From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: 21st Century Schizoid Man [part 01/21]
Date: 16 Aug 92 17:58:26 GMT
Sey hey, folx! Here begins the sequel to "Three of a Perfect Pair".
This stuff happens immediately after the events in "Three", so you
should still be up on the background if you were reading it nary a
week ago...
Have fun!
- Mark
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24743576.7
That was the number on Freddy's terminal. Not a very
interesting number: it wasn't even palindromic. But when said aloud
with the appropriate units attatched, it was quite impressive.
"Twenty four million, seven hundred fourty three thousand,
five hundred and seventy six newyen..."
Freddy couldn't stop repeating the figure, thinking it might
slip away if he didn't keep complete concentration on it. "Twenty
four million, seven hundred fourty three thousand, five hundred and
seventy six seven big ones...and change!"
"Cryminee..." He computed the figure one more time on his
workstation. It was certainly correct.
Freddy smiled wryly, "I'm a multi-millionaire," and
immediately passed out.
* * * * * * * *
When he came to, the number was still sitting on the terminal
screen. He was afraid it was all a dream, but smiled widely when he
checked it again. They were indeed the most significant digits he'd
ever seen in his life.
"Cryminee." It still made his head spin, but the kick was
better than any amount of screwdrivers he'd ever consumed. Better
yet, it numbed his body against the aches and pains he received in
order to acquire that special number.
The electronic credit was found amongst the random information
he had stolen from the Yarrow Point Arcology CPU on a Shadowrun three
nights earlier. Essentially, he had blown his part the mission (with
the samurai on his team getting their backs waxed as well) but he had
been able to download some major files before he was forcibly ejected
from the Matrix.
Back at his apartment, he feverishly worked away at the ICE
he downloaded from the matrix. The ICE was attatched to the file he
had found when searching for an alias he had remembered in connection
to Robert Travis. One wrong keypress and the ICE would scramble the
file. After 2 nights with no sleep, he finally defeated the ICE.
Certainly, the loss of sleep was well worth it.
Of course, some would contest that the money wasn't all his.
Sure there were others on the Yarrow Point Arcology job, but they
hadn't helped him a bit (just as he hadn't given them expected backup,
either, he mused). Still, they'd want to get their greedy little
mitts on his prize. But he wouldn't let that happen, and he knew
exactly how he'd pull if off. Well, maybe Mortis, the dwarf deserved
something: he operated the van that Freddy had jacked in from when
breaking into the Arcology.
"Naahh. Screw 'em," he said aloud, just as he did on the
night of the job. "Screw 'em all." If he gave something to the
rigger, then he'd tell the rest, and then they'd all want some.
"Yeah..." Hell, they weren't even *looking* for the embezzled funds
on this part of the run...
The job was supposed to pay everyone on the team 42500 or so
newyen each. Of course, that was figured off a 1.5 million newyen
figure that Bitchy Travis (who *he* wasn't missing) had initially
given them, and they hadn't anticipated Rael getting killed on the run
either. That was chicken feed compared to the electronic credit
revealed in glorious monochrome letters on his computer screen.
But there was no way he'd take a mere sixth of 20% of the
two-four million newyen he now held. No way in hell. Not when he
could have it *all* to himself.
"They'll have to kill me for it, first..."
* * * * * * * *
"Sheesh, Freddy, that's a hell of a lot of money!" Rache
gawked as he examined the LCD readout on the credstick. "What's it
for? You tryin' to weasel somethin'?" He eyed him suspiciously.
Freddy laughed and shrugged. "Naw, this is on the up and up,
man. I owe you a lot for all those 'little' favours. You pulled my
ass out of too many tight spots before. Now it's payback time."
Rache grinned evilly. "So I suppose you're not going to deck
me free utilities for next month?"
"You got that right, ya weasel! Hell, from now on Klone
Crimson is no more: Frederick Marx is now a legal man."
There seemed to be three kinds of deckers in the world. The
first did his work for kicks, the rush, the high, the danger, the
excitement. The second pulled a multitude of small jobs, making
enough cash gradually and (relatively) safely enough to eventually
retire. The third had his sights on the ultimate end-all job: a
mega-heist that would bring the decker into fabulous riches in one
fail swoop. Freddy had done the later, though inadvertently.
"Sorry to hear it, old chum. You'll stay in touch though?"
the mage queried as Freddy stepped out of the door of Rache's flat.
Freddy looked back and nodded. "You bet. Hell, consider
yourself on retainer from now on." They both laughed as Freddy
disappeared down the stairwell.
Rache smiled and shook his head as he closed the door behind
him. "Well don't that beat all..."
* * * * * * * *
Kelly wasn't at her place or at Club Penumbra. Freddy didn't
worry about her safety often, but he was almost sure he was losing her
again. So maybe has *was* a bit dishonest with her before: it was
usually in her best interest. He cared for her more than any other
person on the Earth (and all its colonies, for that matter).
He spotted a florist shop while walking home and entered after
looking in the front window display for a while. The woman at the
desk smiled at him. "What can I do for you tonight, sir?"
He handed a small card to the sales clerk. "I'd like a gross
of deep crimson roses to be sent to this address."
"A gross?" Her eyes opened widely.
"Yes. A dozen dozen roses. One hundred and forty four of them."
She smiled and filled out an order form. "Who should I say
they're from?"
Freddy paused for a second, looking towards the floor. He then
looked up and said, "Nobody. Just write on the card: "I'm sorry. Maybe
we can work things out. I'm willing to try again.""
The woman smiled as she wrote. This kind of transaction was
why she entered the business in the first place. "They'll be delivered
by ten in the morning."
Freddy paid with his credstick, said a brief "thank you", and
left the shop for home.
A block away from the shop he found an old man begging for
change on the corner. Freddy averted his eyes and walked on by as
was his habit, but for some reason he stopped this time.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of paper
currency. It was illegal in some sectors and made any transaction
with it null and void. But in some circles it was the only means of
payment, being untraceable. It was the language of his old life. He
wouldn't be needing it anymore.
He handed it to the mendicant and smiled. "Take it all.
Get yourself a nice hot meal." It was a considerable amount of
money.
The beggar's face lit up. "Muchas gracias, senor!"
"De nada." It actually was, in Freddy's book.
The old man hobbled on down the sidewalk, waving back and
feebly calling out, "Vaya con Dios!"
Freddy turned around and continued home. He muttered to
himself, "Sorry, but I don't believe in him, sir..."
* * * * * * * *
He woke up after sleeping sixteen hours that night. After
two nights of no sleep he had lots of catching up to do. Luckily
he had all the time in the world now.
He walked over to his printer and tore off a sheet of paper.
On it was a printout of his last three days of electronic mail which
he had no chance to check while cracking the ICE. He checked the most
recent arrivals. He frowned when he found nothing from Kelly yet.
When he checked the earlier messages he found only one of some
interest:
>>>>>>Gentlemen, I have grave news. Today my significant other was
kidnapped by what I believe to be a member of the Trog Crushers, or
someone close to them. I know we're all tired from the run, but this
time I need some big help. Help me end this once and for all. Thank
you. Xavier Moran<<<<<<
Xavier was one of the muscle-heads on his team for the Yarrow
Point job. Freddy supposed he'd have to play out the rest of his
contract to avoid arousing any suspicion. He'd just sit back and take
the easy ride until it was all over. Then he'd never have to talk to
the rest of the group again. The money would be all his.
But what if he caught a stray bullet in the action? He
wouldn't be expected to walk into heavy heat, but he still might get
tagged. It was a dangerous business even in the back lines. Plus
there was the question of where in the hell Tacoma Bob got all that
credit in the first place: Freddy could be in something deep now, if
he wasn't careful. If there was only a way he could be *assured* that
he wouldn't get killed before he could enjoy *his* money...
It then hit him that he might be able to afford immortality
now. Cloning was now a part of life...for the ultra-rich. They could
grow you a new body in about six months (as well as making it look
however you want: different looks, height, weight, musulature, and
even gender). Combined with a memory recording scheme and an infinite
cash flow, one could live forever in whatever body you desired.
And it wasn't that kind of immortality only protected you from
natural aging. Someone could still ventilate your skull with a MAX-50
and you'd be dead for good. But with the new cloning, they record
your memories every so often. When you died (or felt like having a
new body), they took your clone out of cold storage and inserted the
recorded memories into it. Then you'd wake up and go about your
business.
And there was this one place that had commercials on the trids
all the time. What was it's name...?
* * * * * * * *
Freddy parked his Rapier in front of the Genetic Services
Multinational office, gathering in quite a few "superior" looks from
other customers entering and leaving the building. He just grinned at
them smugly: they had no way of knowing he had just become a multi-
millionaire. He still dressed in his old street clothes and hadn't
shaved recently. He didn't want to *look* rich until after he was
done with the Trog Crusher job.
He entered the massive white building and walked up to the
front desk. He greeted the girl with the headset there. "Howdy."
She looked at him suspiciously. He didn't smell like the
usual clientele. "May I help you...sir?" He was sure she was using
the term loosely.
"Yes, I have an appointment at 2:30? That should make me
right on time." He read the name tag: "Hi! My name is _Bernie_!"
She looked at her terminal screen. "Frederick Marx? You
have some ID?" She was still a bit wary.
He produced his identification plates. "There ya go. Oh, and
it's 'Freddy'."
She put them through the scanner, ignoring his personal
comment. "That checks. Now could you please put your hand on the
flashing surface?" She handed the plates back simultaneously.
Freddy shook his head and put his hand on the palm-print
verifier. "Geez, can't you take my word for it?"
"No," she said flatly. The verifier chimed a happy major chord
and she sighed, almost disappointed. "All right." She still wasn't
convinced. "Follow Vince through the door on the right."
He walked over to the muscle-graft barbarian in the white lab
coat and indicated his readiness. As they walked out of the room he
called back to the girl at the desk, "What, you don't even want a
urine sample?" If there was one thing he hated, it was "red-tape".
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1991, all rights reserved. Basic story plot and Matrix help
was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him all the profits
from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well...
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: 21st Century Schizoid Man [part 02/21]
Date: 17 Aug 92 07:00:42 GMT
SybreSpace was a hangout for most of the downtown Seattle
console jockeys. Freddy played there often in the prefered musical
style: heavy pounding rhythms. It seemed deckers didn't have the
notion that all music should be played in 4, and that suited him fine.
Tonight he wasn't playing, but he was still hard at work in a
sense. He was sitting alone at a table in front of a half-empty
bottle of tequilla, a giant pile of partially chewed lime slices, and
an ashtray full of Xigarette butts. He was working hard on
forgetting.
Hell, he hadn't smoked in ages. It seemed he picked up the
habit every time he was under heavy pressure. He started in grad
school, since most of the foreign students did it anyway. Besides, he
had very busy hands, and it gave him something to do with them when he
didn't have an instrument around.
He was lighting up another Xigarette when he happened to glance
up at the front door. "Ahhh, shit...here comes the welcome wagon..."
He sighed and took another swig of tequilla, straight. He'd need a
little more liquid courage to deal with this crap.
