From: justicar@cdp-ltd.demon.co.uk (Tony Johnston)
Subject: B'HAM BLUES CH01
Date: Mon, 14 Aug 1995 17:17:50 +0000
Okay guys, here it is..don't hold your breath for Chapter two, i'm pressed
for time...this is a WIP, though, so i'll post it soon as it's
finished...enjoy.
===
BIRMINGHAM BLUES
<c> 1995 Tony R Johnston
===
CHAPTER ONE: GREED AND PEASANT LAND
===
<Music: Preacher Man, Fields of the Nephilim>
The first sign, bright blue neon, read "WELCOME TO GREAT BRITAIN, GREEN
AND PLEASANT LAND OF THE 21st CENTURY. WE HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR STAY."
The next one, stencil-embossed out of gunmetal plate, said "YOU ARE NOW
ENTERING A MILITARY ZONE. EXPECT TO BE SEARCHED THOROUGHLY."
"Pleasant welcome," joked YoYo sourly as they walked under both signs
towards the desk.
Crossover smiled insincerely. "I love my country, YoYo. I'm sorely offended."
"Yeah, bullshit." Birmingham International looked like every other
airport YoYo'd been in - grey, dusty, full of assholes, some of them with
badges.
The badged asshole at the desk looked them both up and down. Quick
stereotype and categorization:
>Subject 1:
>Caucasian
>Average height but broad, probable pugilist
>Dark short-back-and-sides
>Black leather
>Shirt & tie
>Shades
>Plugs and a skip socket
>No overt weapons
>Subject 2:
>Aryan
>Huge physique (muscle graft?)
>Blond buzzcut
>Chrome arm
>Chrome throat
>Plugs
>Black duster
>Fatigues
>1 overt weapon, H&K44
>Conclusion:
>Suit with obligatory Vet bodyguard.
"May I see your passports, sirs?" he smiled sweetly. Cross and YoYo
handed them over obligingly. His badge read "HM CUSTOMS AND EXCISE." It
may as well have read "ASSHOLE".
He gave them a cursory glance, not expecting to see anything that
surprised him. Asshole was wrong: "Mr Corbett...British Citizen, sir?" he
double-took Crossover with a start. "Very well then, sir, if you would
just enter the security scanner over here..." he turned to YoYo. "And
what is the purpose of your visit to Great Britain, Mr...Adams?"
"I'm with him." grunted YoYo, motioning to Crossover. "Bodyguard." Tell
them what they want to hear...
"Very good, sir. We will of course require a full scan of yourself,
including implants. Welcome to Great Britain."
*STAMP*
===
<Music: NIghtfall over EC, Cassandra Complex>
"I've had more welcoming receptions," said YoYo as the doors of the maglev
slid open, "and you wouldn't BELIEVE the stick I got over my Yo-Yo."
Cross entered the train behind YoYo. "Be fair, these guys have thought
military for the last ten years, ever since the Flood. They seem to have
lost most of their sense of humor - not that English coppers ever had that
much of one, anyway, but the sight of a Vet carrying a yo-yo must have
been a kick up the arse for 'em." he chuckled quietly and took in the new
face of Britain as the train slid quietly through the rubblezone on the
outskirts of Birmingham, capital of Great Britain, toward New Street.
The sky was purple, a cloudy, overcast veil to hide the shameful plight of
Earth from any who may be watching from the stars. The evidence of
anarchy was everywhere - barges sailed quietly along the canals, passing
burnt-out houses and firebombed offices at every lock. Cross couldn't see
a soul on foot for miles. It looked like this area belonged to the
bargers now, and no-one bothered them.
Things had changed a lot since Cross had last been in England - for one
thing, London had been capital. He watched as Central Birmingham loomed
closer, a grey concrete monolith standing out of the almost entirely flat
rubblezone like a bad skin rupture. The maglev rails crisscrossed the
zone with ease, fifty feet up, and you could see for miles. The malverns
were still here - there were the twin peaks now - but there wasn't much
greenery left in the Green and Pleasant Land.
Come to that, there wasn't much left of the Green and Pleasant Land
itself, not after the waters came. Cross distantly remembered hearing the
news, but he'd been in Nippon at the time and they had enough worries of
their own on the island. He hadn't looked too closely at the state of the
UK until Mr Who from Big Corp had called him last week, but he was
starting to wish, with a slight feeling of homesickness that he hadn't
felt for about four years, that he'd come back sooner.
This reminded him of the skip chip in his Psion. Taking the organiser out
of his leather pocket, he remembered Mr Who's bizarre instructions:
"Do not, under ANY circumstances, read this chip until you're in England.
If you do, all actions will be void and you can consider yourself
zeroed." Charming, he thought as he popped the chip in question out of
the PCB. Didn't LOOK like anything special, which probably meant it most
certainly WAS. He inserted the chip into his mastoid socket...
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
StartUp
black
fade to blue
blue neon white suit no floor
no sensation, no sense of place, just a white suit. Mr Suit.
body in the suit. Mr Who? Who? Who?
settling down...
"Okay, Crossover, here's the deal." Mr Who talks. "The BEC, that's the
British Electronics Company, are prototyping a new smartgun peripheral.
No idea EXACTLY what it is, but initial reports suggest some kind of
advance in neurotransmission speeds and methods.
"We want it, and you're going to get it. Not a single one of our runners
has been able to break their firewall, so we have to resort to physical
theft. We hired you for two reasons - one, you come highly recommended by
certain of our colleagues, and two, you're a native. The BEC HQ is in
Birmingham.
"We do not wish to provoke any kind of international incident over this -
there's simply no need. Get in, get out, let no-one know you were there
until they discover the prototype is gone. If you are caught, we never
heard-" skipping thru, heard all this before, "-inally, good luck. The
credit transfer is waiting and will be authorized on your return to the
State of Illinois."
"This chip will be exposed and erased once you've read it, so destroy
immediately on ejection."
*This chip was encrypted by Damn Good Privacy, (c) 2025 Bill Zimmerman.*
ShutDown
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
As the chip auto-ejected, YoYo spoke. "Looks like Texas - without the
sunshine." He was idly walking the dog, the worn carpet of the cabin
occasionally muffling the rattle of the yo-yo on the steel floor
underneath.
Cross dropped the chip, bootheeled it, sat up, stretching. "Okay, we've
got five minutes till we hit the centre. The job is, get a new smartgun
proto from BEC in Birmingham, minimum fuss, no witnesses, straight back to
Chicago. C'mon, route plan."
"Well, you're the local. Any old friends?"
"Yeah. I was thinking about calling on Blacklist, a tech, if he's still
here. He WAS in London, though, and that last time I saw him was before
the Flood - he could easily be dead. Then there's Fireman, another
linkman. We sort of get along. Who else..." he began musing.
"This is all so much hokum to me, Cross. I don't know any of these
people, and i've never actually been to the UK before. The only guy I
know who might be in town is Diablo, another Vet - I was with him in South
Africa...Nippon, too, but you never met him there, he left for Cuba before
we came over the bridge...he owns a bar here, but that don't mean he'll BE
here."
"Well, it's a place to start. What's the club called?"
"Paradise Lost."
===
<Music: Ventolin, Aphex Twin>
The centre of the city was much as Crossover had expected. On exiting New
Street Station, they were assaulted with a variety of sights, sounds and,
predominantly, smells that overwhelmed their senses for a moment until
they became at least a little accustomed. A cosmopolitan mix of bargers,
suits, krishnas, hookers, bag ladies, punks, mall rats, urchins and pimps
greeted them, most of them filthy. A layer of grey, sandy dust seemed to
cover everything in sight, and the whole place exuded an air of
depression, despite the best efforts of every shop owner and more neon
than either of them had seen anywhere except Nippon.
A sign above the exit read "BIRMINGHAM - THE HEART OF ENGLAND". Someone
had sprayed a huge black swastika over it.
