From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 00/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:44:29 -0500

Here's Book 2 of 3 Hope this one goes easier.

  Cold World

A CyberFiction
Novel by:  Bob Wilson

CCopyright 1993 by Bob Wilson All Rights Reserved
.
This Book is dedicated to my Uncles Lee Wilson & Bob Daly
Who I don't
think ever believed it was at all possible.

"He who would teach men to
die, would teach them to live."  - Montaigne

"A spoon full of sugar helps
the medicine go down."  - Mary Poppins

"You CAN do whatever you want to do
in life, and not be a slave to money.  It's characteristic of those
courageous enough to follow their Bliss. If you follow your Bliss, you
will always have your Bliss; but if you follow money, you may lose it at
some time."  - Joseph Campbell

"Time is money Jetson. Get on with it."  -
Mr. Spacely

Chance and Roland

	Chance Marchenko rolled over in his warm, comfy, body temperature,
jellybed and opened his eyes to see his husband of ten years, Roland
Caulder getting ready to go to work. Mornings are far too bright. He
thought to himself. Why do they need all of that Sun all at once?
	"Merry Christmas dear." Chance coughed wetly, looking around for
his cigarettes.
	"It's not Christmas quite yet." Roland replied. "But 'tis the
season my love." The bigger man smiled in the reflection of the mirror.
	"Is there coffee?" Chance asked hoarsely, closing his eyes again
wondering if he should even get up or not. Nights were so much more
civilized, it seemed.
	"Yeah." Roland nodded at him in the mirror, though Chance didn't
see him. "Why don't you get up dear, and have a cup with me before I have
to leave?" He suggested as he smoothed down the epaulettes on his shirt,
wanting a little company before he had to leave to go down to the station.
	"Yeah, ok." Chance said sitting up in bed and coughed again,
looking around for his jeans. Flipping the imaginary soft switch in his
mind, to activate the biochip in his head, he was able to access
DataCentral downtown, realizing he only had an hour or so, before he had
to be at his own office as well. It looked like it was going to be another
one of those days.
	"You shouldn't have stayed up so late dear." Roland gently
admonished his husband and he brushed at his uniform, giving himself a
final 'once over' in the mirror.
	"And you're too vain for your own good. I had some ComWeb stuff to
do. No man is an island you know." Chance grumbled at him as he fastened
his jeans. "My little Top Cop." He said in baby talk, kissing the man 5
years his senior as they headed towards the kitchen of their MidTown
condominium.
	"Yuk! You got Moose breath." Roland teased him, making a face.
"Aaww. Is my little Russian bear sleepy this morning?" Roland asked in the
same baby-talk they reserved for speaking affectionately between
themselves, and even then only when alone.
	"Yes he is." Chance pouted, in the same baby talk, sticking out his
bottom lip, sitting down on a stool at the kitchen bar, putting his head
down on his arm. "All last night I was plagued by the faces of those I've
wronged in the past. Why Roland Why?" He whined, lifting his head and
grinned, letting Roland know he was in a good mood this morning, and only
kidding. "I think I should call in today." He said talking normally, but
his voice muffled as he spoke down into his arm on the counter. "I'm so
tired this morning." He yawned.
	"I don't THINK so!" Roland said pouring coffee for them both,
sliding a cup to Chance. "I'm not paying the payments on this fucking
condo Alone you know! You wanted this place. So you can help me pay for
it. Here. This will wake you up dear. Why don't you take a Dex-Ease too?"
He suggested.
	"Piss off my love." Chance said sitting up and blowing on the
coffee before trying to sip it, but burning his lip on the edge of the
cup. "OW! Goddamn you bitch! You ALWAYS make the coffee too hot to drink!"
He grumbled, getting up and getting an ice cube out of the tray in the
freezer and dropping it into his cup. "I know you're trying to kill me,
but you could at least be more humane about it. My life insurance isn't
worth that goddamned much."
	"I think it's fine." Roland grinned sipping carefully at his cup.
"Best coffee in the city, if I do say so myself."
	"I'll bet it's two hundred degrees!" Chance swore as he sat back
down and stirred in the quickly melting cube. "It's practically boiling
right now. Besides, it's probably the only coffee in the city."
	"I think you exaggerate just a bit dear." Roland smiled at him.
"Of course, I was drinking coffee when men were men!" He teased.
	"Yeah, and where you came from, the sheep were nervous. You look
very nice this morning my dear." Chance complimented Roland as he woke up
a little more and lit a cigarette from the pack on the counter. "Some kind
of Inspection or something today?"
	"Yeah. Something like that." Roland growled. "Chairman Lynn Guthrie
is supposed to come by our department today with a team of her own hired
Medias in tow, and we were told to dress up for her."
	"Oh PuhLeeze!" Chance said wiping a hand over his face, checking
his morning beard, deciding if he had to shave or not. "Be sure and tell
the Bitch that I didn't vote or her."
	"I'm sure she'll appreciate that information dear." Roland smirked.
"I think she already knows she just barely made it back in office, and
only THEN because she got out and worked the religious right vote. By the
skin of her tits one might say." He snickered.
	"Fucking conservatives." Chance grumbled.  "What's the bullshit
with her coming into your department?" He asked as he sipped carefully,
deciding the coffee had now cooled to his liking. "Isn't that kinda
dangerous for her to be out in that area? I would think she would prefer
the atmosphere of her high corporate arcology. Running the city from safe
inside her sky domain."
	"Hell yes it is!" Roland said as he towered over Chance, and
wrinkled his brow in concern. "But she'll have her personal body guards
just out of camera range you can bet. This is all just part of her getting
tough on crime crap. It means nothing. It's just good TV for her."
	"Aren't you being tough enough on crime, my love?" Chance grinned.
	"I think the problem is that Crime is getting tougher on us."
Roland chuckled. "Would you believe we had a bomb go off in one of the
paddy wagons yesterday? Blew the back door right off the wagon."
	"No shit?" Chance asked. "How'd something like that manage to get
through the search and seizure procedure? Don't you have CyberForms out
there with you as well?"
	"The kid had all the stuff to make the bomb stuffed in compartments
in his SHOES of all things." Roland shook his head. "Real James Bond type
shit. The guys that were supposed to bring the kid in were mad as hell
when he and his buddies got away. They were only fourteen years old. The
Colonel wasn't any too happy about it either."
	"Christ. When do you get to go back to plainclothes dear?" Chance
asked him seriously. "I don't like the idea of you being so close to the
street. You've already done your time out there." He said angrily. "I'll
bet that whore Captain MacGregor isn't out there sweatin' her tits off,
risking HER worthless life!"
	"Hopefully next week. And Yes, Cap'n MacGregor IS out there with
us, doing her part as well." Roland said checking his personal Auto-Colt
45, making sure the clip was full and the chamber was loaded, sliding it
smoothly back into the holster on his right thigh. "We're supposed to get
in another dozen from the academy next week. You're not the only one who
hates this rookie shortage. A lot of guys in my department are antsy to
get back to cases they've been working on. They're seriously backing up on
Tuck and I. Lately though, all we've seemed to be doing is training
CyberForms."
	"Are you wearing your kevlar body suit?" Chance asked carefully,
not looking at him, trying to be casual about it.
	"Yes dear." Roland smiled lovingly at him, understanding Chance's
concern over his safety. Sometimes to the point of being almost
unreasonable about his armor and guns.
	"Well, at least you still fit your old uniform." Chance said
admiring his husbands build even after the ten years they had been
together. "A lot of them can't say that. They shall never call you a
Doughnut-Cop my love." Chance smiled, leaning over the kitchen counter and
kissing him again. "And if they do, you tell me who they are and I'll beat
'em up for ya."
	"Ok." Roland laughed heartily. "I really gotta go dear." He said
finishing off his coffee, and rinsing the cup in the sink, and setting it
on the drainer to dry, in his daily orderly manner, to Chance's amusement.
Rolands neatness came from his years in the Marines, when he served as
security officer aboard the HMS Inconstant, a private floating nation out
in the international waters of the Atlantic, and gave Chance a lot of
material to use when teasing him.
	"I'll miss you." Roland said, kissing Chance again, this time with
feeling.
	"I'll miss you too." Chance smiled up at him, reaching around
Roland's wide shoulders, laying his head against Roland's big barrel chest
and hugged him tightly a few moments, putting a wet blanket of concern on
the morning that had started so lightly. "Be careful." He said seriously.
	"I will." Roland said tenderly. "I didn't get this far by being
sloppy."
	"I know." Chance said softly, finally releasing him.
	"See ya tonight dear." Roland smiled at him as he left, putting on
his heavy armor Dutch Corps field jacket, checking his pockets for extra
clips, flipping the wide brim of his cowboy hat with his forefinger, and
checking to make sure both the apartment's mechanical and the
electromagnetic locks would secure properly after he left, and even then,
trying the door handle, after he was out in the hall, just to make double
sure.
	One of these days, I'll have to sit here, and have coffee alone.
Chance thought depressingly to himself. His luck will run out, and some
psycho will put a slug through his head. Then I'll be alone. Forever.



















































