark place of blood and death. His smile smooths from its vicious rictus of a moment before, back to the casual predatory look Cosmo so enjoyed. For a moment still he remained quiet, and she thought he may not have heard her amidst the screams of his memory. He took another bite of salad, his eyes sliding sideways to watch her watching him.
"The classics, then? What was important that should still be such?"
He pours more wine for the two of them, willing himself to slow the rushing return of his desire for the woman seated next to him. He could feel an equal fire from her, an electric charge that built in the cool night. There were only two times he felt alive, and this was the better of the two.
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She paused and sipped at her wine, considering for a moment how to answer without sounding hypocritical, her quicksilver mind searching for flaws in her reasoning, possible workarounds, anything that would strengthen her position. Her eyes, still downcast, widened in surprise at the almost-violent tense and release of Caska's arm, flickering upwards to catch the last of a pain-ridden snarl before that maddeningly charming smile slid back into place. A sharp, pleasurable jolt shot through to the tips of her toes, caused the finger hovering over his wrist to twitch ever so slightly.
Just cut the crap, girl.
"Life," she breathed. "You know how much it costs and so do I but the price was different then. The small amount of violence there was had a purpose beyond the deaths per dollar, shoot 'em up ratio and I know that I'm getting carried away but there was a reason for it all, Caska, and it was always a good one. They lived, loved even, with grace and respect. Spirits, the actors never even really kissed one another, but ... it ... didn't ..."
Cosmo stopped and took a deep breath, a soft flush running to the pulsing base of her throat as she gathered her thoughts, knowing that she'd already shifted the balance heavily in his favour. A dimple peeked playfully at him as she demurred, her finger tracing a small circle across the back of his hand.
"... matter."
Score one for you, Watchdog.
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"Relax, I'm Cao Jaan and you're in a safe place."
Jaan looks around.
Okay, so it isn't that safe, but it's better than being outside.
"You were attacked by some go-gangers. I'm afraid I don't know why."
While she takes all this in, Jaan fishes around in his bag then offers her a ration bar.
"Are you hungry?"
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The woman nods slowly, tentatively. "Thank you." Chewing slowly, she looks up at him. "Why did you help me? What do you want? Where am I?" The questions come rapid fire at him, and although she's obviously shaken, her mind is clearly functioning on all cylinders.
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"I helped because you needed help. You're still in the barrens. It isn't much, but I like to think of it as home."
Plenty of rest? It sounds like I'll need plenty of rest!
"As for my desires, I would like you to rest for a time. You were badly hurt and shouldn't strain yourself. Oh, and I wouldn't object to knowing what to call you."
Jaan smiles amiably, the effect somewhat spoilt as a section of shelving behind him suddenly gives way and crashes to the floor, scattering a collection tools across the room.
Jaan lets out a sigh and turns to begin his hunt among the debris for a hammer and some nails.
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The part of his mind that functioned in the background at moments like this picked up on her mention of 'spirits' and filed it away for later use. When required, the information would be supplied, along with its possible connotations to her religious beliefs, ready to be used for whatever advantage possible. It was as instinctive as his perception of her body language, and the warmth and warning in that dimpled smile. It was what made him such an excellent predator.
Again, he felt her fingertips touch him, and again half of him recoiled at the invasion of his defensive space while the other half sought to erase the remaining distance between their bodies. He enjoyed the flush on her cheeks, though, his smile momentarily widening.
"I think that life has always been cheap, as you say, even then. But I agree that people have lost sight of the purpose of living. Or, rather, that few people today live with a purpose. Most everyone out there is simply existing. It is rare to come across an individual these days who knows what it is to truly live."
Caska turns his palm up, running his thumb along the edge of Cosmo's hand, then gently down her palm. He finishes with a gesture towards her nearly empty salad plate.
"Shall I bring the main course?"
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Cosmo suppressed a shudder as his thumb brushed across the tender flesh of her palm, groaning inwardly at how quickly goosebumps formed along her forearms. She'd learned to fake such things after hours of training but had never mastered the ability to prevent those infernal things. After placing the slender fork diagonally across her plate, she nodded and smiled slowly.
"If you like, Caska," and if you can stand this, then so can I.
She laughed softly and sipped at her wine, not drinking nearly as much as one would expect but not abstaining either; whatever happened tonight, staying sharp would remain a priority. Control, she understood, was more important to Caska than it was to her at the moment so, for the moment, she did not mind relinquishing it. Her posture was relaxed, her manner inviting as she shifted in her seat to face him more fully. Thick red wine swirled around and around in her long-stemmed goblet as she appraised him, one elbow resting casually against the back of her chair, one slender blonde eyebrow arched ever so slightly as if to say that the main course could wait, if that was his desire.
Cosmo knew that she'd made a mistake earlier and hated the fact that it had happened so easily. There was no excuse for it ... balance would be restored by morning, sooner if she had her way.
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Caska stands, setting his own fork on his plate. Leaning in, he reaches around Cosmo for her plate, deliberately close. He could feel the heat from her body, smell her heady perfume. The hunt shimmered in his mind, his eyes hungry. He knew, without asking, what she offered. He knew that if he closed that distance, to brush his lips across her cheek, inhale the wonderful fresh scent of her hair, to finally taste her, that she would sweep the dishes from the table and draw him down to her. She would devour him as surely as he hungered for her. Not yet! he told himself, not yet. Savor the game. The anticipation would make the endgame so much sweeter. Sweeter still, if he played his hand well. Again, the look of predatory possession flashed across his face. Finally breaking the moment, he disappeared through a door Cosmo hadn't seen in her initial scan of the patio. After a minute he reappears, three plates balanced in his arms. He sets one before her, and one at his place, while the third is between them.