Xavier stalked up to Freddy's table, accompanied by two
cloaked figures. One was obviously female (and not that badly
"equipped", Freddy thought), and the other was a stock body-guard
type, about the same size as X (though a little lighter in build). The
latter flashed something to the bartender, who nodded in turn.
Freddy mumbled, "Mr. Moran, so glad you could make it. Have
a drink on me..." He pushed the bottle forward.
Xavier pulled out the chair opposite of the decker and sat
down. The female figure walked around the table once, surveying the
room, and finally stopped at Freddy's side. The other man simply
stood firmly behind Xavier.
The ex-company man pushed the offered bottle of liquor away
and answered flaty, "No thanks." He sat back in his chair and
straightened up the collar of his longcoat. "Tough Day?" He reached
into the coat. "Well I'm here to make it tougher." Xavier pulled out
his Ares and pointed it at Crimson's chest. "Care to cash in on your
clone, Crimson?"
Freddy thought hard for something witty to say. Usually the
snappy rejoinders came to mind instantly, but they tended to come
slower in the presence of guns. Or maybe he was just scared shitless
that Xavier apparently knew something he was hiding. Or maybe it was
the tequilla. Nahhh...
The patrons of the bar soon quieted down and turned towards
the happenings at the table. He muttered, "How would my friends here
take their favorite musician getting geeked?" At least he *hoped* he
was high up in their books.
Xavier nodded and the woman held up a hand which quickly was
surrounded by visible electricity. The man behind X turned around and
held up an M22A2 Assault rifle. "No trouble," Xavier whispered,
"We're only here to talk."
A host of deckers pulled out small arms and snickered. One
called out, "Well maybe we'd like to listen in too, eh?" The crowd
laughed loudly. The bartender sighed and walked into the back room.
Crimson smiled, relieved that the people were on his side. It paid to
buy a round of drinks for them earlier, in spades. He licked his hand
and then salted it. He then grabbed a lime slice in the same hand and
the bottle with the other.
Xavier swatted the bottle away. Freddy watched it
incredulously as it shattered on the floor. Xavier leaned closer,
"Dammit listen you weasel. We are all in some trouble." He growled
under his breath.
Freddy simply licked the salt off his hand and went directly
for the lime. His face screwed at the taste: "Man, I swear this fruit
has more kick than the booze..."
Xavier grinned "friends" to the crowd and pulled back the Pred
II. The man behind him lowered the rifle, but the woman continued to
concentrate hard in his direction. X spoke again, "I believe you owe
some people a lot of money."
Freddy nodded to the surrounding deckers, who relaxed their
weapon posture, but didn't go completely off guard. The vid-gamers go
back to their playing, breaking up the tense silence in the bar. "So,
X-man, for what reason do I owe the honor of this visit?" He picked
up another Xigarette and lit it, stubbing the old one out in the
ashtray.
Xavier said, "Heh...you did some serious damage to good old
Bob. In addition, I did some damage to the TC. Now they want all our
heads. I was first: they grabbed my girlfriend. You'll be next." He
paused for effect. "Do you care? I'll bet there on their way here
now. I'm sure they have a resourceful decker like mine. You left a
trail of bowling balls behind you. I think you'd like to end this as
much as the rest of us, quiaff?"
Freddy looked perplexed. "Just what are you talking about?"
Play dumb, that's the ticket! Ignorance is bliss...
Xavier answered, "Look here. The TC are probably on their way
and they'll want the money more than I do. Come with me if you want
to live..."
Freddy swore he heard a slight German accent coming through,
but shrugged it off. So he knows about the money: "It all boils down
to money, doesn't it? I can assure you, I don't quite have the mint
you think I have..."
Xavier said, "I know that now. My friends tell me you spent
it...heh." He laughed almost half-crazily, "You know, I don't even
care! All I want to do is end this. If you aren't in it, you'll be
dead by midnight."
Freddy laughed, "Well, if you've been keeping tabs on me, you
should know that I couldn't frankly care less about death anymore!
I'm bloody well immortal now!" He quickly jumped up and stood on his
chair. "I AM THE LIZARD KING: I CAN DO ANYTHING!" The crowd gaffawed
at his Jim Morrison tribute and and went back to their own drinking.
When he sat down again Xavier snarled, "Well if you're not
worried for *your* safety, how about that of your friends...maybe a
certain woman who recently received 'a dozen dozen deep crimson roses
with attatched anonymous letter'?"
Freddy turned on his PR-128 and quietly played the melody from
'If I only Had a Brain' when Xavier spoke. A few in the bar
recognized the ancient tune and chuckled at the musical joke.
Xavier continued, "It's happened to me, you know, or haven't
you received my message?" He seemed to grow a little more angry.
"Hence my friends here..." He motioned to his associates, who
brandished their deadly powers menacingly and gladly.
Freddy looked down at the table as he spoke, "Well, it doesn't
seem that I'm currently attatched at the moment." He hadn't heard
from Kelly in days. The bartender at Penumbra told him she was taking
a vacation. Why she hadn't told him, he didn't know. Well, actually
he did know, but didn't want to admit it. He stubbed his Xigarette out
forcefully, visibly upset. He looked up at Xavier again. "So what else
do you have to threaten me with, pastey-boy?"
Xavier chuckled, trying not to let his anger get the best of
him. "Look, I'm not here to leave you limping. Nor do I want to
scare you...even though right now I'm considering beating you into a
bloody pulp..." He grinned evilly. "Look, throwing all that money
around wasn't smart." The man behind him laughed out loud, and Freddy
gave him a piercing glare. X continued, "I know you're visible in the
Matrix now. Perhaps a really bad credit rating concerns you. Well,
whatever the case, you've got two choices and I'm running out of
patience. Come with me if you want to live. Or risk it on your own."
Crimson smiled broadly at this one. "Now wait a sec, I'm not
a bloody novice: I did head the Maas-Neotek Matrix Security Division
after all. This *money* you apparently know of isn't exactly going to
be easy to track. What I've established is essentially a mix of a
pyramid-chain letter scheme, a global hash-table system, and a
Super-Lotto payback method...
"So what if your contact has been keeping tabs on me? Why do
you think he didn't just take *my* money himself and give it straight
to you? It's cuz he can't bloody find it himself! Cryminee, even *I*
don't know where it all is..." Xavier and the man behind him looked a
bit more intrested after hearing this statement.
Freddy grinned and continued. "When I ran into this credit, I
split it up into a few pieces. These I sent out in time-encoded
black-box constructs to some of my associates in the Matrix. What
they did then is essentially 'press a button' on those boxes,
whereupon the box split in two. One copy was then passed down the
line to their associates. This pyramid covers most parts of the Earth
by now..." His visitors didn't appear to like his particular form of
genius. Good.
"So now I'm left with a few credsticks of my own and a
'life-after-lifetime' clone contract down at GSM. But soon, those
little virtual black-boxes all over the Matrix will go 'bing!' and the
credit will gradually be sent to my Australian account in waves as
'anonymous donations'. Untraceable? You bet. And the people who're
holding the boxes for me get all the interest off the money for as
long as they're baby-sitting them." Xavier didn't look any happier,
but Freddy did even moreso.
He was on a roll now, his thoughts cutting through the alcohol
like a monofilament whip through...well, anything! "Sure ole T-Bob
will be after *someone*, but he won't know who: Mortis had me rigged
through a satellite uplink, which is only only traceable up to the
receiving station and no more. Bobby-boy won't know who to send the
Crushers after. Of course, he saw you guys up in the arcology: he
proabably has distributed your ugly mugs on trideo by now." He
snickered, angering the silent Xavier even more.
"So unless *someone*," the inference was obvious, "connects me
with you guys, I'm off scott free. T-Bob won't contact any security
force since the money was illegally obtained in the first place. And
who would be so unprofessional as to actually nark on me?" He lit up
another Xigarette and leaned back in his chair.
Xavier spoke up again, "Speaking of professionalism, I believe
you have a contract to fulfill. Are you renigging?"
Freddy laughed, "There *is* no bloody contract! I'm not
honour-bound in any way at this point. You see, contract law says by
definition that you need two parties for an agreement. And have you
seen Bitchy Travis anywhere lately? That crazy whore probably set you
guys up anyway: someone did us a favour by 'voiding he warranty' for
us. I'm my own man now, Moran. Period."
Xavier shugged and pulled out his chair. "I guess you're
right." Freddy smirked at him. "Sorry for troubling you with my own
petty little problems. Goodnight..." He stood up and turned around.
His associates gathered around him and he muttered (intentionally
audibly), "Lets forget him. 'Savior' is better anyway..."
"SAVIOUR?!?!?!" Freddy tried very hard not to take the hook,
but he was too hopped up on mexican delights. He stood up at the
table and cried, "That drek-brain couldn't punch good deck if you
stuck his fingers on the right keys with Xuper-glue!" He was
breathing heavily and his face was flushed in anger.
Xavier grinned. He knew what button to push. "So, are you
saying you're in now?"
Freddy knew he'd been weaseled, but frankly didn't care. What
was life, after all, but another trip to the clone bank. "Yeah, you
know I'm in..." He stared hard at the ex-company man, "But remember,
the money is mine. You may as well forget about it."
"That's fine with me, but the others..." Xavier shrugged and
looked at his chrometer, "They'll be here in a bit to decide for
themselves. I'm just in it to get Ariel back...and a little revenge."
Freddy sat back down at the table and things got a bit
fuzzy...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1991, all rights reserved. Basic story plot and Matrix help
was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him all the profits
from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well...
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: 21st Century Schizoid Man [part 03/21]
Date: 17 Aug 92 15:08:03 GMT
Freddy had his head down on the table, watching the pink
elephants fly by on their little white wings, when he heard the big
bodyguard-type lean over to Xavier and whisper, "Time to go..." The
group picked up and were going out the door in no time.
On their way out he saw they ran into Howler and some chick
(who looked really good from where Freddy was sitting). Xavier yelled
at them for a bit and then stormed out, followed closely by Howler and
the babe (maybe she digs musicians, eh?).
He went back to elephant watching when another of his favorite
looking women walked in (it *had* to be Playboy...). Grace was in her
normal combat gear, except she had some sort of sword with her this
time. She walked up to the table and sat down. "Crimson, you scum,
you owe me 42.5K. I didn't pose as your wife to be cheated out of my
money." She unsheathed her katana a bit to make a point.
He smiled at her. Play dumb...no, that didn't work last time
either. One of the bar patrons called out, "You're real popular
today, Crimson! Can I have some money too?" Everyone laughed
including Freddy, but excluding Grace and the bouncers.
Suddenly, he felt a prick at his knee (and his willie happened
to be down the *other* pant leg at the time!). He rubbed it (his
*knee*, silly!) and whined a bit. She half-whispered to him, "This
blade's poisoned, I'd like you to know. What's it gonna be, the 42.5K
or the katana?" The mage smiled. Grace was doing something weasely
to him, he knew. Sleep toxin? Radioactive trace materials? *Death
poison?*
But soon all he could think about was poking her with
something else entirely. Then things got a bit more interesting:
Rawhide, the pseudo-hippie neo-biker punk/thrash psycho-samurai,
walked in and spread his cheer: "Say hey, Grace! What have we here?