From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 01/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:46:03 -0500

Chance One
	Chance took a big gulp of the coffee, that had now cooled to his
liking, trying not to become depressed or think dark thoughts, but found
it difficult. It was getting more difficult every morning to watch the man
he loved go out and face a cruel world, bent on desperate survival.  It
wasn't RIGHT for people to have to live like this.
	On one side, there was the street, constantly waiting for the
unsuspecting, ready to gobble them up with a single slurp of it's rat
infested starving mouth. And on the other side was the even nastier world
of the MegaCorps, sucking the life out of the people in their own way,
making sure there was nothing left to squeeze.
	Finishing off his first cup of coffee, he poured himself another
black steaming cup and set it on the counter to cool while he showered.
Walking into the bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror as he tossed
the cigarette butt into the toilet. Not bad for Twenty Nine. He decided,
as he scrutinized his face in the mirror. He'd seen worse anyway. He took
a Dex-Ease from the bottle in the bathroom cabinet and dry swallowed it.
That would wake him up. As well as probably keep him up late again
tonight, gnashing his teeth together at midnight, wondering if he should
take a sleeping pill or not, just to get down.
	He decided against shaving. He was just too lazy this morning to
bother with it. He would catch up tomorrow. As he showered, he scanned
through the biochip in his head, checking his personal files, examining
the list of things he had to do today, noticing that his
associate/business partner had added a few things to his appointment
calendar during the night. That was ok though.
	Arnaud Dubois, his business partner at "Full Disclosure" the Data
Haven they ran under the guise of an underground news base, pulled his own
weight and then some. If there were things he felt needed to be done, yet
he wasn't able to do them, then he must have a good reason for it.
Besides, the demands were not unreasonable. Mostly just appointments
during the morning.
	Flipping the comm-link switch in his head, he felt the waves of
ComWeb lapping at his mind as he dove into the pool of simulated reality
and accessed the cellular network of the city, continuing his shower in
the real world.
	"Arnaud?" Chance called out into the blackness of the seeming vast
gray foggy emptiness in his mind. Quickly, a bright green neon lightning
bolt struck from the deep black sky, loudly, directly in front of him, and
he found himself standing on the smooth black limitless plain, a hard wind
blowing from nowhere and everywhere, as a tall lanky man in a disheveled
suit stood in front of him.
	Chance was seated behind his desk at work. Arnaud's dark, boyish,
never combed hair blowing in the wind as he spoke.
	"Talk to me my man!" The man asked grinning, sitting down on the
corner of his desk, pulling a silver cigarette case out of the breast
pocket of his suit and lighting one easily despite the howling wind.
	"A bit dramatic for this hour don't you think?" Chance grinned at
him as he carefully adjusted the water temperature in the real world. He
didn't want to scald himself while in the numb non-place where they were
now speaking with each other. There's no There, there. A voice from his
past reminded him.
	"I wanted to shake you up a bit." The man winked.
	"Why don't I feel shook?" Chance grinned.
	Though Arnaud appeared in his wrinkled suit, he ALWAYS did. It was
his chosen image for cyberspace. His real image. He might be dressed in
anything else and Chance would never have known it. Chance was currently
standing naked in his shower at home, but to Arnaud, he appeared to be
sitting behind a desk dressed in a white shirt and long black tie. Just as
he always appeared to people while in VR comm-link.
	"Well, I thought you'd be more sleepy." The boyishly handsome man
shrugged. "I wanted to see if I could catch you off guard." The Frenchman
smiled his prize-winning smile that came so easily to him. According to
Arnaud, and Chance had no reason to doubt him, they were the mans real
teeth. Not even so much as orthodonture work done on that smile. Reason
enough to be proud in todays world, where very few people hadn't had
something cosmetic done.
	"I was just calling to let you know, barring traffic, I should be
on time this morning." Chance said, getting on with business.
	"That's cool." Arnaud nodded. "Not much is happening right now
anyway. I got a few medias out in the field, but for the most part all
they're looking at is vehicle crashes and such during rush hour traffic.
I figured we'd sell the footage to the networks." The Frenchman shrugged.
	"Might as well." Chance snorted. "It pays the bills."
	"I'll leave the reports for you in the superframe."
	"Gotcha." Chance nodded. "See you in a few."
	"Ok Chance." Arnaud said walking off into the darkness. "Later."
His voice reverberated as he disappeared, sound byte trailers whispering
in the darkness, as he disconnected his link with the ComWeb.
	Chance finished his shower and shut off the water, squeezing the
water out of his long tangle of hair on his head, and slaking most of the
water from his tall hairy body before sliding the door to the shower back
and grabbing a big fluffy towel from the rack. He had no sooner finished
drying his body, and was working on his long shoulder length hair, when
the door bell rang.
	"Show me." He called out to the apartment AI, and immediately felt
the computer reach into his head and touch the biochip, tickling his
visual cortex and showing him the caller from the point of view of the
security camera outside, above the door. It was Tom Drauman.
	"Open." He said to the condo AI, and watched Tom enter his
apartment. Wrapping the big towel around himself he opened the door of the
bathroom and walked out into the hall, with clouds of steam following him.
	"Hey Tom." He said smiling at the man who had worked for him for
several years now. "What's up?" Chance asked. Tom was one of his better
Medias. From some of the stories he managed to come up with, Chance had to
wonder if the man often slept with his camera rig.
	"Not a Goddamed thing." Tom grumbled. "If I'd have known Kansas
City was THIS boring, I'd have gone to Phoenix." He snorted as he sat down
on a kitchen stool. "At least THERE, if you can't find anything really
juicy or scandalous going on in politics, you can always find a good gang
war going down. Too much shit is legal here."
	 "Things that bad huh? Coffee?" Chance offered as he sipped at the
cup he had left standing to cool. "Its fresh."
	"Hell yes!" The man said excitedly. "For something that costs more
than cocaine, do you seriously think I'm going to turn it down?" He asked
excitedly. "You're one of the few people I know that drinks the real
McCoy. The rest of us commoners just get by with SoyKaf."
	"Some people don't even like the TASTE of real coffee, Tom."
Chance grinned. "Here you go."
	"That's beside the point." Tom said taking the offered cup and
holding it like some holy chalice. "I could develop a taste for something
THIS expensive."
	"How long have you been out this morning?" Chance asked him as he
continued drying his long hair with his towel, standing on the other side
of the bar from the man. Tom Drauman was one of his Straight Friends, so
he didn't feel self conscious being naked in front of him, as he would
being naked in front of a Gay man. It was more like high school gym. It
was because he knew Tom wasn't interested in him sexually, that he could
be so easy about it.
	"Not too long. I just got up actually. I thought you might want
some company to the office." Tom suggested, as he held the coffee in his
mouth a while, contemplating it's taste, wondering if it was a pleasant or
bitter experience. "Oh by the way, I shot a few minutes of Spike El Dorado
and his brother, on the way over. They weren't doing anything to get in
trouble over, but they had visitors. At seven A-M. I got close-ups of
everyone I could."
	"Good." Chance nodded. "We'll take a look at your footage when we
get to the office. Maybe we can figure out from who the visitors are, what
the Eldorado brothers are up to." He said, padding into the bathroom to
put his jeans back on, which were still clean, only having been worn one
day, and then going into the bedroom to find something else to wear.
	He found a gray flannel sweat-shirt with the sleeves ripped out
hanging in the closet when he opened the door, and decided it was easiest
to get to. He slipped it over his head as he made his way to his dresser
and got a pair of long white tube socks out of the drawer and sat down on
the bed to put his black leather cowboy boots on.
	"You guys make enough money that you don't have to bother with
reusable clothes." Tom said leaning against the door frame to the bedroom,
watching Chance as he dressed. "Why DO you bother?"
	"I like 'em." Chance shrugged. "I never could understand how anyone
could stand to just wash their clothes down the drain every day.  It seems
so wasteful."
	"Convenient is the term." Tom smiled. "Paper analog clothing is
very Eco-Correct you know." He said brushing at his own paper shirt.
	"Oh please." Chance smirked. "Call me an Eco-Terrorist then. I
prefer natural fibers. I even have favorites among my wardrobe believe it
or not."
	"You're just anal retentive." Tom snickered. "All you Gay guys
are."
	"No, not all of us." Chance smiled. "I think you'd be surprised.
Some of us can be bigger slobs than you straight boys!" He laughed as he
pulled the second boot on and put his foot down on the floor with a heavy
thunk.
	"You ready?" Tom asked, finishing off his cup with reverence, as
Chance put on his shoulder rig, with his Smith & Wesson 45 Auto, quickly
checking the cylinder.
	"Everything is fine, except the part that isn't." Chance said
grabbing his leather flack jacket off the chair in the bedroom and putting
it on. "General Willis?" He called out to the apartment, checking his
pockets for spare clips. One never knew when they would find themselves in
a flash fire-fight these days. 'Cover thy own ass' was always the first
rule of the day.
	"Yes sir." A deep male voice came from everywhere around them.
	"I'm leaving for work now. Lock-down mode." Chance said feeling in
his pockets to make sure he had his manual KeyCard to the apartment, just
in case Breadbasket Fusion decided to shut off the power to the building
while he was away. Depending on who was paying how much for peak load
power, determined who would get how much from the fusion reactors in the
power grid. The Co-Op they were a part of, here in this condo, was usually
low on priority when it came to competeing with the MegaCorps.  "As for my
calls, record don't forward, that is, unless it's Roland."
	"Yes Sir." The apartment acknowledged.
	"Ok." Chance said opening the door looking quickly around the room.
"Let's go!" He said following Tom out the door and into the hall.  As he
palmed the door locked, he noticed Tom had his camera focused on him
taping his every move. "You can quit now." Chance grumbled at him as he
headed for the elevator. "Mr. Doodah man."
	"It's a talent meter." Tom smiled. "It's showing theres not a trace
in sight."
	"Which is why I could never work for Dominoes Pizza." Chance smiled
out of the side of his face as the elevator pinged. "Are you armed by the
way?" He asked before he stepped into the elevator.
	"Yep." Tom said simply.