The main dish is lamb, shaved thin and seasoned with onions and garlic and a roasted chicken kabob over a bed of rice, dusted with saffron. The center dish holds warm pita bread wrapped in a linen napkin, and a shallow bowl of tzaziki sauce.
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Cosmo felt a rush of air leave her as he leaned in, so close that she could almost hear the steady pounding of his pulse ... a rhythm that would closely match hers. She fixed him with a heated look of her own, one that almost dared him to pick up the plate and widen the distance between them, a small span that was becoming more electrifying with every passing second. Briefly, she considered how he would react to being pushed onto their small table, pinned, and devoured slowly, whether or not he'd mind the spilled wine and the clatter of overturned dishes ... her vivid gaze turning aggressive to mirror her train of thought as hot, heady desire curled around her middle. She gauged their strengths as comparable ... wondered if he'd push back ... no. Ultimately, Caska wouldn't be satisfied unless the first move was his.
Her laugh was soft, throaty, as he pulled away; the miniscule twitch of his jaw was enough to mollify her for the moment. "You're hungrier than I thought," was a murmur almost too quiet to hear as he stalked off towards the door she hadn't noticed until now. She took a minute to breathe deeply, scanning the patio for anything else she might have missed earlier now that the enchantment of a few minutes ago had faded and only the huntress remained.
She smiled when he returned, the only difference in her posture was that one long, slender leg crossed towards him as he served them both and seated himself. Cosmo found herself warming to the game they played, enjoying how every move, every lingering glance was slowly driving the both of them mad. This was a game she knew, one she prided herself on playing well (and winning often) though she couldn't quite recall if she'd played with someone who understood its nuances quite as well as Caska. She leaned forward, pulling the heavy curtain of her hair over one shoulder and away from the table as she inhaled some of the fragrant steam rising from her plate, her eyes half-closed in blissful surrender to the succulence of the dish, her smile turning dreamy in silent homage to the roast that was quite possibly too good to eat ...
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Caska folded the triangle of pita bread over the slices of lamb, but his eyes never left the long expanse of stocking-clad leg that Cosmo offered so innocently. He found her so intoxicating, how casual she seemed, even as she wavered from girlish delight to a sultry intensity. It was easy to see how she could crush an ordinary man, to bend him to her will without so much as a second thought. It was raw hubris for him to think that his fate would be different, yet he had long ago accepted the fact that he was not an ordinary man. Nor were his appetites anything that resembled conventional. He wanted more than to just wring cries of passion from her, she would give him that much. Her body language had all but promised that. What he wanted was her surrender, he wanted to watch her eyes as she gave up her control to him. And her knowledge of the game they played would make that victory so much sweeter. He would savor the moment even as she tore him to pieces. The outcome of this night would hurt so beautifully. Memories surfaced from the dark waters of his mind:
"There are two ways to conquer a woman like that," she mused, her face turned away towards the window. The streetlights seeping through the curtains painted the naked curves of her body bronze. Caska listened with all the intenseness of the sixteen-year-old student he was, propped on one elbow.
"You can treat her like an exotic cat, a tigress, to be petted until she purrs and rolls over for you. Or, like a proud mustang, to be broken to the bit and bridle, until she does your bidding."
"Which do you prefer?" Even then, his facility for information storage was manifest. She turned back to look at him, her eyes dark and fathomless, a soft smile twisting her lips. Arching her back, she offered herself up.
"Break me."
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The smile that curled across Cosmo's plush lips was anything but innocent as she noted the direction of Caska's glances. A sound somewhere between a purr and a chuckle was barely suppressed as her next move was immediately and irresistibly decided.
So it's like that, is it?
She shifted in her seat again, absently sliding one slim leg against the other, knowing full well how the shimmering stockings would look in this dim lighting and appearing completely ignorant of the slow rise of her silk skirt and the precarious position of the crimson napkin. Cosmo made a point of enjoying the course, her breathy sighs and heartfelt 'mmmm's interspersed with the most horridly inane conversation, all delivered in her throaty contralto voice but absolutely no innuendo. The lamb was delicious and the rice seasoned to perfection ... she couldn't help but savor the kebab with her fingers, so long as he didn't mind ... wine was sipped with infuriating slowness as she watched him from out of the corner of one eye, always watching to judge the best time to catch him off guard.
Every few moments she'd shift again, or stretch those long pale arms over her head to silhouette a marvelously-curved frame, every few moments that infernal napkin would dip lower and lower but refuse to fall in spite of the fact that a black silk hem, a hint of satin, and the promise of smooth, snowy skin were surely no more than a breath away ...
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"Oh. It's him again."
She looked up, and a mischievous smile lit up her green eyes. Mostly you'd be noticing that smile. You'd have to look closely to see the tusks at all. "That makes what, four times he's been in here now without even the excuse of a meet?"
"Five," growled her companion. On him the tusks were much more noticeable, and a pale colour resembling aged ivory reflecting gently in the wire-frame spectacles, and were doing as good an impression of grinding together as is possible for non-molars. "At least this time he left his hired gun idling the car."