Still coughing, they made their way on to the crowded street, taking in
for the first time an enormous building some way to their left, grey stone
and brick, with no windows. The Coat of Arms of King Charles IV was
emblazoned above the huge double doors, and the Union Jack flew from the
roof. Two soldiers in non-ceremonial, standard British Army fatigues
stood either side of the doors, rifles out.
Although there was nothing written on the facade, it could only be His
Majesty's Operational Headquarters. The door was still, and no-one came
out or went in in the short time the two men watched it, but even so
people seemed to avoid it, as if out of habit, by simply crossing the road
or taking routes that would take them nowhere near it. Even traffic
around it was sparse.
The walk from New Street to Paradise Lost wasn't a long one - if you knew
the way. After too many wrong directions from bums and bargers come to
shop at the Rag Market, Cross cornered a hooker on the corner of the
market. Why, they were just down the road from it, silly, and why don't
you spend some time with me instead? That bar's full of losers, and for
30 quid i'll oh shit! as Cross cracked her pimp's head against a wall,
forcing him to drop the monoblade.
"Fucking queer!" shouted the girl as Cross walked off. "Go and spend
some time with your bumpals! They LOVE a pretty boy in there! And your
big mate, i'll bet he gives it! Bastard!..." her voice trailed off as he
weaved his way thru the afternoon traffic to the bar.
It was a converted church, and an old painted sign on the lawn read "St.
Martins, house of Our Lord."
There was no bouncer on the door, and no entry buzzer, so YoYo walked
straight in.
===
<Music: Super-Charger Heaven, White Zombie>
It was dark, no surprise there. Smoky, score two. And loud, loud music -
the Zombie, if YoYo wasn't much mistaken - blared out at grim, grim Vets.
Three outta three ain't bad.
You couldn't see the high arched roof, or even the stained glass, through
the haze. Where there would have been a pulpit, there was now a CDJ.
Where there should have been prayer alcoves, there were Vets getting work,
reminiscing, getting drunk, boasting. Where there should have been rows
of seats, there were tables. And where there should have been an altar,
there was the bar.
No-one looked up as they entered. The bar didn't come to a stop, heads
didn't turn till all eyes were on them, nobody dropped a glass in the
silence that didn't happen. This was YoYo's turf now, and Cross took a
back seat.
Scanning the faces, the arms, the bodywork, finally the bar - and YoYo
practically jumped in surprise.
"You're not gonna believe this," he said to Cross, pointing to an asian
man behind the bar, not actually serving, more overseeing. He had jet
black hair and goatee, both slicked, and a black grafted optic covering
his left eye. A tiny red led shone from the centre - bound to be a
smartsight, thought Cross.
"Diablo?" Cross hazarded.
"You bet. Fucking unbelievable." YoYo made his way over to the bar, a
way parting for him where necessary - not sure if his rep preceded him, or
they were just a little scared of this BIG fucker with the chrome arm. As
he approached, Diablo watched him with the mild interest a landlord gives
to all patrons, then changed to genuine interest as he recognised YoYo.
Both men smiled grimly as YoYo leant on the bar, beckoning Diablo.
"Dave," said the barman. "What the fuck brings you to Brum?"
"Hi, Dab," replied YoYo, "just a business trip."
"Who's the suit?" Looking suspiciously at Cross.
"'Sokay, he's a linkman. Meet Crossover," Cross nodded respectfully,
"he's a native. His business, i'm the muscle. Low-key."
Diablo smiled. "Oh yeah, that always was your speciality."
YoYo feigned embaressment. "Shh!" They both laughed, the ice broken.
"Gimme a Jack, and a Bud for Cross." as Diablo moved, Cross noticed for
the first time his chromed chest, just peeking out from under his loose
shirt. He also noticed that this was one thing that DID cause a stir -
being served by Diablo himself seemed to draw a slight air of awe and
almost jealous resentment from the other patrons. Cross felt like a
teacher's pet.
The Bud was the first thing Cross'd had to drink since getting off the
plane, and it hit him right in the chest. After savouring it for a few
seconds, he turned to YoYo. "Would this guy know anything useful about
BEC?"
"Probably not - corporate jobs were never his style. Might know someone
who does, though." He motioned to Diablo for a private word. The dark
man made his way to the end of the bar, leant over to YoYo. "Dab, we're
looking for anyone who can give us some kind of a jump start. Corporate
job, BIG corp. Close to the crown, you know?"
Diablo's eyes widened in realization. "Crown, eh? Well, there's three
linkmen I know of who are that high, and maybe two Vets in here at the
moment've worked for the Crown."
"Who are the linkmen?"
"Eldritch - he's a real high flier, top class. Then there's Fireman - his
brother, would you believe. Don't try and get these two together - they'd
kill each other. And then you could try Silver, if the intrigue and
society's what you're after."
"No, it isn't. Cross said he knew Fireman, so I guess he'd be the best
bet. Who are the Vets?"
Diablo gestured to a table in one of the alcoves. There sat two Vets, man
and woman. The man was african, with long flowing dreads and exoskeletal
armor. The woman was oriental, with buzzcut hair and a scar running from
her eye, down her neck, and to her chest. She wore the same armor, a
grey, bulky exoskeleton that looked straight out of a movie. YoYo
recognised it as SpaceMarine armor from GWInc - highly expensive. They
were also both heavily armed with rifles and HtH weapons, and wore
identical poker-faces, drink in hand.
"That's Jan Sung and her husband, Fidel. They work as bodyguards for the
Princes sometimes. Nice work - if you can."
YoYo shook his head. "I think we'll stick with the linkmen. Thanks, Dab,
that's two I owe you. We may be back later."
"Hey, before you go, where you guys stayin'?"
"Ain't figured that yet. We should only be in town for a couple days.
Why, recommend a place?"
"Here, dumbass! Upstairs is all rooms now. Come by later, i'll keep a
couple for you."
YoYo smiled. "You're on. See you later." He folded a fifty pound note
into Diablo's hand and cocked his head at Crossover. Cross finished his
Bud and the two men walked toward the door.
YoYo didn't fail to notice the three africans follow them out, but he
carried on. He looked toward Cross, but the Englishman was as wired
inside as YoYo was, and he'd already seen them. Both men tensed
oh-so-slightly, not enough for even a trained observer to notice, but
enough.
Haven't had a fight in three days, thought YoYo. Should be a kick.
===
<Music: Jesus Built My Hotrod, Ministry>
Ladies and Gentlemen, in the blue corner:
A streetfighter of England by origin, trained in the noble land of Nippon
by the Elders of Suzuki Wado-Ryu Karate! With over 15 years experience on
the street, a former UN peacekeeper, with enhanced neural
reflexes...weighing in at 90 kilos and 1.8 metres...CROSSOVER!
His partner this evening is a man who is no stranger to combat! A former
US Marine, a veteran of wars in Japan, South America, South Africa and
countless others! Trained in the style of Jeet Kune Do, he has a chrome
arm, skingrafts, and NO MERCY! He has even been known to use his favorite
stress reliever in combat...weighing in at 180 kilos and 2.2
metres...YO-YO!
And, in the red corner:
Ah. Too late! Oh, well.
Crossover and YoYo dusted themselves off and left the africans swimming in
their own blood and, in one case, feces.
"Bastards," mumbled YoYo, "blond fucking buzz and every fucker thinks
you're a Nazi."
===
o--------------------oo--------------------o
The night will fall again
and again
the coming winds will freeze
falling through the slow autumn leaves
o--------------------oo--------------------o
justicar@cdp-ltd.demon.co.uk
From: justicar@cdp-ltd.demon.co.uk (Tony Johnston)
Subject: B'ham Blues CH02
Date: Wed, 30 Aug 1995 08:46:29 +0000
Heere's more...ch03 may take even longer to materialize cos i'm on hols
next week.