From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 02/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:47:19 -0500

Roland One
	Roland Caulder opened his bright red ceramic locker, sat his
cowboy hat on the hat hook, started taking off his jewelry, and placing it
on the small top shelf. He didn't want anything getting in his way if he
was to get into a skirmish, and besides, it was standard operating
procedure. Which was the way he liked things. S-O-P. The gold chain he got
as an anniversery present from Chance, the diamond earring, which Chance
had the matching one to it, and his wedding ring, would all be safe enough
in his personal locker, which was supposedly bomb-proof, though he had
never heard of an instance when that was actually tested.
	He glanced at the eight by ten holo of Chance and himself,
Sticky-Stuk on the back of the door of his locker, and felt a little
guilty over his job worrying Chance so much. The holo showed both of them
sitting in the sand, facing the Media girl that roamed the beach,
freelance, his arms around Chance as his shorter, younger lover leaned
back into Rolands arms, both of them laughing happily as the Media girl
had made some stupid joke, he didn't even remember anymore. It was a very
good shot of them together. They had it taken on their last vacation to
Galveston. The same place they went every year on their anniversary. It
was where they had spent their honeymoon. Ten years ago.
	It seemed as if this were a routine he went through every day. He
would make himself depressed over the fact that today may be the day, he
left Chance as a widower, and then he would become angry over that fact.
>From the bitterness and anger he was able to gather strength. A Will to
Survive. It had worked for him so far. That, and skill. Before he went
into the squad room, he looked at the holo one last time, and made a
mental promise to return tonight, when his shift ended.
	"I love you." He said quietly, kissing the end of his finger, and
touching it to the holo where Chances face was, and shut the door, palming
it locked.
	"Well I love you too Caulder." Came a voice behind him. "I never
realized you cared so much." The voice teased.
	"Stone." Roland smiled at the voice. "You're here early this
morning, aren't you?" He asked turning around. "You're usually running
about a half hour late."
	"Yeah well, I figured I had nothing better to do, so I thought I'd
get a jump on the bad guys today."
	"Well good luck." Roland smirked.
	"We'll need it." His friend and partner said ominously as he
clasped Roland on the shoulder and squeezed gently.
	That was as about as much emotion as Tucker Stone had ever shown
anyone. Even his wife complained that he was a cold emotionless fish.
After working with Tucker Stone for the past 6 years on the Kansas City
police force, Roland knew him a little better than that. He found it
strange, that as the mans partner, he knew him better than the man's wife
did. Maybe it was simply because he wanted to know. Roland cared.
	Tucker just wasn't the kind of man who liked to show a whole lot
of emotion was all. It just wasn't his style. But just because he didn't
show it, didn't mean he didn't feel it. Roland knew that. They had become
very close friends in the past six years. Friends that had to depend on
each other, for their very lives at times. Of course, there was a lot of
unspoken emotion that went along with that kind of trust you put in a
person. It went beyond words. And was probably better off left unspoken.
	As they left the locker room and headed towards the squad room,
Roland recalled that Tucker had been in the Navy Seals a long time ago.
That, and luck, was probably a major factor in the mans survival. Just as
his own training in the Marines had been a factor in his own survival,
being so close to the street.
	"I heard they're giving each of us an extra CyberForm today."
Tucker said as they passed through the locks of doors, one sealing behind
them before the next would open in front of them.
	"No kidding." Roland nodded. "Too bad they can't afford to pay for
a few more real cops. They're eventually going to have to increase the
force anyway." He shrugged. "Why not now? When we really need it?"
	"Cap'n MacGregor said not this budget." Stone shrugged. "Maybe next
quarter. These twelve Rookies coming in are going to be IT until January."
	"Yeah. Right." Roland snorted. "Half of them won't live to see
Christmas." He grumbled.
	There was a ruckus on the other side of the room that Roland
couldn't quite identify, in normal mode, so, with a sudden burst of
adrenalin, he accessed the biochip in his head and began his workday by
becoming half machine. Cyborg. Cybernetic Organism. Man becomes machine.
Accessing the chip he tuned out the background noise and focused in on the
shouting and screaming, tracking in the direction of sound and finding the
location where the disruption was taking place, far across the room.
	Warming up his cyber-optic chip he was able to assume manual
control of his cyber-eye and telescope in on the scene that was taking
place 218 feet away according to the optical readout across his lower
vision.
	"Jesus. Looks like PCP." Tucker said, nervously taking the safety
off his automatic shotgun that Roland hadn't realized before he had in his
hands. Of course, Tucker ALWAYS had it in his hands, which was probably
the reason Roland had failed to notice it.
	The man in custody was big, though not quite as big as Roland and
Tucker. He stood about 6 foot, a stocky black man, obviously psychotic,
high on the latest designer drug of the week, which DID in fact exhibit a
lot of the same symptoms as PCP. That meant it was going to be a bastard
to fight on the street.
	Give an average hungry, desperate and angry anyone on the street
with cybernetic modifications, a drug that was guaranteed to get 'em
higher than a kite, on stuff that shut down their pain centers, made 'em
feel like God Almighty, and you got a bit of a problem on your hands. All
that rage managed to find it's way out. One way or another.
	The man in custody had managed to break free of the handcuffs by
pulling so hard, he had pulled the flesh of his hand off, by somehow
managing to drag his hand through the cuffs anyway. The flesh of his hand
lay on the floor in bloody slivers, next to the steel handcuffs that had