"I'm sure he likes you just as much as you like him," she said, polishing the end of the formica counter that allowed her to keep an eye on the back booth. "Anne, could you get in here a moment?"
"His driver makes the cops in here nervous, and that makes everyone else nervous, and --"
"And that's bad for biz," she finished word for word along with him, still smiling, although it was starting to become a little strained. "I know the spiel. And the amount of metal that guy carries, I'd be nervous too. It's not even like you need to see any of it, the way you do. It's more than just that he's wired, and rigged, and overhauled seven ways from Sunday. Fragging good wiring too, unless I miss my guess. I don't even know anyone who does work like that. No," she shook her head, "it's something about the way he carries himself, something about his eyes, like all the humanity's been leached out of him along with the flesh ..."
She trailed off. He glanced down, at the screen concealed below the lip of the counter, while his hand brushed gently against hers. "That's one hell of a cannon the guy's packing this week," he said. "At least the Johnson's bright enough to keep his own piece down to something more reasonable."
"It's part of the arrangement," she said absently. "Oh, not the spellcasting -- there's really not a whole lot I can do about that, you know that -- and it's not like I can keep the heavy ordinance out of the deals, but at least I can keep it out of my restaurant. And it's not like the cops particularly mind leaning on any of them the moment they step out of the car."
He arched an eyebrow. "Oh?" and the Irish accent broadened perceptably. "Ye mean it's not my cooking?"
She cuffed him with the dishcloth. "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. You know Teresa wouldn't go an inch out of his way to give us a hand based on the quality of your food, and we chase down organic greens and real fruit juice especially for him. But that's because he's an idiot." She rolled her eyes. "And that's also assuming he'd ever find out the kinds of deals that really go down in this place. Which he won't. No," she began attacking the counter with the cloth again, "half the plain clothes cops out there really hate the way the corps make it impossible to do their jobs -- and apart from Teresa, most of them make a point of stopping by here for soykaf and the quick meal they know you'll always have ready for them, on the house -- and they appreciate it, and know better than to let Teresa in on it. But if they get a chance to hastle a corper legitimately ... Especially when the corper's carrying armour piercers. They hate those more than anyone."
"Why the car?" he asked curiously.
"It's extraterritorial. Didn't you notice the registration?"
He grunted. "It would be. Nice, fragging, teris'faenlar slumming neutrality."
The smile brightened again. "I didn't know you spoke Sperethiel."
"I don't. Only the useful bits."
"Well, you'd better not let him hear you." She reached below the counter for a butter knife and began working at whatever was caught in the long, narrow furrow gouging the formica, her slightly clumsy orkish fingers handling the blade not clumsily at all. "His kind's still our bread and butter, you know that. And it's not like he chose to be an elf." It came loose, suddenly. She straightened. "Anne?" she called again, more sharply.
"She's out front, getting the last of the early student crowd. Just after Christmas two of them walked without bothering to pay." He snorted. "She was pissed about that."
The girl came in at that moment, pausing to set her tray, with its bits of odd jangling change swimming in spilt soykaf, down on the freshly scrubbed counter. Brave pink highlights danced in her short, curly blonde hair and reflected off her large, round glasses. An elf, a cute one ... or maybe she might have been cute if she had filled out a bit. A bit starved-looking, although her dusky skin and her general underdevelopment might have had something to do with that. Fast on her feet, with an apron of a uniform and not-too-worn Doc Martins just a few years out of fashion. Seventeen, maybe, and maybe a good deal less than that.
"And the book-types, they fraggin' tries to nip the bond again, but I stands at the street and yells at them till he got all flustered an' finally chipped me his cred. Oops," and her head lowered, "gomennasai, Johnny. Didn't know you was here."
"Never mind that now. Anne," the woman said, emphasising the name ever so slightly, "could you please go and get Mr. Johnson his soykaf?"
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"It is all right. Really. I know all about you, you see."
She stared at the floor, tray twisting in her hands in front of her, shifting slightly from foot to foot. The sign displaying the logo of the Last Drop>, a hangman's noose and gallows, reflected off her large glasses. "Me, Johnson-sama?"
"Yes, Mariah Anne. Come, sit down, it is all right." And as she bolted a glance toward the two orks behind the counter, "Don't worry, Anne, I will clear it with your employers."
"But it's the tag end of the rush ..."
She trailed off uncertainly at his warm smile. "It is always the tag end of the rush around here," he said gently in his precise, cultured voice, rising to his feet to take the tray with its soykaf decanter and mug from her unresisting hands and set it on the table. "It is the nature of such a place; its camouflage, if you will. But you won't lose your employment over this, I promise." He took her chin and tilted it up to face him. "Unless you wish it, of course. You deserve better than a place such as this, tiri'thiel."
She flushed. "Please, Johnson-sama, sit down."
He touched her lightly across the lips as he did so. "My name is Legoran. And you will join me for a soykaf, won't you?"
"But ..." She trailed off again, setting his mug in front of him automatically. "You don't know the first thing about me," she said at last, picking up the decanter, and the look on her face spoke volumes about how she had realised how innane she had sounded, even as she had spoken.