That cowardly dekker that left us all for dead?"
The crowd didn't take the comment that well, letting out a
simultaneous gasp. Freddy hoped they took the 'cowardly' remark as
towards deckers in general ("damn, I need points here..."). Rawhide
pulled out a stun baton: "Now, now, this won't hurt him....much. Oh,
please Grace...kin I have my knocks in before you ice him?"
Freddy started drifting into thoughts of knocking Grace
herself, so to speak. He sighed and reached slowly into his coat
pocket. He took out three credsticks. Twice he interfaced the
red one with the blue ones and punched up some numbers.
"There ya go. It's bonus time." He tossed one stick to
Rawhide, who looked at the LCD readout.
"Hot damn! Five-oh-kay! That should buy me a niiicce new
bike." He walked over to the bar. "Back in black, smoke the pack,
pour me a Jack, Mack!" The barkeep read his eyes and simply gave
him the bottle of JD.
The other credstick went to Grace. She looked at the readout:
"Fifty-thousand? That's nice, but what makes me suspicious about it?"
She leaned forward and gazed at his face, looking for a sign.
Freddy leaned forward as well and mumbled, "It could be even
more if you'd like, nudge nudge, say no more!" He grinned widely and
winked at her..
A snarl crossed her face. She hit him, hard, below his left
eye. He never saw the roundhouse swing coming. Grace stood up again,
"In your dreams, wuss-boy. I'll be in touch: believe me, this isn't
over with..." She pounded out the front door.
Rawhide turned around, bottle in hand, when she hit Freddy.
"Hey! No fair! Let me try it, too..." Freddy was still dazed when
the fist came down, even harder, on his right cheekbone. The force of
the punch knocked him backwards, tilting the chair over and depositing
the decker on the floor. The whole bar winced in sympathy and
muttered "owch!" in unison. The samurai muttered something about
"...frickin' piece of Japanese..." and made his own exit.
Freddy stared at the ceiling for a while, noticing how the
ceiling tiles kind of looked like a waffle when your vision was
blurry...
| | | | | | | |
An hour or so past, during which people would occasionally
walk over to where he was laying. They'd smile or chuckle, and he'd
smile back in return. Finally he asked one decker, "Say, Sister
Sally, is there a van out front?"
The large woman waddled over to the door and peered out.
"Yeah. What kind you looking for?"
Freddy lifted himself off the ground. "Doesn't matter.
Thanks." The woman shrugged. He figured it would be Mortis, waiting
for a shot at him. Hell, there wasn't anyone left that *hadn't* come
to see him tonight. Well, except Rael. And wouldn't that be a trip
if *he* dropped by...
"Oh well...", Freddy thought as he freed his shotgun from the
velcro fasteners under the table. Quite a few times during the night
his hand had made its way to the trigger. But for some reason he
didn't off Xavier or Grace. "Must be getting soft now that my
retirement fund has come in. Heh."
He hooked the shotgun under his coat and stretched a bit. A
few of the patrons smiled and waved to him (they certainly got *their*
cover-charge worth of entertainment tonight). He nodded and picked up
his gig bag. A familiar face caught his eye and asked, "Where to
next, Fredster?"
"Big Rhino: Rib Night." He put his hat on and made a
not-too-straight line towards the back door, only pausing to salute
the barkeep on the way out.
The night outside was cool, clearing away some of his
dizziness. He'd get his Rapier back from the parking lot the next
day. Hell, Mortis probably had it radio-tagged, or maybe even bombed.
Best to play it safe: he could *always* buy a new bike. "I wonder if
there are buses running tonight..." he mumbled.
* * * * * * * *
The guys in the Zoom-2 pickup dropped him off ten blocks from
the Rhino (as per his request: he wanted to walk a little more of the
tequilla off). He waved them his thanks and continued toward his
destination.
Freddy was a few blocks away when he spotted a gang of toughs
on the opposite side of the street. He ignored them and walked past
("step 1: mind your business"), but one called out after him: "Hey,
you! We wanna talk to you..."
Freddy continued walking ("step 2: show no fear"). However,
when he heard the heavy clomping of shit-kicker boots crossing the
street, he felt around in his coat for his shotgun. Once again a
gravely voice addressed him, "Yeah, YOU! We got a message for you!"
Freddy spun around and gave the group the finger. They were a
group of six...Trog Crushers? "Awww, shit..." ("damn, I think I just
showed fear") He made a quickdraw for his shotgun and fired twice into
the group. The gang scattered and dove for the pavement. When they
looked up again, Freddy was already up and running ("step 3: get the
hell outta there, chummer!").
A million things raced through his head. Did they know who he
was? Did they know what he did? Was it just a coincidence that they
were Crushers? He decided not to hang around and ask. He seemed to
be falling forward down the sidewalk more than actually running. The
coat was tripping him up, and his depth perception still wasn't up to
par ("Damn those curbs!").
He took a chance and looked back: yep, they were catching up,
and very quickly at that. Only one and a half blocks left, though.
If he could make it there, he could make it anywhere...
(naahhh, too cliche'...)
* * * * * * * *
So the one ork said, "Mphhh... dem... good... ribs... Derek...
<CHOMP!>"
To which the other replied, "<SLURP!>... ain't they, though,
Nigel?"
Ahhh! All was well at The Big Rhino. Rib Night was a
favorite along the regular patrons (all of whom happened to be orks).
It's quite the Spartan atmosphere down at the Rhino, only long tables
lined up end to end, but it does fill your stomach!
"Can I get you boys some more?", the waitress asked.
"Yuss, pleeze!", Derek SkullBuster answered.
Yes! It's all you can eat ribs at The Big Rhino: one cover
charge at the door and you can chow down 'til the cows come home (or
until they run out of cows!). But this was no ordinary night at the
Rhino...
A man in a black coat and hat ran into the room with a shotgun
in one hand and a black case over his shoulder. He ran all the way
across the hall and jumped onto the small stage at the opposite end.
A few heads lifted from their plates to watch curiously, but they soon
went back to their eating.
However, when six more humans ran into the room, apparently
chasing after the first, things got a bit more interesting. The one
on the stage grabbed the microphone: "Heya and howdy from Seattle's
favorite spot for all ya can eat ribs, The big biG bIG BIG RHINO!"
The group of people that had just entered slowed to a stop and looked
slowly around themselves. "The live entertainment will begin in a few
short minutes, but in the meantime we have a pre-game show for ya."
He paused while more diners look up from their meals. "Please,
everyone, let's give a warm welcome to my friends and yours, from the
Auburn area, THE TROG CRUSHERS!!!" A spotlight was pointed on the
men on cue.
At this, many more eaters stopped their repast and stood up.
One of the men uttered a pitiful whine of anguish, and the rest made a
mad dash towards the door. They never made it. A host of orks
escorted their new (and frantically screaming) human friends into a
room with the words "Party Area" scrawled over the door.
"Hmmmm, dat's sompthin ya don't see every day, Nigel."
"Yeah." Nigel sucked on a rib bone as he spoke. "Hoose da
breeder?" He pointed to the man now walking off the side of the
stage.
The question took a while to register in Derek's brain.
"Ohhh! Dat ain't no breeder: dat's an ork."
Nigel GutRipper was confused. "Huh? Don't look like no
ork ta me..."
"Uh-huh. Dat's Freddy HeadBanger. He's as ork as a softie
can get..."
* * * * * * * *
The music was pounding away on the stage. They were a power
trio, with Larry and Herb filling the guitar and drum positions (yeah,
they're orks too). Freddy was playing his 6-string fretless bass.
It was his favorite instrument of all: one of his artist
friends has mounted a holo-pict on the body and neck surfaces. The
body depicted the head of a hooded Humanis member. Around his neck
was a noose of thick rope. This rope trailed upwards and continued
along the neck of the bass, so that it appeared that Freddy was
gripping the noose himself when he played it. He loved the bass. He
loved the symbolism.
He was wearing full face-paint that night. This was his
custom when playing in FizzleFry, but it also help to cover up his two
growing black-eyes on this occasion.
The band all-in-all had a primal feel: the beat took over your
mind and wouldn't let go until it was done with you. It was catchy
and driving: minimalistic, but by no means simplistic. While the
crowd normal paid more attention to their food than the stage acts,
listeners all around couldn't help but to bob their heads in time with
the music while still eating. Freddy's favorite tune was "Eleven", so
called because it was in 11/8, and they had nothing better to call it.
The lyrics were powerful and defiant:
"I just can't seem to blend
into society
I have no hope for this dim
simplicity of law and order
by whose rules I see no rhyme in
the reason
I hold no hope for this holy treason
of love and so soft
by whose standards
They tell me, they tell me
Who are they, who is they?"
Tears streamed down his face as he sang the song. Tears of
frustration, saddness, anger, happiness, fear, hope, and every other
emotion imaginable: emotion flowing through him and out of him, into
the music. It was catharsis he could find nowhere else.
He poured himself out to the listeners...
| | | | | | | |
He sat backstage with Larry LegLasher after the gig, telling
him of the past week. "Man, I dunno what to do. At least I got a few
lives left until the clone bank labels me as a financial liability.
But how long will it take the Crushers to geek me, say, four or five
times?"
The ork nodded and brought his hand up to his chin in thought,
"Well, sounds like dem kluxers gotta bead on you. It coulda been a
koinky-dink dat they saw you tonight: you may have assumed the worst,
since you paranoid. But smart ting's not to do nothin' at this point.
We kin hole you up here at the Rhino for a while." He smiled. "We's
family after all."
Freddy smiled back, "Yeah. I guess we are..."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1991, all rights reserved. Basic story plot and Matrix help
was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him all the profits
from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well. Oh yeah, and "Eleven" lyrics by Snap.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: 21st Century Schizoid Man [part 04/21]
Date: 18 Aug 92 05:18:03 GMT
Freddy extracted the WORM CD-2 from the player and frisbeed it
across the room (while simultaneously inventing a new verb!). It
bounced of the wall and landed the bass drum of the practice set.
"Two points!"
Larry clapped sarcastically, "'Sonics, here we come..."
"Damn, this sucks. I hate hiding out like this." He fetched
the CD for another flight.
"Well, buhtween da Crushers and dem Fuchi-goobs, you don't
stand too much a chance anywhere else."
He frowned, knowing the ork was right. "Damn." He whipped
the CD at Larry, who ducked but got hit on the back of the head on
the rebound. "Heh!"
"We got good vidphone here. Clean. You could call round..."
He rubbed the back of his head, retrieved the CD, and returned fire.
The CD hit the end of Freddy's finger straight on when he tried to
catch it, causing him to dance around in pain, shaking his hand.
"Owch! I *hate* when that happens..." He stuck the finger
in his mouth. "Vidphffone? Lesth do id!"
\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \
Deep in the sub-basements of The Big Rhino, an ork answered
a radio call: "Yeah?"
"Go," another voice said.
"Green," the ork replied as he flipped a switch on a massive
breadboard on the desk in front of him.
The only noticeable difference in the room was a blinking green
LED on the unwieldy jungle of electronics. However, the switch also
toggled the 'location' of the Rhino's vidphone: if it was traced at
this moment, it would appear to lead back to the residence of one
"Bernie Shubach", mild mannered U^2C.