secured him to the wall below the bench where he had been sitting. More
than likely, a few bones in his hand were probably broken as well. Blood
spurted from the end of his arm where his bony hand gleamed white through
the torn flesh, as he continued to scream in a blood-curdling rage and
rushed the men behind the counter where he was waiting to be booked.
	Roland and Tucker stood watching far across the room in mild
fascination, as one of the officers seated in a booth high up near the
ceiling, calmly aimed a very big gun that was mounted on the bottom of the
booth and resembled more of a cannon than anything else, and simply blew
the mans head off with a laser, his brain flashboiling from the lasers
heat, causing his skull to explode. All of which took place before he got
more than a couple of steps towards the counter.
	One of the uniformed officers behind the counter threw a stack of
papers he had in his hands, down on the counter and began cussing over the
extra paper work he was now going to have to fill out as a part of the
report. It was all on video though, if anyone decided to question the
facts of the mans death while in custody.
	Roland looked at Tucker, who just shrugged as they headed towards
their desks on the west side of the room. When he got within a couple of
feet of his desk, all the sounds of the huge room around them died down to
nothing as he stepped inside the sound-proof field that surrounded his
desk.
	"Messages." Roland told his terminal that sat on his desk, picking
up a few hand written messages and quickly scanning them for anything he
thought was important.
	"Messages total four. Messages are as follows." The terminal said
clearly in the quiet sound-proof area of his desk. "Mattie Silver, three
fifty seven. Maintenance. Captain Helen MacGregor, seven seventeen. Inter
Office Memo. Miss Kenyada Swift, seven twenty three. Public Standard.
Eddie Bowers, seven thirty eight. Public Standard."
	Only four messages? Perhaps the day wasn't going to go so bad
after all. Roland thought to himself as he sat down in the big leather
chair, grateful for it's comfort after the ride downtown on the hard
ceramic seats of the Light Rail System. He thanked God or whatever that he
only had to take it a few miles from MidTown to DownTown, unlike those
poor unfortunate bastards that had to ride it all the way in from the
suburbs.
	"Play Messages." He told the machine as he looked over at his
partner, who's desk butted up against, facing his own and who was at the
moment going through the same morning routine of answering his overnight
mail.
	"Mistah Cauldah dis be Mattie Silvah. I'd appreciade it if ya'd not
LEAVE no cups with stuff in 'em, sittin around on yo desk. I dun gone an
knocked one of dem off a wol ago and it only makes my job dat much moe.
Also I wuz wonderin if you had talked wit yo boyfrin mistah mashanko yet.
Thank ya."
	The machine made a tone that indicated end of message and then
asked him: "Would you like to reply?" The machine prompted him.
	"Yes." He said simply, flipping through the papers he had in his
hands, discarding that which was not important and those problems that
would go away if ignored long enough. "Dear Mattie." He said to the
machine, continuing to read as he spoke. "Yes, I did talk with Mister
Marchenko and he agreed with me. We CAN in fact use your help cleaning up
around our apartment. He agrees that Tuesday morning would be fine. We're
looking forward to your help. You already have our address. See you then.
Bye."
	He smiled inwardly to himself, knowing he was doing a good thing.
In reality, between Chance and himself, they didn't really make that much
of a mess of their one bedroom apartment, and they had a cleaning 'bot to
take care of most of that. But, it WAS helping the poor old woman out
financially. She didn't make that much money here at the station just
cleaning at nights, and after Roland had Chance run a make on her
personnel file at the station house, he knew that she had four kids at
home to support on only one income. Clearly not the easiest thing to do.
	So, he had talked it over with Chance, who after a lot of
grumbling finally said it would be ok, and that he would beef up the
security on their apartment AI "General Willis" to keep an eye on her.
'Just in case'. Chance didn't trust the old woman in their apartment
alone, though Chance didn't trust many people. But Roland knew her well
enough to know that she was an honest old woman even if she was uneducated
and poor. She couldn't have kept her job here at the station if she had
been pilfering things. The security AI would have caught her a long time
ago.
	It was a human thing to do to help out your fellow man. His
argument didn't carry much weight though, until, during their "Discussion"
(It's NOT an Argument!) of the topic, he finally asked Chance what he
thought happens to people who can't read or write in a world based on
information, and only values those people who have a relationship with
that data.
	From then on, Chance didn't put up so much of a fight against it.
He knew what the score was. Some referred to those who were discarded by
society, simply as "Collateral Damage".
	"Next." He told the machine.
	"This is Captain MacGregor. To all Personnel. Today, Chairman
Guthrie will be here with her Medias. I want everyone looking sharp and on
their best behavior. This is important to our funding next quarter.  I'm
wanting more Cops and more CyberForms, and the only way I'm going to get
her to budget them for us is by giving her what she wants. That means, if
she wants to tape a series of Infomercials making it look like she's
taking a bite out of crime." Roland could hear the amusement in his bosses
voice. "Then she gets to make them. Anyone who shows up today out of
uniform will be given one from central supply and charged for it
accordingly. Give me your best people. We're going to have to work
together on this. MacGregor Out."
	The machine made it's end-of-message tone and said: "Would you
like to reply?"
	"Yes." He said smiling to himself. "Captain, this is Roland.
Chance said to tell Chairman Guthrie that HE didn't vote for her. Since I
didn't think it was my place to do so, I thought I would pass that
privilege on to you. See you at lunch? Later Gater."
	"Next." He told the machine smiling.