===
BIRMINGHAM BLUES
<c> 1995 Tony R Johnston
===
CHAPTER TWO: THE UNFORESEEN CONSEQUENCES OF INSTINCTIVE REACTIONS
===
<Music: Hyperspeed, Prodigy>
A few dataterm enquiries gave Cross three leads: one, Fireman was still
alive and somewhere in the country. No specific address could be found,
but Cross was fairly certain he'd be in the capital unless he'd gone to
ground. Two, one bar in particular in Birmingham stood out as the most
likely for linkmen: a place in one of Birmingham's boroughs, Moseley,
called *X-Change*. And third, an old girlfriend of his was still around,
an electronics scientist called Rebecca. She lived in a borough called
Northfield. Cross was hoping she'd be able to give him a hand, at least.
For now, though, YoYo was getting the drinks in at X-Change. It was
fairly plain to see why this was popular with linkmen: it was wall-to-wall
pimps, drunk hacks (not to mention hackers) and hustling dealers. A few
bargers, too, straight traders. The music was generic and loud, the
drinks were relatively cheap, and Cross got the impression the coppers
didn't come near the place too often.
As YoYo sat down, a small fight erupted over the other side of the room -
a young streetdread had been arguing with a fat white trash dealer, and
now the kid pulled a monoblade. A circle cleared round them as the dealer
handed his drink to a lackey and braced himself for the rush.
The kid had plainly only fought other streeters before - he went straight
for the dealer, head down, screaming abuse. The dealer calmly shifted to
the side slightly, caught the arm holding the blade, and used the kid's
momentum to slam him into the bar behind. The kid probably would have had
enough there and then, but the dealer didn't let him, choosing instead to
kick him in the teeth, pick him up and slam him into the floor. Even from
here, Cross heard the snap. The dealer's lackies picked the kid up,
screaming in agony, and took him outside. The dealer calmly picked his
drink back up and resumed chatting.
Cross scanned the room for Fireman, drawing a zip. There was one guy that
looked interesting, though - a young decker by the looks of him, leds
grafted into his cheek in the shape of a small flame, flashing red,
yellow, blue, white. He was busy trying to get off with one of the
barmaids, by the look of it. Perfect, thought Cross, standing up.
"Back in a sec, Yo. Just gonna enlist some help..." YoYo grunted a reply
and moved so as to sit with his back to the wall.
The barmaid had scorned the young Romeo by the time Cross reached him, and
he was talking to his drink instead. He didn't look up as Cross sat down
next to him.
"Hi."
"Fuck off."
Cross pulled out three hundred pounds, shoved it in front of the decker.
"Use a dataterm."
"That's just to find out your name."
He pondered this for a moment, then stuffed the notes into his pocket.
"Flamer."
"Fuck, I coulda guessed that, too. Information."
"Who?"
"BEC."
"What level?" the kid's eyes started to brighten up, the prospect of
hacking firing his adrenalin.
"How high can you go?" Cross already knew the answer to that one, and dug
his hand in his pocket in anticipation.
"How much can you aff-" cut off as Cross slapped a bankroll on the bar.
He saw Flamer's eyes go wild, no doubt dreaming what piece of the latest
hardware would amount to exactly that much expenditure. He reached for
it, but Cross snapped it back.
"Ah-ah. On delivery." Flamer's eyes followed Cross' hand back to his
pocket, practically falling off his stool as he leaned over.
"Okay. Tell me what you need..."
As Cross walked back to the table, he saw YoYo was talking to someone.
Their back was to him, but if it was a Vet as he'd first thought, he was
wearing some distinctly impractical combat gear. The stranger was wearing
an emerald green ski jacket, blue jeans and trainers, and didn't appear to
be carrying any weaponry.
YoYo looked up past the stranger as Cross came near. "Hey, Cross! Guess
who?" At this, the stranger turned round, and Cross saw the weathered but
still sharp face of Fireman. Fireman offered his hand, smiling.
"Well fuck me, Cross. All that clean northern air done you some good, eh?"
Cross shook his hand firmly, sat down. "You don't look too bad yourself,
Fireman, considering you must have been caught in the Flood."
The older man's face was gaunt, steely-eyed. His mouth set in a straight
line as he replied. "I was just telling your mate...I was in London the
day it happened. Never seen anything like it, probably won't again. The
whole fucking Thames just overloaded, like a tidal wave. Every fucker was
panicking...only the maglevs could carry on running, and even then only
for a few hours. I had to fight three people for the chopper. Still,
what's three more dead when 20 million went, eh?"
An uncomfortable silence fell for a few seconds.
"Anyway, Cross. You must have had some trouble in Nippon, too, and you
didn't come looking for me to ask me what I was doing when Kennedy was
shot. What are you after?"
Cross shifted, cleared his throat. "Okay, business. Diablo said you were
up on Crown activities."
"What, gossip and Ascot? Gimme a break, Cross."
"Christ, no. I mean Governmental departments."
"Ah. Now you're talking. Yeah, I know a fair amount. Who's your target?"
"BEC."
Fireman's eyes widened and he paused, mid-lager. "Straight for the big
boys, eh, Cross? Yeah, I can help you, mate. What do you need to know?"
"MO, security arrangements, employee lists. I've got a decker working on
it - I want the stuff they don't keep on file. You know what I mean." A
statement, not a question.
"Okay. Gimme two days. Got your bike with you?"
"That old thing? New Kawasaki now, my man. But no - had to leave it in
Chicago. Here's my cellular number." Handed a slip of card over.
Fireman programmed it into his own Orange, stood up.
"I'll call you within 48 hours. Good to see you again - take care,
though. England's changed a bit since you were last here, Cross."
"I noticed. See you."
As he left, YoYo spoke for the first time since Cross had come back.
"He mentioned something about you two and a drug war here in England.
What was that about?"
"Shit, you don't want to know, believe me. Some real nasty characters
came on the scene, South American. Before the Brazilian insurrection,
this was. Tried to muscle in on our stakes up in Manchester - I was
working with Fireman and Eldritch at that time, this was just before they
fell out - and things got a little out of hand."
"A little?" YoYo raised an eyebrow.
"Five hundred. God knows how many users. And that was where Eldritch
lost his legs."
The big man whistled. "Bejayz, Cross. That's a fucking WAR, all right.
What happened to the SouthAms? No families come to bump you off?"
"Nah. Truth to tell, I think we killed their mothers, too. They didn't
come back."
YoYo's attention was caught by a whore a few tables down. A skinny young
oriental leather and studs girl, peroxide buzzcut with small tits, a
chrome hand and tattoos all over her bare back - dragons, swords, flames,
the usual. He hadn't fucked in days, and she looked ripe to him.
"We're finished for the night, yeah?"
Cross nodded. "Why?"
"There's two rooms waiting for us back at Paradise Lost. I'll see you
there." His cock was already hard, making it a bit awkward to stand up.
As YoYo practically slung the girl over his shoulder, Cross contemplated
calling Becky.
Fuck it, he thought. I'm only here for a few days.
===
<Music: New Orleans Instrumental No.1, REM>
So far, so good, thought Cross. He allowed himself a smug grin as the
cabbie droned on about niggers, junkies, lefties, pakis, king charlie, and
how he'd set the world to rights if HE was in power.
The night was fairly quiet, broken occasionally by the smash of glass or a
gunshot, but compared to Chicago or even Nippon, the outskirts of
Birmingham were deserted. Almost...tranquil.
Time to reflect. Life - been better, but not bad by any means. Work -
plenty, tight shedules ahead. Love - not much since Raven moved down to
the New East Coast, but he got by. And that brought him to thinking about
Becky...
"Here we go, mate. Orchard House. Fifteen quid."
Trying desparately to conceal his hard-on, Cross stepped out the cab, gave
the cabbie twenty pounds and didn't wait for his change.
The address was correct, but Becky had obviously moved up from working for
ripperdocs and doing e-DNA scans on smartweapons for fences. From Cross'
guess, the whole borough had been rebuilt - there wasn't a 20thC house
left. Tall, imposing, steel-walled conapts rose into the night sky, their
glass facades reflecting the wink of passing planes and choppers. Cross
noticed the people quota was up here - a few people walking their dogs,
even.