There was a forgiving smile in his hazel eyes, and an uncomfortable intensity. "I know you. I know how you lie awake late at night, worrying at every telephone call if it is going to be another creditor demanding payment, wondering how you are ever going to be able to pay the tuition fees you still owe, how you are even going to be able to pay next month's rent." Those eyes would have met hers directly, openly, if she hadn't been staring so fixedly at the decanter in her hands, the reflected sign of the hangman's noose swaying in her lenses. "I know the name on your SIN." He reached out to touch her hand. "I know that to me you are my Arwen Silverhair, and none of the rest matters."
She had been pouring. She realised she had been pouring into his lap when he suddenly gasped and tried to get clear.
The woman at the bar laughed softly to herself, almost inaudibly, and bent over to retrieve a dry dishtowel.
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Amidst the thoughts and plans of conquest that dominate his mind as he watches Cosmo tease him, a solitary quote lifts itself to the forefront, a solemn reminder of the inevitable outcome:
La Belle Dame Sans Merci hath thee in thrall!
Using the patience born of long stakeouts, of stalking through the mud and rain after your prey, he holds himself to a simmer, keeping the fire between them stoked, but not raging out of control. The storm hovered in the back of his mind, all of the delicious possibilities arrayed out with geometric precision. But he would wait, wait and see how far she was willing to tease before action was warranted. He wondered, idly, how much her dress cost and if she would be upset if it was ruined. Leaning back in his chair, he sips from his wineglass, waiting for a moment.
"If you're finished, I have gelato for dessert?" Or I could just have you ...
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Cosmo nodded slowly, one eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other as she popped the last bite of roasted chicken into her mouth, deliberately taking her time to clean off each finger and wipe her hands across the precariously balanced napkin.
"Mm, I could do with a bit of dessert."
She chuckled and eyed him meaningfully, wondering exactly how he was intending to serve this gelato, her mind offering up all sorts of devilish possibilities, none of which involved bowls or spoons. One finger trailed across the curve of her wine glass as she considered how much more of this he could take, much less how much longer she was willing to wait. Her eyes turned a shade darker, the challenge burning within them more than clear. She could wait all night.
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Again, Caska leans in, eyes alight. Instead of reaching for her plate, though, he circles her right arm with his left hand, holding it against the arm of ther chair. With his right, he brushes his fingertips gently down the curve of her cheek. He pauses, his face centimeters from hers, reading her eyes. The moment seems to stretch for hours, electricity blazing between the two of them, before he closes the last distance between them.
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She had been watching him all night, making note of every move, every quirk in his behaviour. Cosmo had taunted him, tested him, and teased him until she, herself, was near the point of screaming but nothing, nothing she'd experienced in a good long while, anyway, could have prepared her for the churning desire that threatened to overwhelm her. Caska's searing gaze, the firm grip on her arm paired with such a sweet caress across her cheek, the maddeningly slow descent of his lips over hers ... everything played out so methodically, so precisely, that there could be no doubt as to who controlled the moment.
Cosmo found herself leaning slightly into him, a low, contented purr slipping from between her lips as they tasted one another. That's the point, she understood, a sharp thrill coursing through to the tips of her toes as she imagined some of the "battles" to follow. Long, supple fingers threaded through close-cropped hair, teasing the flesh along the nape of his neck as she intensified this first embrace, knowing that there could be only one uncontested victor tonight. She kissed him until they both had no choice but to pull away, breathless, to plan their next moves. By all the Spirits, she was going to make him work for it.
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It was fire pumping through his veins, a storm which threatened even his reserve and control. She felt weightless to his adrenaline-fueled muscles as he lifted her to her feet, her chair skittering back across the patio from the urgency. His lips came down on hers again, eliciting that same low throaty purr. Unable to wait longer, he pulled her towards the door. Dessert would have to wait.
Shadows cast by the dancing flames slid like liquid darkness across the naked skin of the predators curled before it. Several hours had passed, the master bedroom in disarray as a result. Clothes and weapons were strewn on the floor, and the king bed's mattress lay askew on the box spring. The bedclothes as well were cast aside in a haphazard manner, except for the sheet wrapping the pair as they rested on the floor. Cosmo lay on her side facing the glass-enclosed fireplace, her hair fanned out about her. Spooned against her, Caska ran his fingers gently over the swell of her hip and down to the supple muscles of her stomach. She glanced back at him, and he met her dark gaze, reading the desire there. He could still feel the smouldering passion between them, but it was different somehow. Less of a destructive, all-consuming fire and more of a slow simmering pleasure. He hadn't won tonight, despite this outcome, but he hadn't failed either. Neither one of them surrendered, or gave ground. But that aspect of the game seemed less important now that they'd shown each other their true faces. It was so very rare that he met another predator of the same caliber. Rarer still that he enjoyed her company. It would be disappointing to waste this relationship with a power play. You would fight me, wouldn't you, if I closed my teeth on your throat, he mused as his hand brushed across her skin. Not to escape, but to take me down first. Caska leaned in to taste her lips again. Would you offer your neck to me though, were I to ask?
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A sudden, short, sharp laugh behind her as she was dealing with the last traces of the minor catastrophe in the Johnson's -- Legoran's -- wake. She raised her head, tilted it slightly to the soft sounds of a working pocket computer. "That joyed you, Richard?"
The man in the other booth, the one behind her, leaned forward sharply. It had the effect of bringing his features out of the shadows. Pale blue eyes. Short-cropped blonde hair. Built, but without the suggestion of being enhanced. "He's trouble."