From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 03/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:48:48 -0500

Chance Two
	The trip to work wasn't too bad for a Friday. Usually on Friday,
it seemed as if there were forty three billion people that just HAD to get
out on the streets, at the very moment that Chance had to get to the
office. Today however the traffic seemed light as the two of them walked
from the condo to the LRS stop on Main Street, a couple of blocks away,
just up the hill.
	Chance glanced over at Tom, his friend and employee of 5 years,
who had suddenly grown quiet, to see him aiming his camera rig at a
sliding glass door several stories up on an apartment building that was
several blocks away.
	"Is there no limit to your depravity?" Chance teased him as the
walked down the sidewalk heading towards Main Street to catch the LRS
DownTown.
	"She's naked man." Tom grinned as he squinted into the viewfinder.
"Wanna peek? I got her zoomed in at thirty times."
	"That's ok." Chance laughed. "Really Drauman, one of these days
you're going to get caught, and then I don't want to hear you calling me
to bail you out 'cause I won't."
	"Yeah you would. I'm the best you got for a Media." He smiled not
taking his eye away from the camera. "You're no fun today."
	"I didn't get much sleep last night." Chance said casually.  "Don't
you ever come out from behind that thing?" He asked curiously.
	"Only when I'm indoors." Tom answered as-a-matter-of-fact. "And
THEN only if there's nothing going on... Even then, I've got micro-video
kinked in to my cyber-optics." He winked. "It comes in handy when my rig
gets confiscated."
	"I wondered how you came up with some of the footage you did."
Chance grinned at him. "You're evil Drauman." He teased. "The spawn of
Satan!"
	"I was always taught it was called being clever." Tom smiled
scanning his camera up the street ahead of them. "Be prepared and all that
shit. Weren't you ever a Boy Scout?"
	"Yeah. As a matter of fact I was!" Chance laughed. "But I certainly
didn't take it THAT seriously." He said as they continued walking down the
sidewalk. "We just did shit like go camping out in the woods and stuff. As
a matter of fact, it was at Boy Scout Camp where I lost my virginity." He
chuckled.
	As they headed up the small hill towards Main Street, Chance
noticed a man in a bright blue sports car pull over to the side of the
street and get out, throwing a bundled heavy armor jacket into the
dumpster. Not bothering to look around to see if he was spotted, he
quickly got back into the car and sped off, obviously in one hell of a
hurry.
	"Did you see that?" Chance asked his friend unbelievingly.
	"See what?" Tom spun around, lowering the camera rig, to see what
it was Chance was talking about.
	"Come here a second." Chance said hurrying over to the dumpster.
	Lifting the lid again, he saw the jacket, reached in and pulled it
out. It seemed in good condition, though it was tied up in two places with
a nylon cord.
	"Are you getting this?" Chance asked his friend behind the mini
camera rig that stored it's digital images to a series of flashchip packs,
each able to contain seven hours of video, up to a total of eight packs,
or, a total of 56 hours of continuous video. Though most news people never
recorded more than two or three hours per pack, and even that was edited
down to thirty second blips for the news base. Anything longer, and people
lost interest.
	Chance pulled an old pocket knife out that was attached to his
key-ring and cut the nylon cords tying the jacket together into a bundle.
Inside, they found billfolds, credit cards, ID-cards, PIN numbers, and
information on about 20 different people.
	"Jesus." Tom breathed as he zoomed in on the cache. "Is there any
cash? Any gold jewelry?"
	"No." He said shortly. "Damn." Chance cursed, looking down the
street in the direction the car had driven off. "I wish to hell you'd have
got a few of his license numbers."
	"Sorry man." Tom shrugged.
	"Doesn't matter." Chance shrugged, and started shoving the cards
and billfolds into the pockets of the jacket. After he was done, he picked
it up and put it on over the top of the flack jacket he already had on,
giving him a bulky look.
	"You're not really going to WEAR that thing are you?" Tom asked
disgustedly.
	"Sure." Chance smiled. "Why not? It's about an eight hundred dollar
heavy armor jacket. I'm not a fool, man."
	"What if some kind of murder or something was committed with it?"
Tom asked screwing up his face. "What if it's got lice or bugs or
something in it?"
	"Do you see any blood? Besides, people who can afford threads like
these, don't usually have lice." Chance asked holding out the sleeves.
"Come on. We're going to miss the M-L." He laughed, walking up to the
corner where the Mag-Lev train would stop and pick them up for the trip
downtown. "Jesus." Chance grinned. "And I thought I was the Nellie one."
He giggled, gently elbowing his friend in the ribs.
	They didn't have to wait long as the train pulled up just as they
arrived. Dropping their tokens in the box, the interlocking bars turned
and permitted them through, where they quickly found a seat not far from
the front. The train took off quickly, and was soon up to top speed for
the inner city, gliding smoothly past the traffic on a rail of it's own.
	"I wonder who it was that threw it away?" Tom asked now curious
about the jacket. "Or why?"
	"I don't know." Chance said quietly, thinking to himself, as they
rode the Light Rail System deeper into the city. "I'm going to find out
though, when we get to the office."
	Chance flipped down a little eight inch TV screen on the back of
the seat in front of him and tried to occupy his mind with the morning
news along their way. Up and down the aisle of the little car they
traveled in, that rode atop a magnetic levitation line, there were those
who had already begun their work day by plugging in fiberoptic cables into
jacks designed for that purpose, on the backs of the seats in front of
them, giving them access to the city's DataNet and ComWeb. Others accessed
the same cyberspace grids through the cellular circuits they carried
inside their Laptop systems. Neither a fiberoptic line on the move or a
cellular connection was as good as a dedicated land line, designed
specifically for data transfer, but it WAS convenient.
	It's the Information Age. Chance reminded himself as the train
whooshed through traffic, gliding smoothly and silently on it's thin