Then he noticed the security guards in a couple of the lobbies, private
firms by the look of them, fingering pistols. There was one in Becky's
conapt, too.
Cross strode boldly up to the door, buzzed. The guard looked up from his
paper and pressed a stud on his monitor panel.
"Yeah?"
"Hi," said Cross, "I'm here to see Bec - uh, Rebecca Lloyd."
"What apt number?"
"32b."
"Wait a second." The guard hit another button. "Bit late, isn't it?"
That threw Cross a little - it was 8.30pm. Curfew? Probably. "Okay,
talk to her." The guard pointed to the screen on the outside of the door
by where Ēross was stood. It flickered twice, then a woman, dark of eye
and hair, with an angular, aquiline face appeared. Becky. Looking a bit
older, thought Cross - but then so did he.
"Hello? Can I help you?" she asked.
That threw him even more. He'd expected her to recognise him...ah. The
shades. He took them off. The bright light of the VDU blinded him for a
split second, then his optic dampers kicked in. Becky. Still looking
good.
"Beck? It's me, Jon. Jon Corbett."
Here eyes widened a little. "Jon? My god! What are you doing here?"
"Oh, charming," he replied, mock hurt.
"No, I didn't mean it like that. Erm...do you want to come up?"
"That was the idea. May I?"
"Sure. Hang on..." her face disappeared, leaving Cross looking at a
ghost left on the VDU. Cross heard the guard the third time he called.
"Sorry, world of my own," he said as he walked through the door and toward
the elevator.
===
<Music: Twin Peaks, Angelo Badalamenti>
Cross was mildly surprised to find his heart pumping a little faster as he
waited for Becky to answer the door.
When she did, he couldn't resist a smile. She'd donned specs - why she of
all people hadn't had optics, Cross couldn't guess - and tied her hair
back. He was half-expecting her to be wearing nightclothes, considering
this area seemed to die at eight o clock. She wasn't, though - just plain
jersey and joggerpants, barefoot. To the casual observer, she might have
looked plain, ordinary, secretarial. To Cross she looked beautiful.
"Come in, Jon."
Cross followed her in, scanning the apt immediately. Modern, minimalist,
utilitarian and still fairly cluttered. Notes, diagrams and coffee cups
covered every horizontal surface, including the top of the TV, which was
currently showing visuals only of heavy-rotation music vids. Two PCs and
a workstation were lined up against one wall, with what must have been
hundreds of CDs stacked next to them. None of them were switched on. A
big, sumptuous sofa stretched out against the opposite wall. One door led
to the kitchen, another presumably to the bath and bedroom.
"Nice place, Bec. Corp?"
"Course. You don't think I could afford this myself, do you?" she took
his coat and gestured to the sofa. "Sit down. Coffee?"
"Love one." he sat on the sofa, which must have been some pretty shithot
nano, because it writhed smoothly underneath his body, molding in a
second, suspending him easily. He watched as Becky prepared a kettle.
She still had the grace of a dancer - he wondered idly if she still
practised ballet.
"What are you doing back in England then, Jon?" she called.
Truth or dare...
"Just doing a recce on a corp. Brought an old friend. He's never been
here, and i've been away far too long."
He was almost hoping for a visible wince at that last, but if it touched
her she didn't show it. Instead, she walked in with the coffee, sat on
the other end of the sofa, and fixed him with a stare. He had a sudden
flash of her removing her glasses and tail, shaking her hair out down her
shoulders like an old cliche, but it didn't happen. The signals weren't
quite there - he felt he'd be sleeping alone tonight.
"Why'd you look me up, Jon?"
"Straight as ever, eh? I wanted to see you. It's been over ten years,
and I was afraid i'd forget what you looked like if I didn't see you
soon."
She examined his face, saying nothing.
"And you might be able to help me with this job, but -"
She smiled smugly. "I knew it," she whispered.
"Shit, look. That's not the only reason I came - I really did want to see
you again. You've done well for yourself. Corporate apt, plenty of work
by the looks of this place. I'm glad, Bec. Honest."
She relaxed a little, seemingly believing him. "Okay. So who's the recce on?"
"BEC."
She gave a low whistle. "Fuck, Jon. No messing, I see."
"No messing."
"Well - I don't know how I can help you. What do you need to know?"
Hesitation. Dilemma.
They've got some kind of new proto in there - something to do with weapons
control. I've got to find it, report back details, that's all."
"Hmmm. Give me your number, i'll dig."
"Cards're in my coat. I'l give you one when I leave."
"Okay."
Second awkward silence of the night.
"What are you working on?" he ventured.
"Oh, just more neural stuff. Speeding up connections, nanomodding plugs
to suit individual wearers, environment archivers and scripts. Nothing
revolutionary, i'm afraid, but good work. It's what I do."
She seemed to have perked up a bit. He tried for the more personal. "Do
you still dance?"
Her eyes glazed slightly. She focussed past him. Strike two.
"Not for six years. Had a little accident at work at the time - I was at
Takisha, then. Took my left leg off, below the knee."
Cross' eyes glanced at her leg before he could stop them. Damn good
replacement, though, he thought. That foot looked as real as her right.
He'd finished his coffee. He couldn't think of a single excuse to stay.
He got up.
o--------------------oo--------------------o
The night will fall again
and again
the coming winds will freeze
falling through the slow autumn leaves
o--------------------oo--------------------o
justicar@cdp-ltd.demon.co.uk
From: justicar@cdp-ltd.demon.co.uk (Tony Johnston)
Subject: B'ham.Blues.CH03
Date: Thu, 14 Sep 1995 17:14:18 +0000
BIRMINGHAM BLUES
Copyright 1995 Tony R Johnston
===
CHAPTER THREE: POWER IS INFORMATION, INFORMATION IS SOUR
===
<Music: After Hours, The Sisters of Mercy>
According to Diablo, the nights were always hot in Birmingham. That
explained why Cross was lying in a couple of millimetres of sweat after
masturbating for just a few minutes.
YoYo had spent a couple of HOURS in the company of the oriental whore.
That explained why he was already in his room, presumably flaked out, when
Cross had got back to Paradise Lost.
And Cross had drank a fair amount on his return. That explained why he
was almost close to tears as he thought of Becky.
===
<Music: Trapped Under Ice, Metallica>
The first thing Cross sensed was the gunfire, just nanoseconds before he
heard the sound of glass breaking and brick being punctured, in turn just
nanoseconds before his booster kicked in and sent him rocketing out of
bed, gun in hand.
The shots had come from next door - YoYo's room - but now they came thru
his window, too. Coincidence? Yeah, right.
Cross snaked to the door, and shouted into the corridor.
"Dave! You alright?"
"Yeah!" came the shout. Cross breathed a little easier. "Hang on!"
Cross manoeuvred himself into the corridor a little better, back against
the wall. Shit,he thought, i'm stark fucking naked. He glanced back at
his jeans, shirt, boots, all by his bed.
"Cover me." As YoYo came into the corridor. Cross snaked back thru the
door and fingertipped his clothes, pulling them back as YoYo lit up the
room with the flare from his 47. Tracers slammed thru what was left of
the window.
As Cross pulled his jeans on, Diablo appeared on the landing, stripped to
the waist to reveal the chrome glint of his chest. "Who the fuck's that?"
he demanded. Cross and YoYo shrugged together.
"Someone we pissed off?" mused YoYo.
Diablo was carrying an old M16. He gestured. "C'mon, downstairs." More
shots punched thru the windows. Cross and YoYo ran, crouching, down the
stairs. Absently, Cross realized that not a single other person had come
to see what all the fuss was.
Once down, Diablo signalled them into positions along the wall facing the
main entrance, the side the shots had been fired from. He jogged to a
terminal bank behind the CDJ deck and hit a few switches. Monitors
flickered to life, his grafted eye lit up the sickly dark green of light
enhancement scopes.
"They're creeping toward the door," he said without looking up, "about -
about five, I can see. All negros. All carrying SMGs. Fuck! One of
them's got an M60. Bet that was what they fired at your rooms with.