She smiled. "He's an elf."
"So are you."
She knew she had waited too long to retort when the humour began to pull itself across his face. It was not an ugly smile. In fact, by the sound of him, he might have been more than tolerably pleasant to look at -- and yet there was something ugly about it as he leaned on his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers: "You're more than you seem, my dear."
She cast her eyes down, pouted. "Frag, I sincerely hope so!"
He ... smiled. It did nothing to ease the essential hardness in his pale blue eyes. "You know, I think I will have something off the regular menu after all," he said, reaching out to the touchscreen beside him and tracing down the side to scroll across the choices. "Maybe a dessert?" His fingers slowed, and she moved closer to take the order: "Maybe a piece of pie?"
"The lemon meringue's really jacked today."
"So," and his fingers reached out suddenly to seize her arm, hard, "why do I have the stir-fry selections headlined?"
She tried to shrug, but his fingers were digging into her arm. "I don't know, Richard. Because you're you?" And then with a slight gasp, "Could you let go of my arm, please? You're hurting me."
He laughed. "Nice try ... Anne. About what I'd expect from you." He released her, and she stepped back from him, rubbing the place where his fingers had left marks. "You fit in extremely well, here. Too well. Your SIN scans to seven places. But you forgot that a college student should be able to read."
She said nothing.
"It's a matter of relative value, you see," he continued. "Your boyfriend has an interest in you. Maybe I have an interest in him? Or maybe I might have one in ... someone else?" He shrugged, his fingers doing a brief drum roll on the table. A heavy metal ring on the middle one gave an odd, syncopated thunk against the synthwood. "You know how it works, my dear: a favour for a favour." He leaned back in the booth, casting his hard, clean features and short blonde hair back into shadow. He was entirely too good at that. "I wonder which one of us is going to call it in first?"
The phone on his wrist buzzed. He snapped open the screen: "Reinhardt." The tautness drained out of him as he listened. With just the suggestion of a glance at her he answered, "No one." There might have been the hint of a smile as he said it. "I'll be there in ten."
He snapped the screen shut. "Well, Ulysses, you might be wondering why I am telling you this. Or, if you are what I think you are, you'll already have guessed. I'll be gone for a bit." He tossed her a datachip. Caught by surprise, she nearly missed it. "Scan that. It has my cellphone number on it." He leaned forward again, showing his teeth: "But I wanted you to understand exactly where we stand first, wakarimasu-ka?"
He stood up, tossed some bills on the table and walked out, and she cleared away the 500¥ tip and remaining glass automatically, adding a new set of her fingerprints on top of her previous ones, and allowed her cloth to make brief contact with the table's surface before she went to fetch a new decanter of soykaf for outside. There were only a couple of other cops outside this time, sharing a table. They must be partners. She must have still had something of the encounter in her body language, for the one who must have had some Makah in him smiled at her in sympathy: "Don't take it personally, Anne, he's like that with everyone."
The other just shook his head: "Why do you keep trying?"
Setting the decanter on their table, she allowed herself to sag a little. "Everybody needs someone."
The Makah poured himself a fresh cup, added a couple of spoonfuls of whitener, and stirred the result to near smoothness before speaking again. "You're a real nice kid, you know that? But there's people with whom you just can't win."
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The woman pulled down the heavy metal shutter over the topside frontage and locked it. For this day at least, there was no point in staying open any longer topside -- and no point in opening up any sooner below, half that crowd wouldn't be in any condition yet even to hunt for a hair of the hellhound that had bitten them. Anne dragged the last of the outside tables into its inside storage place, and sagged. "Problem?" the woman asked.
For all their intensity the girl's words weren't loud, and they were almost lost against the sudden noise from the overhead trid and Johnny's curse: the holiday-delayed feed barely started, and already someone other than Belfast United had scored a goal in the quest for the Afrikaaner-Saedar Krupp Cup. "They scanned my prints, Hobbes! They both did!"
"So ka? Well, you knew Teresa would have to have checked it out sooner or later. I told you it would hold up. Grail does good work." Absently she stroked the small calico bit of rag that had jumped up on the counter beside her. "And of course the Johnson's really got no choice, his wife would never put up with anything that would jeopardise their lobbying for the upcoming Rite of Progression."
Behind them Johnny spared enough attention from the trid to roll his eyes. Anne looked up. "He's married?"
Hobbes shrugged. "The Tir likes to consider itself civilised about these things."
"Yes," and the other glanced up, away from the trid, "the pixies have many words for whore: "morkhan, serathilionyn, makkaherenit, irenis, puta, leäl ..."
Sharply: "Johnny." And then, to the girl, "He's interested. That means you've got a choice."
"If it's even gen," she bit off, then sat down suddenly as the other cat landed in her lap and demanded her attention.
"It's real --" said both orks together, and then broke off and looked at each other. "I assensed him," Johnny said at last, stubbing out the last remains of the old cigarette and lighting a new one. Then, at her glare, "It's not like he was paying any attention to me."
She held his gaze a moment longer, then turned back to Anne. "So, that's another option. Looks like it's real enough -- now, but you know what they say about elf lords and their whims. Still, you do have the out now. It's your choice, Sedna."
The elf girl stared at the floor, stroking the cat half-absently. "I think I've got to do this. You know, Hobbes -- what we talked about. And I've still got to pay you and Grail somehow."