buffer of electromagnetism that constantly tried to push the train up off
of the magnets they rode along.
	Not far from them, sat a man with a steel container about a foot
tall in his lap, no one wanting to sit beside him for some reason, until
Chance noticed that on the side of the steel container was the red triple
horned circles on a yellow background that was the universal symbol for
BioHazard. Chance gulped once and felt beads of sweat jump out on his
forehead.
	"Gettin' hot with two jackets on?" Tom smiled at him.
	"No." Chance grumbled, trying not to look at the man across the
aisle, nor wonder what might be in the container that the man seemed
unconcerned with. Inside, Chance tried to rationalize that the container
was probably empty, and he worked in some lab downtown. Or something.
	Trying to get his mind off what horrors may live inside the
canister that might be hazardous to his life, Chance looked the other way,
out the window on their side of the car, and noticed up in the sky, a
single manned copter flying over the city with what looked to be about a
half a dozen mini-copters flying some sort of complex formation behind it.
Roland had flown similar units during his tour.
	All of the smaller "Heel-Dog" units were slaved by remote and
autopilot to the master craft. A single pilot could keep track of several
screens of information from the multiple cameras they each contained,
especially if the pilot was hardwired for multiple video inputs, for only
a tiny fraction of the price of sending up the same number of full sized
copters with live pilots in them. Another benefit was that by remote, the
smaller "Dogs" could reach places where the full sized chopper couldn't.
Though they had proved their worth at catching criminals on the run, they
didn't do shit to prevent it.
	"I wish they'd pad these seats." Chance grumbled shifting
uncomfortably.
	"It's the age of Ceramics my friend. Everything is made of the
stuff." Tom laughed. "Besides, you know as well as I do that if they put
padding on them, the kids would just tear it up." He said shaking his
head.
	"Yeah." Chance agreed begrudgingly.
	"We'll be there soon enough." Tom said looking down the track to
mentally measure their distance to their stop. "Besides, it's not as if
Arnaud can exactly dock your pay."
	"I just like to be on time." Chance shrugged. "I'm turning into an
old man Tom. Getting responsible."
	"Bullshit." Tom snorted. "Otherwise you wouldn't be in the business
you are. WE are!" He laughed.
	"Hell! I'm half a respectable." Chance defended himself. "I've got
a lease, employees I'm responsible for, a couple of lawyers on retainer,
and several banks where I'm known on a first name basis with the
presidents of same." He grinned.
	"Yeah, and if even ONE of those Respectables knew what you were
REALLY doing with that News Base, they shut off all lines to you and call
in as many authorities as they could lay their hands on."
	"I simply offer a service." Chance said mocking indignant. "An
Information Exchange. A News Base is protected by the first amendment."
	"That crap wouldn't hold up in Ronald McDonalds court." Tom
laughed. "You run a Pirate Data Fortress and you know it."
	"I prefer to think of it as a media base." Chance smiled.
	"And married to a cop of all things!" Tom laughed again. "How do
you manage to get that past Roland?"
	"He just thinks I run an underground newspaper." Chance shrugged.
"That's all he needs to know. Freedom of speech and all that. He doesn't
ask very many questions and I don't encourage it. He doesn't understand
half the stuff I talk about anyway." He shrugged.
	"You really get into the machines huh?" Tom asked eyeballing Chance
with a sideways grin.
	"Sure!" Chance nodded. "Don't you?"
	"Yeah, THESE, but to me Computers are just so BORING." Tom said
holding up his mini-cam. "Now THIS is fun."
	"You're just rationalizing that because you're a voyeur." Chance
teased him. "But yeah, it's the same thing for me with the machines. When
I was a kid in high school, I used to think life was going to be
inevitable boredom. THEN I got into my first computer class. All of a
sudden, life became an exciting learning experience. My life went from
'Life is not worth bothering with' to 'Life is worth fighting for.'"
	"Quite a change." Tom said arching an eyebrow.
	"Oh don't try and bullshit me buddy-boy." Chance teased "I happen
to remember when you were a regular Cecil B. De Mille when we were just
kids. Remember all those movies you made with your parents old CamCorder?"
	"Yeah well... Heads up. Here we go." Tom said standing up.
	The train headed underground at that point and they found
themselves watching the strobe of the lights that lined the tube.
Quickly, the train silently glided to a stop and the doors all whisked
open at the same time, allowing the passengers who chose to depart to pour
out the exits in waves.
	The underground mall was bustling with activity even in the
morning hours. Kiosks, coffee shops and donut shops already bringing in
the days profits. Chance preferred doing his shopping at The Virtual Mall,
but sometimes it was fun just to get out of the condo and enjoy the town.
For the most part though, it was getting way too dangerous to go anywhere
outside the home, and at one time, Chance had seriously considered working
from home, but then Roland helped him decided that by making a move like
that was giving in to the hoodlums. It was better to arm yourself to the
teeth, get the best armor you can afford, and go on business as usual.
	They made their way up to the ground level through the hundreds of
shuffling bodies, by using the escalators, expertly weaving in and out of
the crowded shop lined corridors bustling with morning activity.
	"So what do you think it is about technology that is so sexy?"  Tom
asked seriously as they climbed the steps to the glass skywalk, his camera
tuned on Chance as if he were doing an interview. "You know what I mean?
What makes that sense of EDGE so attractive? The sweaty urgency of hard
tech so desirable?" He queried as they walked across the skywalk above
Grand Avenue heading north-east to the old IBM building.
	"I don't know..." Chance pondered for a moment. "I once heard that
it's the sense of power, the technical mastery, and effective anonymity
that acts like cat-nip on teenage boys. That's when we're all first
seduced by tech. Big boys are just Teenagers a little older. Not
necessarily grown up, just older."
	"Why then don't we use what we do for more conventional ends?"
Tom asked sincerely