Can't see any round the sides..."
He paused. "Guys, get your ass away from the door. I'll set a timer to
open it. On five-"
Cross and YoYo did as ordered. Diablo sidled up to them. "Two - one -"
The huge oaken doors swung back, pulled by the steel bars lining them. A
few surprised shouts came from near the doorway. No streetlights outside.
All three men opened fire. Flashes burst into the night, orange afterglow
giving a dustzone feel to the proceedings. Cross' optics engaged. He
could see he'd hit one, Diablo another. YoYo didn't have optics as far as
Cross knew, and he missed accordingly.
"Two down!" He shouted. The three remaining africans dived to the
sides. Diablo started moving towards a ladder leading to a balcony above
the door. Cross could just make out old medieval-style slits across the
brickwork.
YoYo charged, roaring. Cross almost laughed, imagining the africans
terror for a moment as this huge grafted bulk came running at them, rifle
blazing. As YoYo reached the limit of the doorway, he swung the rifle
thru ninety degrees, rolling as he fired. A scream rang out above the
gunfire.
Cross stayed to the shadows inside the church, hoping they didn't have
optics. He saw one of them stand warily, his back to an old lamp post.
He sighted up, red crosshairs in his field of vision, zeroing on the
african. Two shots, two hits. The african slid down the post, a red
slug's trail following him down.
"One left!" shouted Cross. Diablo had reached the balcony.
"Can't see him," Diablo shouted back...he could see YoYo was back against
the church wall by now, edging round toward the side.
A flare of silent blue neon flashed thru the air toward YoYo. He doubled
over, convulsing, dropped his rifle.
"Shit! Dave's down!" shouted Daiblo. Cross broke into a run. As he
rounded the doorway, the african greeted him with full auto. He ducked,
rolled, back into the church. He heard Diablo fire, then- "Shit! More of
'em! They're taking him!"
Cross heard an engine roar into the square, tyres screeching. He started
to climb onto the balcony, thought better of it, edged up to the doorway
once more.
By the time he got there, he heard a door slam. Panicking, he dived out,
shot in the direction of the engine. A blue van, headlights off, sped
towards him. Diving out the way wasn't a problem, with his booster and
all, but he couldn't shoot straight. Shots rang out from the balcony, he
rolled, stood, fired himself, but the van was long gone.
Again, he regretted not bringing his bike.
===
<Music: Lament, Ultravox>
"I recognised a couple of them, Dab. They followed us from here tonight
and tried it on. We kicked the shit out of 'em."
Diablo handed Cross a Bud. "Revenge? Pretty severe lengths to go to.
And they knew Dave was mostly chrome. Why would they pack a disruptor
otherwise? Besides, how'd they know you were here? And which rooms?
None of that info is kept on file."
"Followed? Neither of us was in much of a state when we got here."
"Even so." Diablo fell silent, sipping on a coffee. "What you gonna
do?" he said at last.
Cross hung his head. "Nothing I CAN do, really. Not now. I'm seeing a
couple guys tomorrow who might be able to help, but..." he trailed off.
"Shit."
Diablo handed him another Bud.
===
<Music: Hyperspeed, Prodigy>
Cross glanced around the bar. X-Change's clientele didn't seem to have
moved since last night. The dealer was still there (albeit no-one was
challenging him tonight), the barmaid was the same - even the bloody MUSIC
was the same. Not Cross' cup of tea. You wouldn't guess it to look at
him, but Glam Metal was more his style.
Enough daydreaming. Where the fuck was that decker? He ordered another Bud.
Shit, Becky...why was it all so wrong? He couldn't figure that at all.
They'd been one fucking hot item once. Now...she just didn't want to
know. Maybe she was seeing someone already. But then why did she ask him
up?
Because you asked her to, dickhead. Obligated. Polite. No real desire
to see him.
Fool.
Tap on his shoulder. Whirled round, inhuman speed. Hah. In-human, geddit?
Flamer sat beside him, ordered a coke. Leched at the barmaid.
"Oy. You're on business now, boy." A gentle reminder.
Flamer sipped his coke, set it down. "Table."
They walked to an alcove, sat down. Flamer reached into his pocket,
pulled out a grey notebook, put it before them.
Flick. Whirr. Greenscreen glow bathed them both. Cross leant over for a
better look, peered at the readout.
"Okay, Mr Shades. Schematic. Cutaway. Alarms. Personnel. Accounts.
WIP. If it's in their fram, I got it. Which you want first?"
Cross pulled a small ziploc out his pocket. In it was a small green PCB.
He took it out, handed it to Flamer.
"All of it. You CAN write to a skip?"
Flamer laughed contemptibly. "Bargers smell? Give it here."
Copying took about five seconds. Cross took the skip back off Flamer, dug
into his pocket again for the bankroll, handed it over with a card.
"As promised. Good job, son. Keep that card, you never know. Now go."
He waved Flamer off. Was he smart enough?
Flamer pocketed the roll quickly, stood, closed the notebook, said, "See
you," and left. Straight out. No leching at the barmaid. Didn't even
finish his drink.
Yeah, he was smart enough. Cross slipped the chip into his socket...
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Cross was in control of this one. He started methodically going thru
catalogues.
*
Root = BEC
Directories, too many to mention. Zero on and mark vitals. Collate priorities.
The schematic was phenomenally uninteresting. The cutaway was better -
ther was protos, there was security, etc etc. He zipped thru it all at
the speed of thought. Alarms, WIP, Personnel -
*
And then he stopped.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckshitshitshitshit.
Becky worked for the British Electronics Company, employee No
542-BML/2544. Research & Development Department.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
===
o--------------------oo--------------------o
The night will fall again
and again
the coming winds will freeze
falling through the slow autumn leaves
o--------------------oo--------------------o
justicar@cdp-ltd.demon.co.uk
From: justicar@cdp-ltd.demon.co.uk (Tony Johnston)
Subject: B'ham Blues. CH04
Date: Fri, 06 Oct 1995 18:02:09 +0000
Here we are, kiddies. Sorry for the delay...starting to get into the
lands of Real Soon Now, cos this is a lunchtime at work kinda thang.
Nevertheless, enjoy...
BIRMINGHAM BLUES
Copyright 1995 Tony R Johnston
===
CHAPTER FOUR:
===
<Music: Waiting for the Night to Fall, Depeche Mode>
Crossover sat alone in his room at Paradise Lost, cradling a bottle of
Bud. Fireman wasn't due to phone till tomorrow. What could he do?
Dammit, where would those guys have taken YoYo? WHY did they take him?
Cross couldn't work that last one out for the life of him. Sure, He and
YoYo had beaten those guys up pretty bad, and they might have just wanted
to vent some of their vengeance on the big guy.
Or killed him.
That thought struck Cross like lightning, but he in turn struck it from
his mind. If Dave was dead - and THAT'd be something to tell in itself -
he'd just have to go it alone. Couldn't really trust any of the muscle
around here. Except maybe -
*BEEP*
His phone. Walking to his jacket, anticipating - one of only three in
this country. He hoped it was YoYo.
It wasn't. "Cross," said the London accent on the other end, "heard you
got into a bit of a scrap."
"Hi, Fireman. Yeah - they got YoYo. Dragged him somewhere."
"I heard. Did some asking - guess what?"
"Amaze me."
"Found who hired those niggers."
"Well don't beat about the fucking bush, tell me!"
"The British Electronics Corporation. No less."
Cross sagged. Realization hit him like a punch in the gut.
"Cross? Still there?"
"Just about. Thanks, Fireman. Anything else?"
"Not yet, mate. Talk to you tomorrow." The line died.
Cross sat back on his bed. Could Becky have been THAT sussed? A wave of
regret hit him. He knew what he had to do. But who with?
===
<Music: War for War, Motorhead>
Downstairs, Diablo was cleaning up. A good night, by the look of things -
beer all over the place, a few semi-conscious Vets being shown the
pavement by Diablo's staff. As Cross approached him, Diablo's grafted
optic shone in the low lights. For a moment, Cross imagined the sight was
aimed straight at his head.