"Oh téch, girl, lighten up, will you?" growled the other ork without taking his eyes from the screen. "You sound like a bad piece of trid. ... Ye bloody wankers!"
The woman nodded, the shadow of a tolerant smile in her eyes. "Then leave a message with Grail, see where's he's at with the pixel trail. I have a line on something that might work -- let you know."
Johnny closed his eyes with the expression of one long-suffering as the game mercifully slipped into commercial announcement. "She'll need a name, you know."
"You picked one for her yet?"
"Me? You're the brains, shweetheart."
Anne blinked. "I've got a name."
"Street name, he means." The cat butted its head against her hand, and she fondled its missing ear with a large, gentle hand. "Alleycat," she said suddenly. "That'll do." And then she laughed: "That'll do perfectly!"
The waitress looked blank: " 'Alleycat'?"
"Just trust me, it works. But for now go home, go sleep, it's been a long twenty-four hours. Still," Hobbes said, turning back to Anne with a toothy smile, "I think we'll just keep this Mr. Johnson out of that loop. Just in case, you scan?"
**********************************************************************
Later that evening, as Avalanche is taking a break from modifying his customer's deck, he is kicking back with a warm drink and enjoying the fact that he actually has heat in his apartment when the phone rings. On the other end is Zigzag. "Yo, Av, got word about a little job you might be interested about. Definitely up your alley, helping out some metas from some jacked up Humanis type thugs. If you want to know more, check out the Paradigm Shift out in Touristville, Redmond at 2300 on the 4th. Tell the goons up front you're looking for Mr. Fan and they'll set you straight. You scan?"
**********************************************************************
After a holiday-hours commute that had lasted far longer than it should have, Anne finally stepped into her apartment, letting the door shut behind her to close off the last remnants of street lighting. Without bothering to turn on the lights she turned the deadlock, skipping the chain, pulled off the coat and tossed it over the back of the chair to her left before wedging the chair under the knob of the door, took two steps to the right -- and fell over the low coffee table. The vase on it rocked and almost steadied. She caught herself on the edge of the table, and the vase fell over, rolled off the table, and shattered.
"Frag it," she whispered, picking herself up cautiously.
She closed her eyes, feeling the warm trickle across her palm where the glass had sliced. She curled her fingers against it, keeping the blood from falling. After a few moments she opened her eyes again, nodding to herself, and moved straight to the dust closet where she retrieved a dust pan and brush to begin sweeping up the shards. When she could run her other hand across the area without feeling any more stings of glass slivers, she took the pan full of broken glass to the garbage disposal and dumped it, then took dustpan and brush to the small washroom to scrub off the blood. Once clean, she set them aside in favour of the medkit's scalpel. Slowly, meticulously, she began to pick out the rest of the glass from her palm, kindling a fresh flow of blood into the sink.
Staring at it, she hesitated; touched it to her tongue. Then, softly, in the voice of one who calls but does not really expect to be heard, she began to speak the most basic invocation of a watcher spirit, the blood seeping from her sliced palm.
Nothing. Not even a whisper of mana. Not so much as a signature to erase. Her eyes fell --
Fell on the blood trickling slowly from her scratched and bleeding palm, on the veins throbbing gently in tune with her heartbeat, on the bright scalpel twisting and turning in her hand. She touched the flat of the blade to her brow, letting the soft, stinging beads of sweat roll onto it and across it.
With a sudden movement she drove the scalpel's blade deep into her hand. Twisted. Began to drag it down toward her wrist.
A white wash of pain cleared her mind. She pulled the scalpel out and wiped it off carefully in water as hot as the place seemed to manage, staring without surprise at the muscles and pale bone it had uncovered. She did feel a bit surprised that she had managed to completely miss the tendons. Not that the spell would care. This time, she let the stillness of the room seep into her, oddly difficult here, as though against resistance -- but at last she had it, that sudden clean shift in her mind as she felt the mana whisper through her.
She finished by washing the blood from her unscarred hands in the hot water. Returned the cleaned and sterilised scalpel to its place in the medkit. Closed the door of the medicine cabinet. Stared without seeing into the mirror. Her face blurred before her.
"Well," she said finally, "still alive."
And the soft resistance of the place picked up her words and turned them and drew them back around her: still alive?
**********************************************************************
After an evening of making the necessary calls and then waiting, endless, seemingly interminable waiting, Blaze was getting annoyed. I'm so close. So close to family. Why won't the stupid phone ring? Argh! Go figure, when you can't wait for something, each minute just drags and drags and ... *Ring* *Ring* Well speak of the devil ... sometimes wishing does pay off ...
The voice on the other end speaks nearly as soon as Blaze picks up. It's Squall. I got the info you wanted. First, that lady Margaret, all I got was confirmation of what you sent me. Nothing that goes against her story or otherwise raises any red flags in my book. Either her cover is vacuum-sealed, or she's telling the truth. Your call on what you want to believe. Her daughter, Melissa, same deal. Everything you told me checked out. Again, same deal, either she's covered every which way, or your info is on the up and up. Not too much as far as a location, although I managed to pick up a police report stating that a woman who seemed to fit that description was being assaulted down in the Barrens. The dispatcher didn't really care, in fact the report doesn't even list which one, although if I had to guess, I'd put my money on Redmond, but that's just 'cause it's closer to her point of origin. That's all I've got for you. Payment delivered in the usual way?