From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 04/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:50:14 -0500

Roland Two
	"Ok look guys." Captain Helen MacGregor said taking off her glasses
a moment rubbing at the bridge of her nose, and then on second thought,
sliding them back on. "Part of the reason Chairman Guthrie is doing this
is image. Another part of it is, she's sincere in wanting to clean up the
city."
	"Bull. The voters come down on her and she comes down on us."
Tucker Stone smirked. "Shit rolls down hill." He nodded to himself.
	"Something like that." The woman behind the desk nodded. "It's
complicated. It has to do with unfair representation, the new economy,
previous non-voters finally registering and casting a vote against the
status quo, and the fact that most people are getting tired of
professional politicians taking their tax dollars and not getting anything
in return."
	"So what are you getting at Cap'n?" Roland asked cutting to the
core of the matter.
	"I hate this, but, we're bringing in some corporates." She said
straightforward. "Nakashima Rent-a-cops. Just for a little while." She
added quickly. "But we're keeping it quiet. So keep your mouths shut about
it."
	"I'll quit first before I'll work with a bunch of Nips!" Stone said
crossing his thick sturdy arms across his broad muscular chest.  "I'll
take this to the Union! Or to the Medias."
	"Oh? Do you dare?" The woman of about 40 asked, standing nose to
nose with a man who could crush her jaw with a single swipe. "You know
Nakashima Corporation is run by the Yakuza same as everyone else. If you
start causing problems for THEM, I'm sure they'll take care of you without
using the kid gloves."
	"That's not fair!" Tucker Stone protested, almost whining. "The
Yakuza are some of the worst crooks in the country!"
	"Sure it is Stone." She said sitting down again behind her desk.
"It's fair because I said it is. Cops often hire armies so they don't
appear to have their own. The corporate armies are better than
Breadbaskets Feds any day of the week. And we both know they're better
than us dumb city cops. Besides, it's not like all Yakuza are crooks. At
least not the ones in Kansas City. Most of the Yakuza in North America are
only here to try and begin new lives after their shadowy lives in the
Japanese Mafia."
	"What crap." Tucker Stone growled.
	"The way things are out there, this city could go up like a
nuke-mushroom at any second." She went on. "And I'm not having it." She
said simply.
	"Nor is the Queen Bitch I'll bet." Stone snorted. "Can't she afford
any more of her wind-up boys to keep law and order?"
	Roland sat in Captain MacGregor's office listening to his lecture
for the morning, wishing it was over and he could get back to his work
that was doubling that long the older woman talked.
	"Stone, I don't want any heroics out of you today. You just do your
job and let the CyberForms do theirs. It's what they were designed for."
	"Actually Cap'n they were originally designed as slaves and as sex
toys." Roland smiled devilishly, trying to lighten the mood the day had
started out on. "I can't believe how REAL they look!" Roland remarked,
teasing the captain over her original reaction to CyberForms on the force.
"The whites have the flat face, the blacks have the protruding brow, and
the orientals have the 'U' shaped palate. It's pretty amazing the work
that goes into detailing them so well." He mocked playfully.
	"Caulder, I haven't got time for this. Just watch him and make sure
he doesn't get out of line. You and I both know he Grandstands at every
opportunity." She said looking heavy lidded over the tops of her glasses.
"What ever he does, I'm holding you responsible for. Get the picture? Now.
How's that for Fair?"
	"Sounds fair to me." Roland smiled. "You just can't trust him after
dark Cap'n." He said in a confidential tone, giving her an exaggerated
wink. "He likes to bet on the dogs. And he summers in the mountains."
	"How charming." She said uncaring, looking back down at the paper
she held in her hands. "Also, we'll be having 'Surprise' locker searches
when the Bitch gets here so I want you both to get all the dope out of
your lockers before you leave. Even Over-The-Counter stuff. So, Surprise."
She said sternly. "I mean it Stone. Not so much as an aspirin or a roach.
That includes steroids."
	"Oh MAN!" Stone whined in an exasperated tone.
	"Evil! She's EVIL!" Roland continued his good natured teasing.
	"You can go back to business as usual next week, I just don't want
anything questionable around while she's here." The woman said
conspiratorially. "And when you two are out on foot patrol, TALK to the
CyberForms. Get to know them. Their not bad as far as people go once you
get to know them. It looks like you'll be working with them for a while
anyway. Maybe from now on."
	"So Cap'n?"
	"Yeah Caulder?"
	"If she approves the new personnel, when should we expect them?"
Roland asked calmly, from the chair he was seated in, with his feet up on
her desk. "The wetware business on the street is really getting out of
hand. Black Market Tech is getting hard to tell from the legit stuff.
It's getting harder every day to even keep track of the geneticists, much
less track down their labs."
	"Don't DO that!" She said pushing his feet off her desk. "I know
it's rough. We've been dragging in a lot of weirdos that have been turned
into their own bacterial drug factories. Their bodies can produce
Boosterware drug compounds from enzymes introduced into the body. Some can
utilize the enzymes in yogurt, some beer, others bread." She sighed
sitting back in her chair and rubbing her eyes beneath her glasses. "It's
a fucking nightmare. Just do your best for now."
	"Do you SWEAR to...." Tucker started and was quickly cut off.
	"I never swear to anything Stone." She said facing him directly.
"The best I can do is: I promise not to lie any more than I absolutely
have to."
	"Oh fuck it." He said sitting down and crossing his arms.
	"Gimme three rules guys." She said stacking papers on her desk.
	"Huh?" Roland said, somewhat amazed she had taken him off guard.
	"Gimme three rules."