"Heard anything, Cross?" asked Diablo solemnly.
Cross shook his head. "Nothing specific - but I did find out who hired
those guys who took Dave."
Diablo cocked his head in query.
"The corp we're working on. Long story. I, er..I have a proposition for
you. I'm going there now, no point in hanging around wasting time. Fancy
earning yourself some merc money?"
Diablo smiled regretfully, and shook his head. "Sorry, Cross." He nodded
to a suitcase stashed behind the bar. "I'm leaving for China tonight.
Can't miss it. I can recommend some muscle...?"
"No thanks. I'll be okay. Tell the truth, you're the only guy i'd
trust. Have a good one in China. Maybe see you again." he started
heading toward the door.
"Hope so!" called Diablo after him. "Stay alive!"
Cross smiled at that.
===
<Music: Sleeper, Cassandra Complex>
00:40:25
Somewhere (not sure exactly where, never safe to let people know that) in
Kings Heath, Birmingham, Great Britain, a young decker finished the code
he'd been working on for the last couple of hours, leant back and
scratched his newly regrafted led tattoo.
===
<Music: Intruder, Peter Gabriel>
The BEC was in the heart of the centre, not far from King Charles' HQ, but
nevertheless set back from any road by a good few hundred metres. Razor
wire, leccy chickenwire, robot sentries, human guards, gun towers,
searchlights - the works. It was a huge, windowless building in the
middle of a plain of grass with just a few roads leading out of what must
have been R&D doors. Even the car park was a hundred metres from the
complex. To get from there to the main building you had to go thru a
pedtube, also guarded.
Cross, squatting across the street opposite one of the towers, slipped the
skip Flamer had given him into his socket again and called up the cutaway
of the complex, overlaying it on his own sight. It sat in a transparent
window in the top-right corner of his vision. He checked his chrono.
01:26:08.
He'd been watching the towers for about half an hour. He'd got their
pattern sussed - three guards in each, two swept searchlights while one
kept an eye on a monitor. The monitor, he knew from the schems, was
linked to the huge radar dish that sat omnipotently on the roof, linked to
spysats and conventional image-enhanced cctv.
If it was bigger than a flea, they not only saw it, but could tell you
it's height, weight, speed of movement, sex, coloring, and probably if it
suffered from halitosis.
The searchlights seemed rather pointless after all that.
Keeping his mental fingers crossed, he checked his chrono again and
started walking toward the main gate. 01:29:50. Any second...
01:30:00
Only a few of the guards cried out as their world went dark, but two of
them were the ones at the main gate. In an instant, Cross had closed the
gap between him and them, slashing one across the throat, pumping two
silenced shots thru the lungs of the other. Neither made a sound.
He had about forty seconds, or so Flamer'd reckoned, until the auxiliaries
got fixed and the power came back on. Once again, Cross thanked (God?
Buddha? Some other time) for both his optics and his booster. Running
across the compound at lightning speed, H&K drawn, he ran a sitrep.
Optical ID reader on the doors, auto deadlock on tamper. Two further
guards inside the doors.
But he wasn't headed that way. His target was fast approaching -
maintenance doors, still an OID, but this time no deadlock and no guard.
So he shot the door to pieces.
Jumping over the shattered plastiglass remains of the door and up the
stairwell, he chanced a chrono check - 01:30:17. Still good. The cutaway
moved to his mental commands, tracking himself. Past level one, two,
three, four, on up to five, Weapons R&D. 01:30:32. Not long. On five,
he crashed thru into the corridor.
The lights came back on.
Not that that made any difference to him - he'd already seen the three
security guys milling about blindly as he burst in. It took them by
surprise, though. Guns already out, they jerked round to the sound of the
door flying open, shooting wild.
Cross dived, firing. One he hit in the chest - clean kill, he fell back.
Another he hit in the arm - not good, now he had a wounded bear to contend
with. The third he missed altogether, and this one clipped Cross in the
leg, then shouted into a radio.
Cross didn't hear exactly what he said. The pain was fuelled by his
booster - a nasty side effect - and he screamed, levelling the H&K at this
third bastard. The radio exploded in a shower of silicon and plastic,
colored red.
That just left the bear. He pulled a knife, threw it at Cross - it missed
- and took advantage of Cross' distraction to close the gap. Cross was
rolling away to stand, but this guard was big and had a hell of reach with
his legs. His first kick sunk into Cross' ribcage with a dull thud, his
second caught Cross on the chin, snapping his head back to collide against
the floor.
Cross could hear the guard's heavy breath - he was holding the pain from
that slug in pretty well. But it was loud enough for Cross to know where
he was. He sprang off the floor with his left hand, driving his shoulder
into the guard's abdomen. The guard doubled over, almose falling on top
of Cross. Instead he headed straight for the floor as Cross slipped out
from under him, used his own momentum to slam him to the deck. Cross
heard a staisfying crunch from the guard's head. Just to make sure,
though, he broke his neck.
Rising to a stand, Cross took a moment of catching breath to pull out and
drop a downer, to compensate for the booster. It wasn't often he kept it
going as long as that, and he knew right now he was pretty close to the
limit.
Walking now, he stepped over the three bodies.
*BEEP*
Who the FUCK could be calling him now?
*BEEP*
He hit the answer button. The voice was horribly familiar.
"Hey, Cross! Smile - you're on camera!"
"Fireman! What the fuck are you on about?"
===
<Music: All Women Are Bad, The Cramps>
Closing his Orange, Fireman turned to face Becky. She was busy attaching
trodes to YoYo's unconscious body, strapped to the wall in her lab.
"Is he on his way?" She called over her shoulder.
Fireman smiled broadly, his craggy face acquiring wrinkles and crows-feet
like ripples in water. "Yeah. Look, I can see him here." He pointed to
a monitor behind Becky. Sure enough, there was Cross, now jogging toward
the lab. He turned his attention to YoYo. "He awake yet?"
Becky looked up from plugging leads into a control panel. "No. But he
will be in about five seconds."
To elaborate, she hit a stud on the panel. A bright orange light glowed
fiercely, and the sound of airhypoderms hissed into the otherwise silent
room.
"Aaaaah!" YoYo bolted awake, straining at his bonds, veins popping in his
half-chrome neck. As quickly as he had woken, he slumped, not
unconscious, but exhausted. Becky glanced at Fireman and smiled.
"Go ahead, love." She gestured.
Fireman stood directly in front of his captive, grinning again. "Hey!"
YoYo made no response. "Hey, tough guy!" Still no response. Fireman
drew back for a punch and let fly. He caught YoYo straight on the chin.
The big man's head flew back, cracking against the wall. He groaned,
raised his head and looked Fireman straight in the eye.
"Fuck you, London." he said quietly.
Fireman's face slowly turned red. He drew back for another punch, but
Becky interrupted him.
"For God's sake, cut it out! Christ!" She held a remote dial in her
hand. "Look, Mr Adams, it's very simple. Tell us who hired you. If you
tell us, we might not kill Jon. If you don't tell us, we most definitely
WILL kill you. Got it?" She twisted the dial slightly by way of
demonstration - YoYo's body arched convulsively, his mouth in a silent
scream.
Becky turned the dial back, YoYo slumped accordingly. To her surprise, he
was chuckling.
"We're in for a long night, lady. May as well kill me now."
Both she and Fireman sneered. "You think you can hold out? You some kind
of superhuman?" spat Fireman. "Boy, you haven't got a fucking CLUE what
this little box of tricks can do to you."
YoYo was still laughing. "You really are stupid, you little shit. I
don't KNOW anything, asshole."
Before Fireman could respond, a voice came from behind them.
"It's true. He doesn't know shit."
Fireman and Becky turned. Crossover stood in the doorway, H&K drawn,
blood on his face.
"But I do."