/ / / / / / / /
Kent, the on-duty barkeep at Club Penumbra answered the
vidphone. "Penubra: Dance, Dance, Dance 'til ya puke..."
Freddy recognized him and switched his phone from a static-pic
(of the aforementioned Bernie) to real-time video. "Heya Kunt, how's
it goin'?"
The bearded face grinned. "Flatu-boy! Say hey, you got any
money for me, too?"
"Yeah, right..." He wondered how far the rumours had been
spreading. "Maybe I'll buy Penumbra and give you the vacation you
deserve. Heck, I'm worth a half *billion* dollars now..." He decided
to play the figure to his advantage.
"So I hear, so I hear. There's a million people who've been
lookin' for you: gangers, suits, chummers, and a quite few guys each
named Guido. Plus Fuchi-cops out the arse."
"Tell 'em where they could go?"
"Nahhh, they bought drinks. It's not good business to
piss off your customers. But I didn't tell 'em anything."
"Thanks. Maybe there *is* some money lying around for you
after all. Anyway, I called for two reasons. The first is to
tell you I probably won't be able to make my gig on Sunday..."
"Heh. Layin' low for a while, aye?"
"You're not gonna see this hombre in person for a long time!
So, I want you to tell Sally to call for a booking on Stoner and the
guys. They'd be glad to get a chance to leave the Dance-Mania crowd
with two left feet..." They always had the saying: 'try to dance to
Three of a Perfect Pair: I betcha fall down!'
Kent wrote a note on a pad. "Got it. And what's behind door
number two?"
He sighed. "Do you know where Kelly is? I tried her at home,
but she didn't answer. Besides, her machine says she should be back
from her vacation by now..."
"Errr, yeah! That's a wierd one: she got these vacation
authorization papers in her mailbox, you know, and they appear all in
order and everything. But then Sally says she never signed it, but
it's got her sig and scanprint and all! Sally's bitchin' that Kelly's
AWOL and wants to fire her, plus she says she's gonna press charges.
The old ice-queen's got a hot-head, aye?"
"Hmmmm..."
* * * * * * * *
"So boys, how do you like the party area?" Freddy leaned
against the wall, observing what was left of the Trog Crusher punks,
who were handcuffed to a radiator. Only two were conscious now.
"Fuck...off...trog-lover...", the readheaded one managed to
say. The 'previous shift' had worked him over rather well.
Freddy walked over to the punk. "Too bad you don't have a
brain. Maybe you could've lived and relayed a message to Tacoma
Bob for me. Too bad. Now you'll probably become part of the buffet
tonight..." The orks in the room chuckled. He started to walk back
to his wall.
The punk spoke up again. "You're the dead man, Crimson.
Bob's got your number. He wants your ass bad. He wants you *all*
bad. He's even got your girl..." The other Trog Crusher just
whipered.
He turned around and jump-kicked the tough in the face. Teeth
were loosened. "That's for Kelly." He turned around and pointed to
an aluminum baseball bat and snapped his fingers. An ork tossed it
over to him. He hefted it over his shoulder. "This is for orks
everywhere." He brought the bat down, breaking the punk's arm cuffed
to the radiator. The orks growled, satisfied. "This is for my
father." He swung the bat sidways, catching him in the jaw, which
promptly gave way and shifted sideways before hanging limp on his
skull.
Freddy was breathing incredibly heavily now, legs spead apart
and leaning on the bat, staring at the punk. The Trog Crusher opened
his heavy eyelids and muttered, "Humanis." He lifted his arm and
extended his middle finger.
Freddy snarled and screamed, "AND THIS IS FOR MY MOTHER!" He
swung the bat at full arm's length high over his head and brought it
down with both hands on top of the punk's skull, hard. There was an
audible cracking sound and the splatter of bloody and other fluids.
The Crusher's eyes closed permanently.
In almost a berserker rage, Freddy jumped in front of the
remaining terrified ganger. "You want some of this, pal?" He swung
the bat...
"No." It was Larry who caught the bat on the backswing. "We
need 'em."
"Shut up Lawrence!" He tugged the bat away. "The only good
Humanis is a *dead* Humanis..." He turned to swing the bat again,
but was stopped again.
"No. Not gonna let you. He's your tick outta dis whole
mess..."
| | | | | | | |
After grilling "Dirk" for three straight hours they had
decided that he wasn't as racist as the rest. He was just in it for
the violence: trying to act tough. However, it was easier to act
tough in a gang, and he was oh-so alone at this moment.
Dirk was a wimp in the end. He had no courage to speak of.
Because of this, the orks hadn't physically tortured him...as much as
the others. They simply tortured him psychologically, and had a
hell of a laugh doing it.
Dirk had spilled his guts quite readily. His cranial capacity
was none too large, but he supplied an incredible amount of info on
what was happening between Tacomah Bob, the Trog Crushers, and the
Yarrow Point 'runners. This included three possible safehouses where
the Crushers could be holding Kelly (and most likely Ariel).
But he wasn't prepared to rush in like the cavalry to save
her. Tacomah Bob was just using her as bait, and he wasn't going to
bite. If there were any deals going to be made, they'd be on his
terms. Did that mean he didn't truly love her after all? Maybe.
Probably. He'd have to wait and see...
Freddy woke up after falling asleep on the table. He lifted
his head to see that Dirk had done the same thing. He reached over
and shut off the digital recorder.
Larry saw him awake and leaned over to him. "It's late. We
gotta move, now..."
He nodded. "Check."
* * * * * * * *
Dr. Robert See looked at the bedside chronometer before he
answered the phone. "Well, I'm not on call, and it's three in the
morning, so this must be a joke right?"
"No joke, man." Freddy had a pitch-shifter inserted into
the phone link. "Place: GTM HQ. Time: oh-four hundred. Reason:
one million dollars."
"No shit?" He was suddenly awake.
"No shit." <click>
Dr. See practically jumped from his bed...
* * * * * * * *
"I could get in a load of trouble for this."
"Yeah. And then you could get a load of newyen as well, Doc."
Freddy waved a credstick. Larry looked around nervously while the
Robert keyed in his security code.
The Asian doctor opened the door and let Freddy in. "Really,
I'd get fired...I could get *arrested*..."
"So why the hell did you come?" Freddy didn't wait for an
answer, since he knew it already. He helped Larry drag the bound and
gagged Dirk from the shubbery in front of the building.
They closed the door behind them and walked rapidly down the
hall towards the lab. Freddy's palms were sweating, loosening his
grip on his shotgun. "Cryminee, you better be right about the security
in this place..."
| | | | | | | |
They reached the lab area without incident. Security was
light in the headquarters building as clones and memory recordings
(the most important components) were each stored in their own separate
facilities.
They strapped Dirk onto a transfer table. Freddy stood over
him and smiled evily, equipment monitor screens in the darkened room
casting unholy light and shadow patterns on his face. "Time to die,
inbreeding blue-collarville Humanis Klan-bastard racist muthah
fuckah..." Dirk's eyes bugged out. He'd scream if it weren't for the
duct tape over his mouth. Freddy flashed the hypodermic in front of
the punk's face. Dirk actually fainted before being injected with the
anesthetic.
Freddy handed his shotgun and credstick to Larry and then
embraced him.
"Pooftah!", the ork laughed. He prentended to wipe away a
tear.
Freddy jumped up and lied down on the neighboring table.
"Shut up phag. We *are* brothers..."
"Well, only half..." He grinned again and picked up another
hypodermic.
"You know what to do, eh?"
"Yup. Got it down."
Freddy indicated with his thumb over his shoulder to the
doctor. "And remember to geek pastey-boy here if he tries anything
funny." Dr. See loosened his collar a bit.
Larry smiled widely and patted the shotgun. "Yeah."
"And if things *do* get fucked up, remember my real clone will
be ready in six months. I got a dupe of the mem-cube too, in my
sec-box, just in case T-Bob tries some funny tech..."
"Check."
Freddy sighed and looked up at the sonex tiled ceiling. "Well,
do me up, 'mano. See ya on the other side."
The ork injected him with the hypo. "Hasta la vista, baby..."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1991, all rights reserved. Basic story plot and Matrix help
was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him all the profits
from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well...
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: 21st Century Schizoid Man [part 05/21]
Date: 19 Aug 92 05:36:43 GMT
Freddy woke up to dull pain: he ached all over, especially in
his ribs. He opened his eyes slowly and looked around the room. He
was in one of the back rooms of the Rhino, lying on a matress on the
floor. He staggered to his feet...and fell back onto the matress.
"Cryminee, I wish I could walk today." He stood again, leaning on the
wall, and made his way to the bathroom in the adjoining room.
What he saw in the mirror more than surprised him. It shocked
him. "Dirk" stared back at him. "Cryminee..." He brought a hand up to
his face, and so did the reflection. His visage used to be dark and
slightly rounded, with a mop of wavy black hair on his head. Now he
had a longer, angular face and blonde, almost white hair. He was also
a bit taller and definitely more muscular. "Awwww..."
| | | | | | | |
He was sick for about five minutes when he heard Larry behind
him. "Hey, Freddy..."
Freddy turned around, "Yeah?", and immediately got a boot in
the chest. It was more of a push than anything, but there was enough
force behind it to throw him across the bathroom and into the tub.
He yelled, "What the fuck you do that for?"
The ork frowned, "Cuz you *ain't* 'Freddy': you're 'Dirk'.
Get it right, or you're dead..." He turned around and walked out
of the bathroom.
"Shit..." was all Freddy could muster.
* * * * * * * *
"Man this kid is tall." His point of view was noticeably
elevated from what he was used to.
"Yeah, and it'll make ya clumsy fer a few days." Larry and
Freddy were sparring in one of the larger upstairs rooms of the Rhino.
"He's got perfect vision," Freddy almost complimented. He
side-kicked at the ork's ribs, who blocked it easily. "But his
voice is even shittier than mine was..."
"Wrong. He *had* perfect vision. 'Member, Dirk's gone now.
We killed him, make no mistake. If you ain't got not brain, you ain't
no more. Dirk's past tense..." He did a leg-sweep that took Freddy
down.
"FUCK!" He was incredibly frustrated. He felt like a newborn
horse looked, wobbly and all. Except a horse could be running before
the end of the day, and he felt nowhere that close.
"You get used to it. But come 'ere. Wanna show ya
sompthin'." Larry walked over to a padlocked door and opened it.
Freddy clambered to his feet and followed.
In the room he spotted the most peculiar sight: his own body,
lying across the room hooked up to a large box. He walked over to it.
"Shit, I was more of a wreck than Dirk was..." He walked back out of
the room, a little spooked and perhaps slightly nauseous again.
"Dirk was in better shape. But you ain't got yer old
cyber-stuff now. 'S'a trade-off." He closed and locked the door
again.
Freddy didn't mind not having the datajack and headware
memory, but he'd miss the synth-jack a lot. But he'd have the
opportunity to get his new clone and have the bio-mods done again
once T-Bob and the Crushers were taught a lesson...
* * * * * * * *
"Jeez-Loise, we got a screamin' case of the Violets, Chief!"
