>From: antischutz@st1.vuw.ac.nz
Subject: Among Thieves, Part 1 (Introduction)
Summary: Part 1, and this time, I'll try taking it a bit slower.
Date: 27 Aug 91 03:55:41 GMT
Lines: 97

Among Thieves, Part 1
Introduction.

   Horse snapped into wakefulness, eyes still closed, senses scanning.
He relaxed as he realised that the movement that had awoken him had been
Lucien leaving the bed. He made no outward signs of listening as Lucien
engaged the phone, recording a message to be sent out through a secure
path so it could not be traced.
   "Mr Wilson. This is Davidson. I've looked over the material you gave us
and I think there is a way to do the job you wanted. I'll have to put
together a team, and prepare some equipment, but it is possible. I'll get
into contact with you tomorrow with the details, but I anticipate making
the actual run on Saturday, with delivery of the data on Sunday. The
proposed sum and expenses will be adequate."
   As Lucien got back into bed, Horse spoke up. He knew Lucien was aware
that he was awake, for they had been together long enough, partners and
lovers, to both to be aware of how the other reacted, and more importantly
to be able to depend on each other.
   "How many people ?"
   "Two. We need a muscle with some technical skills, and another netrunner."
   "Any one in mind ?"
   "Rachel for the muscle, of course. I'm pretty sure she has the skills, and
we'll need someone intelligent who can handle themselves."
   "And the runner ?"
   Lucien was silent.
   "Is there a problem ?"
   Lucien was hesitant. "I haven't got all the details worked out. I think we
better look for a weffie, rather than use somebody known."
   "What's the approach ?"
   "I'll explain tomorrow. We are going to have to do some fast recruiting if
we want to get it done in time."

   Phil was getting bored of this. The rumor-mongering at the University had
said that if you wanted to tap into the counter-culture, do some grey work,
then Chatsubos was the place. He had been coming here for a week now, and had
left his entry in the connections board, but nada. Shit, but he was getting
tired of watching samurai with guns, and those who reeked of the shadows
dealing biz while he wasted his time.
   Ratz gave him his drink. The rule was you HAD to have a drink if you wanted
to use the board. Ratz didn't give a shit what you ordered, but the board was
the best way he had heard about to connect with fixers. Unconnected to the
net, with direct socket access and terminals for the techophobes. A useful
service, a necessary service. Didn't cost anything either, but Phil had noted
how many drinks Ratz handed out to tappers. As the money (up-front, ALWAYS
up-front) changed hands, Ratz leaned over and said "Might be a good opening
there tonight".
   As he sat, Phil was dubious. People didn't look for runners with no rep,
and he had no way of showing them that he could be one of the best. He knew
it. But the word "weffie" ate at his ego every time he heard it. All he
needed was a chance, a shot at the shadows.
   He plugged in, falling outside of his skull into the realm beyond. Yeah,
this was a reality the phobes couldn't handle, an electronic rush. The
area around him "felt" tight, indicating a constrained system, not the net,
and the patterned shapes of the board surrounded him. The security wasn't
tight here, and Phil knew that with access to the right programs, a deck,
this place could be trashed easy. Ratz went for cheap replacement rather than
protection. But the last person who had burned it, had wound up brain-burned
herself. Ratz had lots of customers who appreciated the service, most of whom
didn't mind spreading some poetic justice. And you didn't recover from brain-
burning.
   A metal ball zipped before his eyes. It stated in a husky contralto "You
have mail" and zipped out through the "mail" gateway. Ratz had some pretty
old imagery. Phil followed it, entering into a white infinity, with only the
gateway floating behind him.
   "Directory, new"
   Writing appeared in front of him. One piece of mail, titled "Opening".
   "Access 1"
   The white void shimmered, was replaced by a city street. A large cartoon
dog stood in front of him, derby on his head, chewing a cigar. With a start
Phil recognised the persona of a decker he had seen in the net before, as he
and his friends had cruised some of the hacker havens. Moondog was said to be
one of the oldest still around, more a tech and fixer these days, but the
legends had slated him as among the best.
   "This is a broadcast to runners advertising themselves as available.
   "   If you wish to be considered for a possible opening, please indicate
   "so at the end of this message. The opening will require someone who has
   "no known persona, who can keep their mouths shut, and doesn't mind taking
   "a few risks. Intrusion and combat skills will be required, and there will
   "be a test to help determine who we choose. Cash payment will be moderate
   "and fixed, but the runner will be given software if he or she needs it.
   "All equipment will be provided.
   "   Please leave a reply now."
   Phil was startled. The job offered sounded good. The software provided by
a tech with Moondog's rep would be valuable, and he wondered why he wanted
weffies only. Then he started to wonder about how many would apply, and
quickly made up his mind to go for it. This was his chance. The thought of
being a salaryman for the rest of his life made his teeth itch.
   And Phil knew he belonged in the shadows.

copyright (c) 1991 Tony Quirke. All characters from my imagination, and all
the rest of that stuff. I might need help with the cyberspace sequence, so
if you have experience writing good cyberspace stuff, drop me some email and
we'll discuss it. More to come.
--
Tony Quirke c/o ANTISCHUTZ(Christian Grams), antischutz@ST1.VUW.AC.NZ
"If I only could, I'd make a deal with God, and I'd get him to swap our places"
"Be running up that road, be running up that hill, with no problems..." K Bush