Fireman grinned. "Let's dance, fucker."
justicar@cdp-ltd.demon.co.uk
From: justicar@cdp-ltd.demon.co.uk (Tony Johnston)
Subject: Bham Blues CH05
Date: Mon, 30 Oct 1995 17:24:19 +0000
Sorry about the delay, but just in time for Halloween (not that that's
relevant at all)...THE FINAL CHAPTER!
===
BIRMINGHAM BLUES
Copyright 1995 Tony R Johnston
===
CHAPTER FIVE: CAT AND MOUSE
===
<Music: Hallo Spaceboy, David Bowie>
Crossover ran a quick check on the room. Fireman and Becky stood, to the
left, in front of YoYo on the wall, strapped up and practically
unconscious. His flesh - where visible - was a disturbing bright red
colour. Adrenalin burn, thought Cross.
Past those three, databanks and monitors. Lots of benches, wires, VDUs,
that sort of thing. To the right, more benches. A few handguns - not
that Cross needed any extra. Chips lying all over the place. Strip
lights. Security cameras - Cross could see about four, so there were
probably at least ten.
The blood on his face was starting to cake. As he spoke, it cracked and
sweat from his brow came running through the gaps to moisten his cheek.
"What the hell do you think you're playing at, Fireman? You know the
muscle's never in on the con. Standard pro, remember?"
The older man smiled. Once again, Cross was amazed at the state of his
skin when he did that.
"Yeah. I knew, actually. But I thought it'd be a laugh - and it'd piss
you off, which can only be a bonus." He chuckled.
Cross turned to look at Becky. She stood resolute.
"I can't let you take the proto, Jon," she said, "It's my meal ticket to a
promotion - better apt, better life. AND the BEC's meal ticket to a more
powerful England. We're thinking of having kids -" she glanced at
Fireman, still smiling, "- and I want them to have a half-decent life."
Trying to hide his emotion, not sure how well he was succeeding, Cross
sighed. "As a corp slave? Oh sure, that's a GREAT life, that is. How
long d'you think this promotion'll last? You know what they're like.
C'mon, this isn't worth it."
Silence. He added, "I don't want to have to kill you. Either of you."
Fireman erupted into laughter. A mocking sound, like Cross had threatened
to clip him round the ear.
"Cross, you ain't got a fucking clue," was all he said. He didn't move.
His hands were by his sides.
So, as he fell to the floor, blood pumping out of his left shoulder, Cross
found himself thinking, who shot me?
No time for thought, though - action. Cross rolled under one of the
benches. He still had a hold of his H&K. Started crawling to the other
end of the room, but a hail of bullets came whistling down in front of
him. Some thudded into the bench, but this was a weapons lab - they'd
stand most anything.
There had been no-one on that side of the room, Cross was sure. Who'd
fired? There weren't any windows in this place. He glanced out, risking
a look. No-one on the ceiling. Only a pivot-mounted full-auto.
"Bugger me! It works!" Fireman's voice. The pivot-mounted gun
swivelled, towards Cross.
Oh shit.
<some kind of advance in neurotransmission speeds and methods>
The gun opened fire. Fuck it...
<a new smartgun peripheral>
...Cross emerged from the bench, ran behind a high partition, firing back
towards Fireman all the time. No screams. Obviously missed.
"How'd you like this, Cross? Ha!"
<nothing revolutionary, i'm afraid>
"This one's for Eldritch, fucker!" More firing, this time from another
pivot-mounted gun on the other side of the lab.
<I don't know how I can help you>
Eldritch? They hated each other! What the hell was he on about?
<just more neural stuff>
Whirr. Click. Whirr. Ratatatat. Whirr. Click. Ratatatatat.
"Can't you get the picture any better, Bec?"
Hidden voices. Not daring to show his face. Crawling from bench to
bench. Picture?
"No, I can't! They're only standard lorez monos, for Christ's sake. Bog
standard cctv."
cctv? Cross hazarded a look at the security cameras. Sure enough, they
were all focused in one direction.
Him.
"Come on, Cross! Who hired you?"
Cross smiled as he extended his head out from under a bench.
"The prince of darkness!" And shot the lights out, one, two, three. His
optics kicked in - he just hoped he was right. He chanced a crawl out
towards the front of the room.
No guns. Lots of scrabbling, though.
"Shit! I'm blind! Fucking blind!" Fireman. "You stupid cow! Why
didn't you put IR into the bastard things?"
"It's only a proto, dickhead!" Becky. "I only put in what was necessary
to make it WORK!"
"Well, it fucking DOESN'T work now, does it? Shit!"
Gunfire. Wild, inaccurate, aimed at where Cross had been.
Crossover smiled. He could see Fireman, now. He was whirling round in
circles, waving his arms. He'd drawn his handgun, cocking it back.
"Never did like nano, did you, Fireman?" Taunted Cross. Fireman swung
round roughly in his direction, fired. Cross easily dodged, moved aside
behind another partition. "Never replace instinct, didn't you used to
say?" More shots. He moved again.
From here he could see Becky as well. She was just as lost. No optics
between either of them. That was a relief.
"C'mon, give it up!" Cross shouted. Just for good measure, he shot
Fireman's handgun out of his hand. Fireman cursed.
"Fuck you, Cross! Fuck you!"
Whirr. Click. Ratatatatatat.
[In the flashes of light from the guns, like an old Victorian moving
picture illusion:]
Cross dives
Fireman whirls
Becky screams
Fireman turns towards Becky
Sees Becky fall
fall
fall
fall
Darkness. And silence.
Cross looked up and over. Becky lay on the floor at YoYo's feet. Fireman
was bent over her. Cross could see a dark pool spreading from under her,
molding itself around Fireman's knees.
Above them, YoYo was smiling. Cross knew he hadn't got optics, but he
seemed to have guessed what had happened all the same.
In a quick leap, Cross was on Fireman. Swift junzuki to the temple. Out cold.
He turned to YoYo, started cutting the big man's bonds. When he had, YoYo
fell onto him, barely able to stand upright.
"Christ, they did you good, eh? C'mon. I got you."
YoYo smiled. "Nice one, Cross. So much for hi-tec. How do we get
another proto, though?"
Crossover grinned. He knew YoYo couldn't see it, but it didn't matter.
===
<Music: Territory, Sepultura>
By the time they hit the back doorway, the alarm had obviously been going
for some time - guards were doing headless chicken impressions, all eager
for a target. Only a few had been directed to this back door, and Cross
disposed of them with ease.
He took a quick survey of the grounds - couldn't go out the way he came
in, that was for sure. Towards the other side, though, the guard presence
was minimal - sure, the towers were there, but they seemed to think the
fence would be enough to deter any getaway. Another quick glance found
Cross what he was looking for - a jeep, left empty as its former occupants
ran around the grounds looking for something.
Cross took three seconds to pull a hypostim out of his inside pocket and
jab it into his shoulder. He'd suffer in the morning, but it'd do for
now. Four seconds to find a neurocable and wrap it round his left palm.
Another two seconds to pull and prime a digichaff. He'd never actually
used one before, but Spiegel had sworn they were good. Not that the kid
was all that trustworthy...
He glanced at YoYo, leaning against the wall. He was still red, but his
regens were working fast. Not only was he walking unaided, but had
Fireman across his shoulder, too.
"Ready?"
YoYo nodded.
They burst out, running full speed - which for Crossover was pretty
impressive - towards the jeep. Gunfire immediately sprayed around them.
Behind him, Cross could hear YoYo's implanted AK rattling away. The big
man didn't hit anything, but he gave the guards in the towers pause for
thought.
Naturally, he was first to the jeep. He plugged the cable into his wrist
as he sat down, plugged the other end into the socket next to the dash.
The jeep started. Immediately Cross' vision was flooded with windows of
data - maps, baby radar readings, fuel levels, diagnostics. He shut them
all down except the baby radar as he swung the jeep round towards YoYo and
the unconscious Fireman, positioning the jeep between the towers and them.
YoYo threw Fireman in the back seat then climbed in himself. As soon as
he had both feet in, Cross gunned the accelerator. By now most people had
realised the gunfire was all concentrating on a single area and were
running to greet them in the army way.