Billy Bob Jones' face oggled at his console.
Fuchi Security-Chief Tim Cumminsky walked over to the panicky
youngster's station. Well, they were *all* young in his book. "Yeah,
you got one flamin' X-Mas tree thar..." He plugged into the unit's
hitcher jack. "Let's have a look-see..." He toggled the "active"
switch.
| | | | | | | |
"Ho-leee-shit!" Cumminsky's dragon construct uttered. He and
Jones' colobus construct watched as a group of badgers burrowed out of
the "ground" in their local node.
Jones replied. "Yeah, that's what I said. He's not taking
action towards us, like he's ignoring us. But he's digging through
security files like there's no tomorrow..."
The dragon waved its claws in the air and another construct
appeared. The Nippon-Kid figure spoke, "Yo, whussup?" and the spied
the badgers. "Sheesh, that's...KC from over at Maas-Neotek a while
back! We've been after his ass for causing that Yarrow disaster..."
The Dragon bobbed its head. "That's what I figured. Half a
BILLION new ones? Shit, I can't even *think* that much money."
"So whadda we do!?!?" Jones was exasperated.
The cartoon shrugged. "Hell, trace then blackout. Whatever
he wants he wants bad enough to breach *our* security." He shook his
head in disbelief. "Send some street agents to ground-zero. It's
clean-up time." The figure disappeared.
Cumminsky laughed. "Jonesey, you'll probably get a big raise
for this one. Plus an A-1 rep to boot. Go ahead, slot that ICE..."
/ / / / / / / /
Street Agent Garrett was the one to break down the door, and
thus the first to smell the odor: it reeked of burnt circuitry, broken
flourescent bulbs, with a tinge of barbecued meat. He called back out
the door, "Techies beat us to the punch. It's over."
The rest of the group came in, wrinkling their noses at the
lingering smell. What they saw wasn't any more plesant: a man with
his head burnt to a crisp still sitting at a workstation.
"Another deck-head bites the dust," one mused. "Pretty total
too. Must've been a massive wilson to get fried that bad..." He
tapped at the interfaces on the skull: the metal and most of the skull
had remained intact, but the skin and hair had melted totally away.
"What's this one?"
Garrett knew, "MIDI trio array: it's a synth-link."
Another took the still smoking deck from the body's lap. "And
boy is this one P-O-S. Deck by Fisher-Price? Whatta maroon..."
Garrett took out his cellphone and punched a few digits.
"Ground-Zero to The Ranch: target nullified. Send forensic crew to
the address of Frederick Marx, a-k-a Klone Crimson. You'll find the
loc in no time."
"Affirmative, Gee-Zee. Immediate assessment of damage?"
"Severe. Nothing like the smell of fried man..."
* * * * * * * *
Freddy and Larry watched the Fuchi-goob patrol enter the
building from a Big Rhino "Emergency Chow Van" (labeled "dial
1-800-ORK-FOOD"). "Looks like they took it." Freddy mumbled.
"Yup." Larry mumbled back, and pulled away from the curb.
"Man, I'm glad we were able to slip their surveillance team."
"I'm glad we did it the way we did!" Larry put on a
gap-toothed grin: they had paid Freddy's downstairs neighbor to strip
and masturbate in front of her bedroom window. Freddy had known she
was an exhibitionist for a few years. In fact, he always considered
himself lucky to be in a building facing one with mirrored windows.
"Man oh man, can Molly ever put on a show. Hope those goobs
didn't steam up their binoculars *too* bad..."
\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \
Dr. See was incredibly freaked when Freddy's files were called
up on his shift at GTM. He almost panicked and confessed the entire
story to the police that escorted the ambulance in. But a millon
newyen trumps an "almost" any day of the week...
Standard procedure was to immediately call up the clone from
the cold-storage facility and insert the latest memory recording.
However, Freddy's clone would not be ready for about 6 months. In
this case, a memory check and backup would be made instead.
The doctor took Freddy's memory cube and inserted it into the
Mnemo-Matic. He punched up the check sequence on the control panel.
What he saw made his jaw drop.
On the screen was a Fuchi Security test pattern...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1991, all rights reserved. Basic story plot and Matrix help
was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him all the profits
from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well...
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: 21st Century Schizoid Man [part 06/21]
Date: 20 Aug 92 05:47:16 GMT
I think a little, errr, explaination is needed for this one.
Or maybe an apology! :-)
The following episode contains a gratuitous (literally) sex scene,
thrown in only because it was mentioned that the story already had
gratuitous violence but was still lacking "steamier" aspects.
Unfortunately, I was in a writing groove at the time, so I took it as
a challenge and threw it in for an experiment...and for laughs! It's
pretty cliche': I think this sort of stuff could be made by letting a
NLP AI loose in /usr/spool/news/rec/arts/erotica! :-)
But what's done is done. I'm not gonna wipe out the excerpt in a fit
of hindsight. What's important is that it's got good entertainment
value if taken for what it was. Still, some people don't like the
racy stuff, so this is fair warning...
However, it's suggested that you bare (pun!) with it, since it
contains *major* continuity points. This is an important turning
point in the way Freddy looks at his current way of life. It's a
"Can't Miss" post! :-)
Repeat to yourself, "It's just fiction: I should really just relax!"
Have fun,
- Mark
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Larry had dropped him off at about midnight from the moving
van in a nearby tunnel in order to avoid being seen together. They'd
meet back at Penumbra in a week or so, but in the meantime it wouldn't
be smart for a Trog Crusher to be seen in the company of an ork...
Dirk's apartment wasn't half bad, Freddy thought. "Sheesh, I
didn't know gangers made out so well..." He looked over the stereo
system. "Pretty kick-ass." However, the CD collection had a lot to
be desired. "Howitzers n' Chrysanthemums? Gimmie a break..." The
trid unit was also top of the line. "What does this guy get paid?"
He was almost sure the equipment wasn't stolen, since most of the
manuals were in their respective cabinets.
He checked out the fridge. "Yum. Beef jerky!" He took out a
stick and started gnawing on it. "Lessee..." He proceeded to look
through all the cabinets and drawers in the apartment. He was trying
to piece together Dirk's mannerisms so he wouldn't give himself away.
He had compiled a lot of data during the interrogation at the Rhino,
but he needed more...
He walked into the bedroom and looked around. "Oooh, black
velvet paintings. Tasteful." He started to rummage though the
closets. What he found in one surprised him: a whole closet full of
dresses! He laughed, "Dirk is a cross dresser? Heh!"
A female voice yelled out behind him, "Dirk!" He spun around
to find a woman in a towel...errr, with nothing on running up to him.
She grabbed him and cried, "I thought they killed you..."
Freddy's jaw dropped in astonishment, and he soon found the
woman's tongue probing in his mouth. He decided to go with the flow
and returned the favour, going where second nature led him. He
forcefully kissed her back, finding himself entirely enveloped in the
situation (and musing that maybe love was indeed a matter of that
thing they call "chemistry").
His hands drifted around until they came to her breasts, which
were quite full, but not too large to handle (perfectly sized, in his
book). He squeezed them gently with his palms, feeling their warmth
and slight moisture ("Must've been in the shower..."). He rubbed his
thumbs lightly around her already erect nipples and she started to
moan quietly.
Freddy stopped kissing her and moved to sucking on her left
breast while still fondling the right. He softly bit the nipple,
eliciting a shap inhale of surprise from the woman. She then giggled
and leaned over him, covering him with her waist-length purple hair.
She started to take off his jacket and shirt while Freddy applied
further tantric arts. He held the nipple between his teeth and
flicked the tip of it with his tongue. The woman started breathing
heavily and began dragging her long sharp fingernails up and down his
back...
Suddenly he stopped and looked up at her. He smiled widely.
She gasped back, "Don't stop!" He laughed, picked her up, and dropped
her onto the bed. He walked over to the edge of the water bed and
slid her towards him and gently positioned her to lie down on her back
with her legs dangling down off the side. Freddy then applied the
earlier method on her right breast, and the woman started to breathe
heavily again.
Now he slid his hand down her torso until it came to her
pussy. It was already quite wet, but Freddy doubted this particular
form of moisture came from her shower. He ran the tips of his fingers
up and down her inner thighs, producing a gasp from the woman. After
this her started rubbing vertically along her lips and then stuck his
index finger of his left hand into her cunt. The woman softly moaned,
"yesss...", and he started pulling the finger in and out, accompanied
by a circular motion. Soon he put his middle finger in as well, and
then his ring finger.
The woman was panting slowly now, her orgasm starting to
build. She rocked back on the bed, forcing his fingers deeper into
her. When he thought she was ready, Freddy released her breast and
moved down to kneel on the floor between her dangling legs, while all
the while keeping his fingers growing. He was now in position to
attack her clit, which was visibly engorged. His kissed it lightly
with his lips and then softly began to lick around it (all the while
thinking of anchovies!). As he increased the speed of this, the woman
started to come: she grabbed the sheets of the bed with her
outstretched arms and gripped the tightly. To add to this, Freddy
forced his fingers deeper into her and began fully sucking on her
clit.
This was too much for her: Freddy felt her muscles clench,
almost pulling his hand inside her. She lifted her legs up and
wrapped them tightly around his head, practically suffocating him.
Soon she screamed out, "Yeeesssss!!!", and released her hot jizz all
over his hand. When she finally released his neck again he stopped
his oral task and slowed his fingers to a stop. He stood up and she
rolled over in the bed, pulling the covers over her. "Mmmmmmm", she
moaned, "that was wonnnderfulll...". She purred like a feline.
Freddy looked into a mirror at Dirk's face, which didn't look
in the least bit guilty, and then back at her. "Yeah, I guess it made
a pretty good homecoming party." He smiled lecherously.
She grinned back, "Yeah, but how about we try to make it
*better*?" She threw the covers off of herself again and invited him
over with a curling index finger.
He laughed and took off his pants. It was only then that
Freddy noticed that Dirk's gangly frame contained some beneficial
features which he hadn't considered before...
* * * * * * * *
Freddy took an incredibly long shower the next morning while
the apartment filled with the smell of breakfast. His brain ached
from the entire last week of too much action, not to mention the past
night's activities.
He got out of the shower and wiped the steam off the mirror.
Dirk looked back at him. He muttered, "What the hell are we gonna do,
bud? Just come out and say, 'Sorry hon, but I'm a bodysnatcher and
killed your boyfriend. One hundred percent electric brain-death.'" He
sighed and finished getting dressed in some of Dirk's less-spikey
clothes.
He walked out of the bedroom and into the living room and
received another surprise. "Daddy!", a child squealed, and ran up to
him and hugged his leg.
| | | | | | | |
He awoke on a couch with a nasty pain at the side of his head.
The woman was sitting beside him, and the little boy was watching
anime on the trideo. She wiped his forehead with a damp cloth. "Are
you okay? You just keeled over and passed out!" She ran her fingers
through his hair. "You had me so worried."
Freddy shook his head to chase the clouds away, "I guess I
really haven't been the same since we ran into those orks..." He'd
formulated the idea earlier to compensate for situations when he
couldn't imitate Dirk's knowledge. "They hurt me so bad...I could
hardly even remember where I lived..."