Blaze nods. "You did good, Squall, real good. I'll get you the payment ASAP. Thanks again, and if you manage to find anything more about Melissa Walker, drop me a line, ok?"
The voice on the other end speaks an affirmation and disconnects. Blaze is mulling over the info when the phone rings again.
"Hey, kid, it's me, Max. I wasn't able to find anything on that girl you asked me about, but I did manage to turn up a lead for a job. Not your usual anti-corp stuff, but I scan that there should be a chance to take on people at least similar to that type. Mr. Johnson's calling the shots at a place called Paradigm Shift. It's a new club out in Touristville, Redmond. No RSVP required, if you want more info, be there at 2300 on the 4th. Just let the guards up front hear that Mr. Fan sent you and you're in. Any questions?"
**********************************************************************
"Thanks, Max." Good, a job means work, and work means money. I'm going to need that money to find out where Universal is keeping Melissa, and I will find her. Now to begin working, actually as Blaze works to suppress a large yawn, time to get some sleep, work starts tomorrow.
********************************************************************** ... TO JANUARY 2
An hour later, Warrick pulled out of the underground parking garage, turning right onto 9th St before taking the I395 ramp. Ten minutes later he was pulling into Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. Past the terminals and the offices housing Signature Aviation Services, he pulled into long term parking. Walking down the long aisle of vehicles, he came at last to a gray Chevy SUT. With a glance around to clear himself, he slid behind the wheel. At the exit kiosk, Warrick hands the attendant a certified credstick. The young man nods, opening the gate. No record of the transaction is made, and, in fact, no record exists of the vehicle ever having parked in the lot.
08:25:13 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
08:25:37 01 January 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
08:30 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Tacoma, in a Starbucks on 12th Street
08:45 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Blaze's Doss
08:51:33 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:51:33 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:52:17 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:52:22 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:53:05 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:53:18 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:53:29 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:53:41 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:54:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:54:19 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:54:50 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:55:16 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:56:08 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:56:31 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:58:47 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:58:50 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:59:31 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
08:59:46 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
09:00 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Tacoma, in a Starbucks on 12th Street
09:00 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Blaze's Home
09:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Blaze's Doss
09:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Blaze's Doss
09:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Blaze's Doss
09:03:24 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
09:04:16 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
09:05 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Below Blaze's Doss
09:08:51 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
09:09:38 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
09:10:11 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
09:11:13 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
09:12:10 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:12:31 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:12:49 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:13:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:13:18 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:13:50 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:14:06 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:14:51 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:15:12 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:15:48 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:16:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:16:18 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:16:31 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:16:42 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:19:25 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:19:28 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
09:36:48 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFS
10:00 Monday, 01 January - Jonesy's Apartment, Tacoma
10:00 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Andie's Low Lifestyle apartment, Tacoma
10:20 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Jungle Jim's Junkyard (now under no ownership), Redmond Barrens
10:24 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Jungle Jim's Junkyard (now under no ownership), Redmond Barrens
10:24 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Jungle Jim's Junkyard (now under no ownership), Redmond Barrens
10:25 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Jungle Jim's Junkyard (now under no ownership), Redmond BarrensTo further picture the scene: Cao Jaan is a moderately short man of apparent oriental (Chinese, to be precise) origin. His head carries fine dark stubble, looking as if it was shaved this morning. He is dressed in a variety of (not too painfully) mismatched garments, and garbs his feet in a pair of battered boots. A highly repaired rucksack is attached to his back by its one remaining strap. He speaks with a very slight Chinese accent to his words, but has evidently been away from the splintered lands once known as China for quite some time.
10:25 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Jungle Jim's Junkyard (now under no ownership), Redmond Barrens
10:26 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Jungle Jim's Junkyard (now under no ownership), Redmond Barrens
10:26 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Jungle Jim's Junkyard (now under no ownership), Redmond Barrens
10:26 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Jungle Jim's Junkyard (now under no ownership), Redmond Barrens
10:26 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Jungle Jim's Junkyard (now under no ownership), Redmond Barrens
10:27 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Jungle Jim's Junkyard (now under no ownership), Redmond Barrens
10:28 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Jungle Jim's Junkyard (now under no ownership), Redmond Barrens
10:44 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - An abandoned warehouse in the Redmond Barrens
11:00 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Auburn Center Mall, Renton
11:00 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Land's End magic shop, Auburn
11:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 – Auburn Center Mall, Renton
11:03 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Auburn Center Mall, Renton
11:04 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Auburn Center Mall, Renton
11:05 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Auburn Center Mall, Renton
11:07 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Auburn Center Mall, Renton
11:07 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Auburn Center Mall, Renton
11:08 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Auburn Center Mall, Renton
11:08 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Renton, Auburn Center Mall, A Toilet Stall
11:09 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Auburn Center Mall, Renton
11:30 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - just outside of Miner's Landing, Downtown
11:44 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - An abandoned warehouse in the Redmond Barrens
11:47 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Club Abraxis, somewhere in the Matrix
11:48 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - An apartment in Renton
11:50 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown
11:51 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown
12:01 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown
12:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown
12:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown
12:03 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown
12:05 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown
12:05 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown
12:07 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - An abandoned warehouse in the Redmond Barrens
12:10 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown
12:12 Monday, 01 January, 2063- Miner's Landing, Downtown
12:12 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - The Crimson Sickles' disused fast food joint (HQ), Redmond Barrens
12:13 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown
12:13 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - The Crimson Sickles' disused fast food joint (HQ), Redmond Barrens
12:13 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - The Crimson Sickles' disused fast food joint (HQ), Redmond Barrens
12:13 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - The Crimson Sickles' disused fast food joint (HQ), Redmond Barrens
12:15 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Klaus's Doss, TacomaSubject Name: Melissa Walker
Along with a whole assortment of other data. Skimming through the data, Klaus pieces together the following story.