YoYo's AK rattled again in all directions. By chance (or so he would
later claim) he hit a fuel tank on another jeep. Up it went.
Cross took advantage of this to throw the digichaff. He was about forty
yards away from the fence by this time, and the small, metallic unit
landed about twenty yards away from the tower. He heard cries from the
tower and the searchlights started chasing wildly about the area. He made
a note to thank Spiegel when he got back, then shouted, "YoYo! Try and
drill us a hole in that fence!"
The big man did as asked, slamming bullets into the fence directly in
front of them. Sparks flew everywhere, and a few small holes appeared.
Ten yards -
"Enough!" shouted Cross. No more time. The fence ripped apart with a
rending shriek as he drove the jeep straight through it. Electricity
arced as the fence wrapped itself around the jeep, causing Cross to flinch
and pull his cable from the dash. Manual'd have to do.
As they steamrollered across the grass, gradually leaving bits of the
fence in their wake, Cross looked in the mirror. No-one was following
them. Shit. That meant they had a trace on this jeep - naturally enough,
he supposed. The dull thud of chopper blades could be heard in the
distance, gaining. He slammed the pedal down, almost running over several
pedestrians. The streets were full, even at this time of night. He swung
onto a road, narrowly missing a bus.
"Where we going?" shouted YoYo above the combined howl of the engine and
the suspension.
"The canal."
===
<Music: Fishing Junks at Sunset, Japan>
Bangkok. That was the first thought that struck Crossover as he stepped
out of the jeep. He'd pulled up at the side of a bridge, near steps to
the canal. Although it was now nearly 2am, the barge market was in full
swing. Just like Bangkok.
Trying not to draw too much attention to themselves despite Fireman's
still unconscious form slung over YoYo's shoulder, they made their way
down the steps towards the towpath. Even that was full of traders. Down
the canal, Cross could see nothing but barges for what seemed like miles.
Most were stationary, but a few trundled up and down the middle, some
carrying passengers, some simply traders moving on. The crowd noise was
very high, and Cross relaxed outwardly in an to attempt to blend in.
Most of the bargers were chinese - he vaguely remembered Birmingham having
a massive chinese population, bigger than London's. But they must have
moved onto the barges as the influx from the south and east came to the
new capital. Most of the land-based non-caucasians Cross had seen were
asian, but the chinese definitely had the barges sewn up. Those that
weren't chinese were africans or caucasians, from what he could see. And
there was very little chrome about. He hoped YoYo wouldn't draw too much
untoward attention.
That hope went out the window as they passed a floating ripperdoc. The
young african barger in a (previously) white suit called out.
"Hey! Big man! Come take a look, you need any new implants? New skips,
some hardwiring? Come on, have a butchers!" He smiled broadly,
beckoning to YoYo. YoYo obliged, and strolled over to the barge. Cross
followed.
"What you got?" asked YoYo levelly.
The african smiled again. "What you after, my american friends?"
"I'm the yank. He's from round here." He thumbed at Cross.
"Oh! Sorry." he smiled insincerely at Cross, than turned back to YoYo.
Cross didn't listen as they started to talk jargon and price. He was
straining, listening for any kind of suspicious sound.
Some thing like the cocking of a large calibre rifle, for example.
"Down!" He dived, pulling YoYo with him. YoYo didn't go down - he
weighed nearly three times as much as Cross - but he did sidestep. The
african's chest exploded.
Cross looked back to see five or six black uniformed men running towards
them. They bore no insignia, no badges - the worst kind.
YoYo was already running. Cross was hot on his heels, ducking under
awnings and even washing lines at points. The crowd was murder to get
through, but at least the rentacops had the same problem.
They came out from under a bridge. No more shots had been fired, yet, but
Cross could see half a dozen more of them coming from in front, a pincer.
As the two of them looked around for another route, the cops coming from
ahead started firing. Shots ploughed into the water, and some into the
sides of barges. Cries of protestation rang out from the owners.
Cross turned back under the bridge to see an old chinese trader waving him
over frantically. He ran over. The trader was grinning.
"Corp trouble?"
"Rentacops." answered Cross grimly. The old man laughed.
"Shit. Better come inside. And the big man, too! Hurry!"
Cross turned to YoYo. He was already on his way over.
Inside, the barge stank of curry, prawns and incense. Behind them, the
old man closed the door and called to the front, "Miko! Drive - like
fast!" Almost immediately, Cross felt the barge lurch as it began to
move. YoYo lost his footing and fell onto a seat. He let Fireman drop to
the floor.
Their host pointed to the linkman's unconscious form.
"Friend cop it?" he cocked an eyebrow.
"No," replied Cross, "No friend of ours. A prize, if you like."
The man sat down, folding his robe over his lap, He looked Cross straight
in the eye. "Where you going? Other than away from here."
"Gotta get to the airport."
"International?"
"Yeah."
"Well, you're in luck. We're going down the Warwick tomorrow anyway, for
the market. You may as well crash on the floor, we'll drop you off." He
rose to move towards the front cabin. Cross had an expectant expression,
so he said, "You can call me Mr. Sung. And any enemy of a rentacop is a
friend of mine." He smiled briefly, then walked to the front.
===
<Music: None>
NEWSFLASH!
Brought to you by the United Kingdom Broadcasting Corporation, in
association with Multilever.
Good evening.
Military police are present at the headquarters of the British Electronics
Corporation where, we are told, terrorists have broken in and killed
several employees.
General James Wentworth told reporters:
"This is a terrible scene. The gang of terrorists used heretofore unknown
electronic methods to cripple our defenses momentarily, then stepped in
with nerve gas and high-calibre weaponry. It's not yet clear what their
target was, but they did murder one of our top research and development
scientists, Professor Rebecca Lloyd, before escaping, again using nerve
gas and highly sophisticated electronic measures."
When asked if defenses at BEC were in need of reassessment, General
Wentworth gave short shrift:
"Our defenses are CONSTANTLY updated and reassessed. It can only be
assumed that this group had help from a very highly placed source,
possibly even a nanotech baron from Asia."
No-one has as yet claimed responsiblity for the incident.
===
Even THAT didn't get broadcast.
===
<Music: Nice Work (If you can get it), Cassandra Complex>
Crossover allowed himself another smug grin as he sat next to YoYo,
sipping his Bud. Krystallstock was always his favorite dropoff point.
Designed by some mad russian in the early 21st, EVERYTHING was
transparent. Floor(s), chairs, light fixtures, the bar...everything.
Dress was generally similar - seethru materials, or just a general lack of
clothing.
No matter where you looked, you saw ghosts of yourself superimposed over
pale, distorted images of others. Occasionally you saw someone for real,
and that really freaked you out. The place disorientated people,
especially corps.
And here came his, now.
Mr Who walked brazenly up to the table, pushing his way past a few
dancers. As he sat down next to YoYo, he slapped his briefcase on the
table top.
"Where's my proto?"
Crossover laughed. "I'm fine, thanks. How are you?"
"Cut the shit, Crossover. Where is it?"
"Follow."
Cross stood up and led Mr Who, with YoYo bringing up the rear, across the
club and out the doors. The night outside was black and, of course, it
was raining.
He led them to the car park at the rear, nodding to YoYo. The big man
pulled a keyfob out of his jacket and jabbed it towards the black Sedan.
It beeped quietly. He jabbed it again, and the boot started to open with
a hiss of pneumatics.
Inside the boot was Fireman, very awake and very angry. Fortunately, also
very tied up.
Cross gestured. "Inside his head. And that's the only one. Now, where's
my money?"
Mr Who shoved the case into Cross' waiting arms. YoYo dangled the keyfob
in front of the corp.
"Keep the car."
===
- Redditch, Jan 30th, 1995
o--------------------oo--------------------o
The night will fall again
and again
the coming winds will freeze
falling through the slow autumn leaves
o--------------------oo--------------------o
justicar@cdp-ltd.demon.co.uk
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