She hugged him. "But it's over now. Just try to take it easy
and everything will be all right." She stood up again. "I'm going to
finish breakfast. It'll be ready in five minutes." She kissed him on
the forehead and walked off to the kitchen.
He walked over to the child and sat down beside him. "Whatcha
doing?"
"Watching Mallet-Man..." He stood up and jumped onto Freddy's
shoulders.
Freddy watched a cartoon man with large hammers for hands
chase around a giggling weasel. "Do you like it?"
The boy started drumming on his head. "Kinda. I like
MicroMen best. They're on next..."
"Oh." Freddy decided to play a little game. "Say, how old are
you?"
"Six..." The kid's eyes were glued to the screen.
"What's your full name?"
"Jeff'ry Norman Lee..."
"And what's your mother's name?"
"Lisa Meyer Lee..."
"That's very good! You're pretty smart for a little guy."
"Unh-huh..."
'Lisa' called out from the kitchen, "Breakfast!"
Freddy picked Jeff of his back and put him back on the floor
in front of the trid. He stood up and sighed, thinking to himself,
"Yep, you just took a decent man's life, Marx. Way to go, you fucking
loser..." He plodded over to the kitchen and sat down. "Mmmmm,
smells good." It actually did, to boot.
Lisa put a plate in front of him. "Eat up. You'll probably
have to do a *lot* of explaining at work today: you might even miss
lunch." He picked up a fork and started stabbing at the poached eggs
and bacon. He really didn't have and appetitie after his awful
realization.
He noticed Lisa was humming a little major pentatonic melody.
Her voice was sweet and inherently musical. "That's beautiful," he
commented and muched on a piece of bacon.
She turned around and raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You
never said *that* before! Then again, you never did *anything* like
last night, ever..." She smiled at him.
Freddy chuckled. Dirk must've been a "power-fucker". "Yeah,
I guess I'm looking at things differently now. Like they say, today
is the first day of the rest of your life..." Of course he didn't
mention that this meant every day *before* today was a wasted,
meaningless, and generally pathetic practice.
He heard some scratching at the door. Lisa gasped, "That must
be Chuck!" She walked over to the door and opened it, and a Siberian
husky trotted in. "Where were you, young man? Jeff and I looked all
over for you last night..."
The dog ignored her and plodded up to Freddy, but then
suddenly backed away. It whimpered a bit, and then ran off to find
Jeff. "Wow, whaddya think of that?" Lisa asked.
Freddy hoped it wasn't what he thought it was. "Errr, maybe
he still smells orks on me? I dunno..."
But he did.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1991, all rights reserved. Basic story plot and Matrix help
was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him all the profits
from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well...
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: 21st Century Schizoid Man [part 07/21]
Date: 21 Aug 92 05:18:54 GMT
Freddy got a ride to work with Dirk's older brother, who he
first tested his "partial amnesia" story on. "Man, they just kept
beating the shit out of me. They just wouldn't stop! Then I blacked
out and woke up in a dumpster..."
"Fuckin' trogs." Rock grumbled. "Don't worry, we'll pay back
those abominations in spades." He turned to Freddy, "Though that
*was* a pretty stupid stunt you pulled. What were you *thinking*?"
Freddy shrugged, "I dunno. I just followed the others in.
Didn't even think about it..."
"You're lucky you're even alive, even though you don't have
all your memory back. Hell, we thought you were all gonners from what
Stinky told us. We just about wrote you off. At least you're
remembering stuff now..."
"Yeah. After I look at stuff for a while, sometimes it
clicks. I guess I'll have to just ask stupid questions for a while
until everything comes back..."
\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \
Lisa was right: 'Dirk' did have a hell of a lot of explaining
to do that day. He'd been missing for about three days, and his
employers weren't too happy about it, though they did accept his
excuse, since his absence was caused "in the line of duty."
"Anyway, Marx has been neutralized by Fuchi already," said
'Feeby', who he remembered from the picture of her and Bob Travis from
the Zerpso commercial. "So we don't have to send you guys out on
patrol looking for him. We got lucky, though we haven't found the
money he swiped..."
"Yeah? Wow, a *half* a billion dollars..."
She frowned, "Or so the word on the street goes..."
"So what exactly am I doing here?"
Feeby sighed, "Those mutants really *did* fry your brain, huh?
Oh well, I'll give you the novice overview..."
/ / / / / / / /
Freddy sat by himself in a corner of the warehouse during his
lunch break. During the day, he'd talked to other workers about
anything he could, gathering information about the operation. Now he
was putting this info together with what he found out from Dirk in the
Rhino.
The main thing that Freddy had learned was that the "Tacoma
Bob" rumours about the Crushers were a ruse: they only went through
the motions of being bouncers at the "Fast Flicks" houses. The real
job was that they were to put pressure on Federated-Boeing Division
heads to step down through various intimidation tactics. Apparently
Feeby was an official at Fed-Bo and was looking for a big promotion...
Dirk had worked at a warehouse near the Auburn Fed-Bo plant,
unloading aircraft weapons for smuggling out of the city. Feeby had
told the Crushers that she had "special powers" in Fed-Bo that let her
do this without suspicion. Freddy didn't doubt it, since the
operation had been continuing successfully for over a year.
"Hey Dirk!" yelled his mid-level boss from across the room,
"Got a job for you."
Freddy finished his pimento cheese sandwich and threw his
trash into a can. "Yeah, boss..." He walked over to the foreman.
"It's an easy one: you can even do it in your condition. All
ya gotta do is take Bob's pets to Feeby's mansion."
"No prob boss. Where do I go?"
"Office J on the east wing. Rock's going with you." The
foreman walked back into his own office.
| | | | | | | |
"You go herd 'em outside, Dirk. I'll go pull the van up."
"Sure." Freddy turned to the door and then back to Rock,
"What am I doing?"
"Just bring 'em out! I'll be back in a bit. Sheesh..."
Rock walked out the door marked <EXIT>.
Freddy shrugged. "These pets better not be snakes. I hate
snakes." He shook off the chills and opened the door.
He looked across the room and was dumbfounded: Kelly was
sitting there on a cot looking back at him. His mouth formed the
syllables to say her name, but no sound came out. Suddenly he was hit
in the face with a chair by someone he didn't see standing beside the
door. He fell to the ground and heard a woman yell, "Let's go!", and
then two people ran past him out of the room.
After a few seconds he struggled to his feet and out into the
hallway. He saw Kelly and another woman running towards the exit.
But they didn't make it: Rock stepped in through the out door and
outstretched both his arms, clothes-lining both women. They fell to
the ground, grasping their throats and coughing.
Freddy ran up and checked if Kelly was okay. He turned to
Rock. "What the hell you do that for?"
"Hey, they were gonna escape! I really don't need Feeby on my
ass for letting them get away. And what the hell were *you* doing?
They're just two chicks: how the hell did they get past you? I swear,
you're *such* a pussy..."
Freddy snapped at him, "Hey! *You* try getting the shit beat
out of you by a pack of orks and then move like nothing happened..."
He helped Kelly to her feet, who was still dazed.
Rock started to pick up the other woman, who suddenly grabbed
his leg and flipped him over on his back. She then got to her own
feet and started to run away, but Rock was too fast for her: he
grabbed her ankle and yanked her back down to the ground with him. He
then turned her face up and hit her in the face, hard. She quickly
went limp and lied motionless on the floor.
"Bitch," Rock muttered as he stood up. "Well, let's haul 'em
into the van..." He hefted the woman over his shoulder. Freddy led
Kelly, still dizzy, out the door.
* * * * * * * *
Freddy sat in the back of the "plain brown wrapper" van with
Kelly and the other woman, who were handcuffed to one of the bench
seats. Rock was driving up front, so Freddy decided to talk with
Kelly. "How are you?"
"Oh, starting pleasant conversation now? Brute force not
working well enough for you?" She snarled at him.
He sighed, "You know I didn't try to do anything! It's my
brother that goes around hitting people. Besides, *she's* the one
that hit me with a chair..." He pointed to the unconscious woman.
"You sure fell for that one. Sucker..."
"Wait a sec, what did I do to you? I would've treated you
okay..."
"Are you kidding? You Crushers are all alike! You're scum,
and order-following scum at that."
Freddy grumbled and tried to change the subject. "You know
who she is?"
"Not really. I saw her once at some sort of doctor's office
when she was being taken out while they brought me in. Besides that
time, we were just thrown in that room a little bit before you got
there. She just started talking escape strategy and didn't introduce
herself. Pissed off the wrong people, I guess..."
"Maybe. They don't tell me everything that happens around
here. So how 'bout you? What got you into this?"
"Me? I guess I just keep bad company: they're probably using
me to get at someone else. I know this decker that kinda works the
fringes. I really don't have many good friends in this town, but I've
known him since I came here. He's a selfish bastard most of the time,
but I kinda like his sense a humour. He works as a musician on the
side, too. Cool tunes..."
"Klone Crimson," Freddy said flatly.
She peered at him closely, "Huh?"
"That's his stage name right?"
"Yeah, but how did you know?"
"Believe it or not, I know more about him than most people..."
He decided not to tell her that the whole world though he was dead.
She shook her head to clear the haze. "Whatever you say..."
She decided to change the topic herself this time. She moved closer
to the other woman and looked carefully at her face. "She's gonna
have a black-eye, you know."
Freddy went for the opening. "How much blacker could it be?"
This stunned her, memories coming into her head. "Huh?"
"None-black," he replied. He hoped she made the connection.
She looked at him even closer this time...
* * * * * * * *
Freddy ended up not telling Kelly who he really was. He
decided she'd either freak out or just not believe him. Besides, this
way she couldn't spill her guts if asked about him.
The other woman woke up when they unloaded the van at the
mansion. This time she was a bit more subdued. He guessed that she
was Xavier's wife (or whatever), Ariel: she was about as violent as he
was, though considerably better looking. He'd get a confirmation from
X later.
The mansion was huge and luxuriously furnished. Freddy and
Rock handed over the women to the security guards there (who looked
more like professionals than Trog Crushers), who gagged them and led
them up some stairs. After that he waited around to get his orders to
return to the warehouse. In the meantime he looked around for clues.
He asked one of the guards that returned, "Hey, what are the
chicks for?"
The man looked around conspiratorially. "Well I hear that
they're going to be Bob Travis' new toys. Feeby and he used to have
this thing, ya know?"
"Oooh! Really?" Freddy was genuinely interested.
"Yeah, but then this mage gave him this magic power or
something and he started to...errr, 'change'. Feeby was all disgusted
and stuff, so she got these chicks for him instead..."
"Yeesh. Harsh realm..."
"Yeah." The guard nodded to him and walked from the room.
He continued looking around the foyer and came to a plaque on
the wall. It had a holo-pic of Feeby in a business suit, and a metal
etched plate on the bottom. It had her name, a date (two years ago),
and a position title: "Director - Division of Aircraft Weaponry,
Federated Boeing."
His jaw dropped. "Cryminee..."
* * * * * * * *
Mortis was sitting in his van, listening and waiting (as
usual). He'd moved his vehicle to the back parking lot of Sybrespace
when the Fuchi cops had shown up. He'd wait until they left before he
went in to finish the night's job. For now he'd keep track with his
surveillence equipment.