Age: 26
Height: 5'9
Weight: 142 lbs
Blood type: A negative
Date of Birth: 09-24-2037
12:17 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown
12:30 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown
12:33 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown
13:00 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Home (Blaze's Doss)
14:15 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - The Crimson Sickles' disused fast food joint (HQ), Redmond Barrens
14:15 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - The Crimson Sickles' disused fast food joint (HQ), Redmond Barrens
14:16 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - The Crimson Sickles' disused fast food joint (HQ), Redmond Barrens
14:25 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - 'Nasty by name ...' store, Redmond Barrens
14:30 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - 'Nasty by name ...' store, Redmond Barrens
14:30 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Klaus's Doss, Tacoma
14:45 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Dr. Bob's Quickstitch at 15001 NE 40th Street, Redmond Barrens
14:50 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Dr. Bob's Quickstitch at 15001 NE 40th Street, Redmond Barrens
14:51 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Dr. Bob's Quickstitch at 15001 NE 40th Street, Redmond Barrens
14:52 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Dr. Bob's Quickstitch at 15001 NE 40th Street, Redmond Barrens
14:53 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Dr. Bob's Quickstitch at 15001 NE 40th Street, Redmond Barrens
14:55 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Dr. Bob's Quickstitch at 15001 NE 40th Street, Redmond Barrens (p.4)
14:55 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Dr. Bob's Quickstitch at 15001 NE 40th Street, Redmond Barrens
15:10 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Dr. Bob's Quickstitch at 15001 NE 40th Street, Redmond Barrens
15:23 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Dr. Bob's Quickstitch at 15001 NE 40th Street, Redmond Barrens
15:30 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Somewhere in Seattle, Astral Plane
15:45 Monday, 01 January, 2063- Dr. Bob's Quickstitch at 15001 NE 40th Street, Redmond Barrens
16:30 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Somewhere in Seattle, Astral Plane
17:00 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Klaus's Doss, Tacoma
17:00 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Key to the Future, Renton
17:01 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Key to the Future, Renton
17:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Key to the Future, Renton
17:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Key to the Future, Renton
17:03 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Key to the Future, Renton
17:04 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Key to the Future, Renton
17:05 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Key to the Future, Renton
17:05 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Key to the Future, Renton
17:06 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Key to the Future, Renton
17:07 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Key to the Future, Renton
17:09 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Key to the Future, Renton
17:28:06 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFS
17:35:49 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFS
18:55:01 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFS
18:56:17 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFS
18:56:48 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFS
18:56:54 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFSThe light was omni-present, a brilliant pure embrace that reached her even through closed eyelids. She smiled, knowing that it was the dream come to comfort her. But subtle things were wrong. The dream was always warm, always filled with a quiet shush of running water. Here was chill, goosebumps rising over her skin, and all she heard was a distant, dull hammer.
Cosmo's hands flew out, bracing her weight against the wall as her knees threatened to give way.Eyes still closed, she groped for the covers, a lazy half-asleep motion that froze when her hand touched smooth synthetic. Opening her eyes, she glanced around, her sleep-fogged mind attempting to reconstruct the events of the previous night. Correction: she tried to open her eyes, something sticky was gumming the lids together, and she could only make out indistinct shapes in the room. She reached up to wipe her eyes clear, realizing only too late that the same substance was also coating her hand ...
18:59:35 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFS
19:01:13 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFS
19:02:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFS
19:05:31 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFS
19:48:53 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
19:49:24 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
19:52:07 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
19:52:36 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
19:54:47 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
19:57 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - A Warehouse somewhere in the Redmond Barrens
19:58:19 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
19:59:04 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
20:00 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - A Warehouse somewhere in the Redmond Barrens
20:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - A Warehouse somewhere in the Redmond Barrens
20:03 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - A Warehouse somewhere in the Redmond Barrens
20:04:15 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
20:06:40 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
20:07:02 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
20:08:48 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
20:09:31 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
20:09:52 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
20:13 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Auburn, The Last Drop, a small but busy hole-in-the-wall restaurant with a counter, a couple of booths in the back, and the remaining tables and chairs sprawling out onto the sidewalk in light defiance of local right-of-passage ordinances
20:20 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - The Last Drop, Auburn
20:21:17 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
20:23:52 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
20:24:39 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
20:24:58 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
20:25:22 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
20:28 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - The Last Drop, Auburn
21:05 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - The Last Drop, Auburn
22:00 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Key to the Future, Renton
22:40 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Auburn, Anne's doss, very small, tucked away somewhere above something and behind something else, with a wonderful and extremely close-up view of the neighbouring fire escape. Not much, but it does have its own washroom, and she doesn't even have to share with that many multilegged organisms.
23:40 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Home (Blaze's Doss)
23:50 Monday, 01 January, 2063 - Home (Blaze's Doss)