He was eating a ZubmarineZandwich when his voice-mail
receiver clicked on. A red light blinked on it and the transmission
came though: {{{ Why, I'll THROTTLE you, deck-boy! Why, I'll THROTTLE
you, deck-boy! Why, I'll THROTTLE you, deck-boy!... }}}
The voice was Mortis' own. At first he was a bit confused,
but then he forcefully spit out a bite of Zandwich when it hit him.
"Well I'll be screwed, blued, and tattooed! Crimson's alive!"
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1991, all rights reserved. Basic story plot and Matrix help
was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him all the profits
from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well...
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: 21st Century Schizoid Man [part 08/21]
Date: 24 Aug 92 07:07:55 GMT
Freddy hoped Mortis would be on the same wavelength and meet
him back at Penumbra (where Freddy was currently using the 'back room'
as a communications base). As for the others, he'd gotten their
appropriate contact addresses from the job coordinator there (only
*after* having to explain it was a matter of life or death).
Rawhide's number had drawn a blank. Grace's wasn't listed,
and Rache wasn't available to lend his MagePages. Howlers' was a
chipper "We're currently doing something that you have no business
knowing anyway...".
As for Xavier, Freddy found some secretary on the line. More
red-tape. "I'm sorry but Mr. Moran isn't in at the moment..."
"Cryminee! This is urgent. He better not be holding his
calls while napping in his office..."
"I can assure you he would do no such thing!" Freddy thought
the same: he doubted if X could actually sleep with Ariel in the hands
of Bob Travis...
"Hooray for Hollywood. So are you going to offer to take a
message or what?" He realized he was getting quite rude. Then again,
he really didn't care.
"Certainly. What is the message?"
"Tell him I know where *she* is."
"And who exactly is *she*?"
"HE'LL BLOODY WELL KNOW!!! Just write it down!"
"[sigh] Yes sir..."
"Yeah, and tell him to meet me for further info at the place
where we first met..."
"And he'll know that too...?"
"Yeah, he should...and tell him to meet me YESTERDAY."
"Marking message as urgent..."
Freddy was breathing heavily now. "DAMN urgent, if you will.
I'm sure Xavier will be happy to finish this off once and for all."
"That's nice. And who should I say he's to look for?"
He paused. "Tell him the Klone is dead: long live the Klone."
He hung up the phone immediately. He turned to Larry: "Remind me to
*never* get a secretary..."
Larry smiled and looked at his chronometer. "How soon you
think Mortis and Xavier get here?"
"I dunno. Mortis should be here in a flash: we kinda think
alike. And once Xavier catches wind of this, he'll be here before you
can say 'pussy whipped'..." He turned to face the wall.
The ork frowned. "You worried about Kelly..."
Freddy turned back to face Larry. Tears were streaming down
his face. "Yeah." He pulled up a chair and sat down. He buried his
face in his hands. "I never stop to fucking think about other people,
do I? I mean, it's all my fault! Kelly may die because of me...and
Dirk: I cut down a decent man! I didn't even stop to think if he had
a family..."
"Well, I helped that out..."
"But it was *my* problem, which I dragged you into, without
asking, of course! 'Hello, Larry, I'd like you to drop everything and
save my skin.' Hell, they could plant a bomb in the Rhino and there
would be a *hundred* more deaths all my fault..."
"You can't help everyone. You try to be too much like ma and
pa..."
"Yeah, mom: crazy-ass bitch hispanic meta-human rights
activist... Probably the reason I'm so screwed up to begin with.
Hell, never had a normal life even since the beginning..."
"Normal as I had..."
Freddy shook his head. "Now wasn't *that* a match made in
heaven! My mom, liberal hippie, and your dad, the communist ork, both
with bastard children and ready for love... Hell, I was only, what,
two years old!?!?"
"Hey, you turned out okay..."
Freddy snarled at Larry. "Yeah, easy for *you* to say! We
grew up in an ork community, so *you* weren't the misfit! Hell, I was
human and *still* was target of Humanis. So that's what trying to
help the world gets you: pain. That's all. You're screwed if you
give a shit, and screwed if you don't..."
Larry bowed his head and then lifted it again. "Say, you want
a drink?"
"NO I DON'T WANT A *FUCKING* DRINK!" Tears again.
The ork held out his hands. "Okay, okay..."
"I'd like to stay sober tonight, thank you. Too many people
will be counting on me, and I don't want to let them down." He stood
up again and started circling the room. "You know, the only unselfish
thing I've done since I can remember is faking my death: it'll buy
everyone some time and throw both Fuchi and Travis off our tails for a
while." He stopped in his tracks. "Maybe I should do it for real
this time and help the world out a bit..." He punched a wall, and
then recoiled his fist with pain.
"*Now* you're starting to talk like ma and pa. Don't make
yourself into a martyr." He was pointing his index finger at Freddy.
"It's okay to think of others, but when you start talking 'one life
for millions' and 'the good of the many' then you're out of bounds.
That's how ma and pa died: it was senseless, and Humanis played on
that the whole time." Larry was sniffling himself. "Dammit Freddy,
we're all we got anymore! You can't just cut out and leave me alone:
that'd be the most selfish act of all! Don't you *dare* turn your
back and slam the door on me!"
Only silence followed in the 'back room' of Club Penumbra:
silence and waiting...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1991, all rights reserved. Basic story plot and Matrix help
was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him all the profits
from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well...
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: 21st Century Schizoid Man [part 09/19]
Date: 25 Aug 92 16:54:42 GMT
Larry had gone to the bar and returned with a pack of
Xigarettes. "Here ya go..." He threw them to Freddy.
"Thanks, 'mano." He snagged the pack out of the air while
fishing a lighter out of his pocket. "I just lovvvve waiting..." He
lit up and puffed away with a little difficulty. He coughed a bit,
"New set of lungs, eh? Gotta break em in..." He pocketed the lighter
again.
Larry wafted the smoke away from him. "Clean slate and you
gotta go muss it up..."
"Yeah. Hot rails to hell, eh?" He turned at the sound of a
knock on the wall.
The door to the back room opened and Howler walked in,
followed by the woman he was with in Sybrespace (this time he could
see the name label on her jacket: "Slick"). Howler looked at Freddy
and Larry, blurting out, "Who the hell are you?" The woman dropped to
a defensive stance and drew a rather large pistol.
Freddy's cigarette dropped out of his mouth. "Cryminee,
Howler, I thought we had leash laws in Seattle..." He stubbed out the
butt with his toe.
Howler smiled, anticipating Slick's response. She holstered
her pistol and advanced on Freddy, ending up throwing a kick at his
face. He ducked his head to the side and caught her leg in the air.
He then lifted up on it, toppling her onto her back. He turned to
Larry, "Hey, I guess the reflexes *are* coming back."
Slick was not to take this "lying down", though: she twisted
around on the ground, sweeping Freddy's legs. He fell onto his back
and in a flash she was sitting on his chest with her gun in his face.
"Care to rephrase that, chummer?" Her grin was positively evil.
Larry grumbled and then moved faster than anybody in the room
thought an ork could. He reached down a grabbed Slick's gun arm,
twisting it behind her back so that the barrel was sticking in her
ribs. He then picked her up off of Freddy and walked her slowly over
to Howler, where he let go of her and went back to get Freddy to his
feet.
Freddy rubbed the back of his head and muttered to Larry,
"Thanks again, 'mano..." He then addressed Slick, "Cryminee, let's
just go shooting anyone we don't know! Hell, that's a page out of
Xavier's book...speaking of which, where is he?"
"Errrr, he was apprehended by Lonestar Security..." Howler
grumbled.
"What?" Why Lonestar and not Fuchi, he thought...
There was not enough time for more of a response, as at that
precise moment Mortis walked in, followed by another man he hadn't
seen before ("Where do they get these people from?"). The dwarf
looked a little surprised, "Where the fuck is Crimson?"
Freddy smirked and shook his head. "Hail, hail, the gang's
all here...well, besides Rawhide and Grace..." He sighed. "Okay, I'm
gonna say this once and once only: thanks to modern technology, *I'm*
Crimson..." Larry chuckled loudly, wondering what would follow...
Mortis, understanding the feasibility of this premise via the
aid of modern technology, took it in stride and looked Freddy in the
eyes and said, "Uhhh, yeah, whatever." He turned to leave the room,
but then stopped and looked back. "If you're the real Crimson, this
is something you should know. I tagged your cash. Someone from Fuchi
found the trace I put on it and, well, frankly... you're broke. And
we're both in trouble."
Freddy watched as Mortis "subtly" moved his hand closer to his
sidearm as he replied to the dwarf. "No, I doubt if Fuchi found *all*
the money. I knew they'd snag part of it, but I *know* they can't
possibly get it *all*..."
He continued before anyone could muster a word, "And if you
don't believe my story, then just go under the assumption that
Freddy's dead." He looked around at the confused faces. "That's what
I said. Just consider me a friend of his. I have his interests in
mind, such as finding a particular acquaintance of his, who happens to
be in the same place as Ariel...
"Yeah, I know where she is. And seeing how Xavier isn't here
at the moment, I suppose we'll do the favour of recovering her for
him. Humm, not like X to miss out on this particular party..."
He made for the door, passing by Mortis. "I'll show you how
to get there. But first, there's a particular van I want to get
before we go. You can follow me in it once you drive me there..."
He stepped out of the door to the 'back room', calling back to
the dumbstruck 'runners, "Come on people! He who hesitates is
lost..." He waved back to Larry, who saluted in return, and then
exited the room.
Mortis shrugged a walked after him. "Sure, whatever. Where
are we going...?"
Howler chaught up with Freddy and muttered conspiritorially,
"I hope for your sake you are Crimson reincarnate, because if you
aren't you're gonna wish you had never thought of this scheme. For
the time being though, I'm gonna trust ya..."
* * * * * * *
"Okay folks, here's the plan." Freddy spoke into a small
portable comm-unit so that Mortis, as well as the people in his Fed-Bo
van, could hear him. "We're going to go visit the mansion of our good
friend 'Feeby'. Most of you know her from your little trip to Yarrow
Point Arcology, or from the picture I slipped off the trid Zerpso
commercial.
"The interesting part of it is that she's really Jessica
Sirriani, the head of Federated Boeing's Aircraft Weapons Division.
'Feeby' is just her street name as leader of the Trog Crushers. Kinda
kooky, huh?" He slowly turned the corner, grumbling about the
handling of the jury-rigged van.
"Anyway, the dweebs at the mansion know my face, so I should
be able to get us through the front gate and up to the front door.
However, I'm proposing that you guys jump out somewhere between those
two points and sorta blend into the shadows. I figure you guys could
pull it off, but then again that ninja crap isn't my biz...
"After that, you cats should scale a wall to a second story
window. That should get you around a lot of security: I saw a few
professional security men prowling the first floor earlier. Our
objective is on the second or third floor, I'm not sure which..."
He stopped the van at a light. "Only a few more blocks," he
thought. He exhaled deeply and continued on when the light changed.
"Our objective, of course, is Xavier's lovely lady in waiting,
the almost-too-good-too-be-believed, Miss Ariel 'I-must've-come-
out-of-a-storybook' Saleen. Too bad X himself had to play the hero
and get himself nabbed, though." Good guys *do* finish last, he
mused.
He sighed and triggered the comm-mic once again. "There's one
other objective, too: an acquaintance of mine named Kelly. She was in
the same boat as Ariel last time I saw her. Bring her back with you.
Oh yeah, you'll know her when you see her: she's got green hair." He
clicked off and sighed again. Three more blocks.
"Here's the rest of the story: I'll be entering through the
front door and will try to keep as much security downstairs as I can,
somehow. So if you try to leave that way *please* don't shoot me in
the process, okay? If all goes well, you'll probably be able to slip
away the way you came, though you'll have to blow out the electric
fence to do it. If you exit via the east lawn then you'll be that
much closer to the bikes..."
Silence. "Well, I guess everyone's in agreement. Let's
rock-n-roll, dudes..." They stopped the van, rolled the bikes out,
and engaged the security systems. Afterwards, Howler, Slick, and
Kamai jumped back into the Fed-Bo van and Crimson drove it up to the
front gate of the mansion.
Freddy couldn't help feeling that the whole plan was
incredibly rushed. But there was a bit of pressure to get this thing
done *here* and *now*: it had dragged on long enough. If he got Kelly
back then he would quit Shadowrunning for good (though whether she'd
stay with him was still up for debate, and whether he'd care in the
end was still up for grabs). He'd hit the motherlode and was set for
life even if only one third of the credit found its way back to him.
All he had to do was make it through the night. Just tonight.
"It's gonna be a long night...", he mumbled.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1991, all rights reserved. Basic story plot and Matrix help
was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him all the profits
from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well...
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: 21st Century Schizoid Man [part 10/19]
Date: 26 Aug 92 15:11:27 GMT
Freddy started to worry when the gate at the mansion didn't
open immediately. If a few seconds a shimmering form appeared outside
the van's window. A large head floated there, the head of an
effeminate-looking office stooly realistically rendered with the
lastest in 3d holographic visualization techniques. It spoke: "May I
help you?"
"Delivery for Ms. Feeby," Freddy said, hoping he didn't appear
nervous. Appearances were the most important thing in this business:
if you slipped up once it was likely you'd never have an opportunity
to slip up again...
The head bobbed out of view for a second, then reappeared and
said, "Leave it on the south loading dock." The image then
disappeared and the gates clicked open.
He wasn't surprised when the gate immediately shut and clicked
again after the van passed through. Concentrating on the way ahead,
he noticed a few patches of trees on the lawn and no lights except to
light the road and the mansion itself. The mansion lay about 500
meters ahead, and the road went around to either side. No guards were
in view, but then again none were expected to be.
Freddy slowed the van down a bit as he passed a small, unlit
wooded area toward the side of the mansion. He barely heard the side
door of the van slide open and then closed again. He let out a sigh,
knowing the only incriminating evidence against him had vacated his
vehicle.
"Cryminee, we shouldn't be here," he grumbled. "Not yet..."
He was starting to get "cold feet" about their situation...
Once again they were flying into the wild blue yonder with
barely a plan to go on. He wasn't that hot on verbal improv, either,
and he'd probably have to do some major BSing that night. So how the
hell was he going to keep most of the security downstairs? "Diversion
diversion diversion..."
"Screw the loading dock." He buckled his seat belt and floored
the van's accelerator, turning towards the north, front of the house,
rather than the south.
\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \
Jeff Riley heard a vehicle drive up outside and suddenly the
door buckled in and went sliding across the floor. He had to jump to
avoid getting hit by it: he had a health plan, yeah, but a 4 inch slab
of solid oak *hurts*!
The corner of a Federated Boeing van peeked through the now
gaping doorway, allowing a cloud of dust to drift in with it. A man
got out of the driver's side and staggered into the main foyer,
muttering something about "damn EuroTrash..."
Jeff recognized the Trog Crusher colours the man wore (he'd
been briefed on this before he was hired at the mansion) and stepped
up to help him. "You okay, guy?"
The lanky man coughed out, "Yeah. Pedal stuck or something.
Computer glitch. Something..." Jeff noticed some of the other
security men filtering down from upstairs.
"Damn. You okay though?"
"Yeah. Guess so." He brushed his jacket off a bit.
"That's good. So, why the haste, chummer?" Jeff smiled,
hoping a little levity could help tone down the shock a bit.
Freddy looked around and took a stab. "Errr, yeah: someone
called me here?"
One of the guards spoke up. "Oh, that's right: your brother,
Rock, is it? Looks sorta like you, but bigger. Yeah, he said to keep
an eye out for you."
"Errr, yeah." He had to think fast: he was hoping to avoid
Rock for the next few days. "Errrr, where is he now?"
"Went upstairs to talk to Ms. Sirriani. That's the last I saw
him."
"Thanks." He needed to buy some time, first. "Oh, could I
get something to drink around here? Need something to settle the
nerves..."
Jeff laughed. "I could imagine. Ummmm, kitchen's that way.
Should be something in there."
"Thanks," Freddy grinned back, "and I'll come back to help
clean up my mess before I leave..."
/ / / / / / / /
Freddy found some tequilla in a cabinet, but decided on water
instead. He whispered to himself, "Rock's pretty slow, but he'll
eventually catch on the more I talk with him..." He was also starting
to get nervous about coming unarmed, but it was probably for the best.
He put down his glass and went out the side door of the
kitchen and found himself in a rec-room or sorts. He spied a door on
the other side of the room and walked towards it.
"*There* you are...Dirk." the darkness said.
"Huh?" Freddy spun around in the direction of the voice.
Someone leaned out of the shadows of a couch and into the
light. It was Rock. "Feeby's been lookin' for ya."
"Oh, yeah. Sure."
Rock stood and lumbered towards Freddy, who could smell the
rye from 10 paces. "She's waiting upstairs. Let's go."
Rock took him back through the kitchen, upstairs past the
group of security guards, and finally to the second floor. Freddy
took mental notes of the floor plan just in case he had to leave in a
hurry. After a left, intersection, right, three doors, they came to a
stop. Rock opened the door on the left and motioned Freddy through
it, who entered to find Feeby sitting behind a desk.
Freddy almost stuttered, "You wanted to see me, Feeby?"
She tapped a pen on the desk. "Yes, Dirk. We have to talk."
Freddy suddenly felt a sharp pain smashing down on his left
shoulder, driving him to his knees. He rolled over to see Rock
standing over him, holding a steel pipe. He raised it again...
A man stepped in from a side chamber. "That'll be all, Rock.
You may go now." The newcomer gazed closely at Freddy and grinned.
Rock lowered the pipe and turned to leave, but hesitated. He
turned back and spit on Freddy. "Fuckin' trogs..." He punctuated the
statement with a quick kick in the ribs.
"That's ENOUGH, Rock!" Feeby yelled.
Somehow Rock managed to hold himself back. He then nodded to
Feeby and exited the room, closing the door behind him.
Freddy dragged himself to his feet, nursing his shoulder, and
dropped down onto a chair. "My own brother, even. Damn, I think it's
broken..." Actually, he knew it was. He bit his lip to stop the pain
and looked over to the mystery man. "So to what do I owe the honor of
this wonderful hospitality?"
The man smiled and stepped forward, "My name is Law, and you
must be Frederick Marx, a.k.a. 'Klone Crimson'. I'm a big fan of your
work..."
Freddy could only mumble, "Oh shit..."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1992, all rights reserved. Basic story plot and Matrix help
was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him all the profits
from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well...
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: 21st Century Schizoid Man [part 11/19]
Date: 6 Sep 92 11:27:15 GMT
Law looked at Freddy and said, with just a twinge of sarcasm,
"But Klone-man, I thought you realized that the good guys always win?
You shouldn't play with the big boys unless you're ready to pay the
consequences..." Law smirked.
Freddy clenched his teeth and growled, "Go FOAD..."
Feeby didn't seem to be amused. "Did you see about the
circuit breakers?"
Law waved his hand and said, "Yeah, yeah...," then turned back
to Freddy, looking perplexed. "Go fode?"
"Yeah: Fuck Off And Die!" He tried to sweep Law's legs.
The sound of the AK-97 caused both Freddy and Law to freeze.
Feeby told Freddy to sit back down, which he did without hesitation
Turning to Law she asked, "Did you actually *see* the cameras come
back on? If you didn't I suggest you go see to it..."
Law started to squirm, then straightened up and smoothly said,
"Ah, of course I did. But just to be on the safe side, I'll check
again..." He hurried out of the room.
"Idiot," Feeby said to the door after he left. Turning back
to Freddy she said, "Now we wait for him to get back. I'm sure he has
a lot to ask you."
After five minutes of waiting for Law to come back, a dull
booming sound came from outside the door. Feeby looked over and
scowled. Standing up, she walked over to the door, still keeping
Freddy covered with the AK-97. He made no move to stop her, still
nursing his broken shoulder. Stopping near the door, she told him,
"Stay here." Freddy nodded rather vigorously as the barrel of the
AK-97 came too close to pointing at him for comfort...
Feeby turned toward the door and slowly started to open it.
As soon as the gun barrel cleared the door, a large green-tinged hand
reached out and ripped the gun rather violently from her hands. Then
the door slammed open, catching Feeby and throwing her back onto her
desk. Feeby and Freddy looked over the see Law walk in, followed by a
very warped, greenish humanoid figure. Slightly larger than an
average troll, he had to stoop down to get inside the door. Looking
closer, Freddy saw that the over-grown ogre looked very much like
Robert Travis: the RAT himself!
Law walked up to Feeby and said, "I think you know Mr. Travis.
Except that he's under my control now. So you do exactly as I say,
and I won't have him rip your arms off."
Feeby looked seethingly up at him, "What do you want?"
Law smiled coyly. "Very good. Now," he ticked the items off
on his fingers, "One: I want the plans to the NightRaven Stealth Jet."
She chuckled. "I bet you do."
He continued, unperturbed. "Two: I want 10 million nuyen."
Feeby's eyebrows shot up. "Is that *all*? *Only* 10
million?" she giggled nervously.
He turned to Freddy, "Third: I want all the money you stole."
Freddy stared solidy Law and slowly muttered, "Piss... off...
wanker!"
Law started as if he had been slapped. He turned to the
mutated Travis and said, "Give me the gun."
Travis didn't move. Law started moving toward Travis, but
with lightning speed Travis picked him up by the front of his shirt
and threw him out the window, shattering the pane into a million
pieces.
Freddy pitifully whimpered, "Sheesh!"
The Travis monstrosity started lumbering towards Feeby. She
looked deperately at Freddy. "I think I need a replacement computer
tech. You seemed to stay ahead of Law pretty well. What would you
say?"
Freddy answered, "Hell, why not: when can I start?". He
braced his broken shoulder and wondered if he could gather enough
strength to make a mad dash past both Feeby and Travis and out the
open door...
She yelled: "NOW! Just stop this freak from killing me!!!"
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1992, all rights reserved. Basic story plot and Matrix help
was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him all the profits
from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well...
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
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