	"Oh! Uh, respect other peoples rules, but don't try to live by
them. Take courage and responsibility for what you are doing." Roland said
trying to remember what he was taught in his first six months at the
academy.
	"That's one." She said shortly. "Gimme two more Stone."
	"There is no such thing as proof." He said angrily.
	"And?"
	"People drift to where the money is. Money means drugs." He said
grinding his teeth together. "God. What a dink."
	"That's good." She nodded. "You can go now. I just wanted you to
know that when she gets here, she may pull the same shit on you. So be
ready or be gone."
	"Got it Cap'n!" Roland smiled, standing up and following an angry
Stone out of the office.
	"Caulder!" She barked at him.
	"Yeah Cap'n?"
	"Come back in here and shut the goddamed door." She said tossing a
stack of papers on the desk and leaning back in her big leather chair.
"Is he going to be ok?" She asked in a quieter, more gentle voice after
Roland closed the office door.
	"Oh yeah." Roland nodded smiling. "He's just frustrated like
everyone else. He'll whine a while and then he'll be fine in about ten
minutes."
	"Good. Glad to know you can handle him. No one else will work with
him because he's such a hot head." She said staring him in the eye.  "It's
not turning into anything 'Close' is it?" She asked seriously.  "That's
all I'd need to finish up a good team."
	"No!" Roland laughed. "Nothing like that at all Helen." He smiled.
"He's really just a big kid is all. He's getting better though."
	"Say, speaking of kids, When you're out on foot patrol work on our
image. Make friends with the public. Especially the kids and the business
owners." She said pouring them both a cup of thick black coffee from an
expresso machine. "The Spin Doctors in Spin Control are saying our image
is improving. I want that to continue. Happy taxpayers are generous
taxpayers. And DAMN do we need funding."
	"Sure thing." Roland nodded, accepting the cup. "What's with the
kids though? I mean, they're our biggest problem right now."
	"The biggest problem is that their parents don't pay any attention
to them. They turn them out into the streets, just like a farmer turns his
cattle out to pasture. To fend for themselves." She explained. "We're
going to try to switch adolescents from dependents on society to
responsible citizens."
	"You're kidding." Roland looked at her pessimistically, sipping the
heavy black brew.
	"The first requirement of society HAS to be to show adults that
THEY compromise it's life. The first rites of puberty SHOULD establish in
the individual a system of sentiments that are appropriate to that
society. Things like Integrity, trust, honesty, and patriotism. Those
troublemaker kids out there aren't getting it from home, so we're going to
have to instill it in them. The CyberForms you'll be working with already
have these ideas programmed in to them."
	"So don't be surprised when they start buddying up to the kids?"
	"Exactly." She nodded. "Race, Age, Gender, we're all VERY different
people genetically Roland. Though we all have needs of achievement,
affiliation, and power. We're going to start using these things to our
advantage and see if we can't clean up this town."
	"Kansas City isn't THAT bad." Roland countered. "But yeah, I get
the gist of what you're saying. Create situations that are friendly.
That's not easy in the 'I'll-get-you-before-you-get-me' atmosphere of the
street. It's unusual anyway. And as for teaching them something along the
way, THAT'S going to be a challenge."
	"Fine. See you at lunch. Bring your big baby friend out there if
you want." She nodded, half smiling. "Now. Get the hell out of my office."
	"Bye!" He said gently closing the door and smiling to himself. He
walked across the squad room nodding to friends and acquaintances he had
known over the years past, making his way to the little area where he and
Tucker Stone kept their desks face to face. Once he stepped into the
privacy field, Tucker was ready for him.
	"How do you get along with her so easily?" Stone asked still fuming
over his confrontation with their captain. "It's this SAME THING every
morning!"
	"She just does it because she knows it gets to you Stone." Roland
explained smiling. "She's not really trying to piss you off, she's just
teasing around with you, pushing at your buttons. It's her way of letting
you know she's in control here. She's actually a very nice woman, once you
get to know her." He said putting on his bullet-proof vest, and securing
the velcro straps around his chest, arms and waist. "She's doing her part
out there too you know."
	"She's a Bitch as far as I'm concerned." Tucker snarled, curling a
lip in disgust as he looked over at her talking on the phone, and
continued getting dressed for the street, so he and Roland could walk
their beat. "A DYKE Bitch."
	"Well, that Dyke Bitch is buying us lunch today." Roland smiled.
"She owes me for a bet. Come on. Let's go." He said strapping a heavy auto
pistol to his other leg, and sliding his arm through the sling that held
an automatic shotgun and tossing a box of clips in the air and catching
them behind his back.
	"You ain't the boss of me." Stone said peevishly, teasing him. "I
thought we were taking a foot beat today. From city office to city office
compound."
	"We will after lunch." Roland explained. "First thing we have to
take the new CyberForms out and program them for DownTown." He nodded at
the four huge men standing in black pants and orange T-shirts pulled
tightly over their massive chests.
	"I don't want to walk in back." Stone said finishing snapping on
his holster. "I always have to walk in back."
	"Ok Tucker." Roland said rolling his eyes. "You can walk up front
with me." He smiled. "But you'll have to get one of the CyberForms to
carry the cellular computer and the med-kit."
	"Fine with me." Stone said following his friend through the crowded
room with what appeared to be four huge steroid produced muscle men in
tow.
	As they walked through the room, the butt of Stone's Auto-shotgun
bumped against someone's desk and knocked a stack of files off. Out of the
corner of his eye, Roland saw the heavy stack start to tumble into the
floor and then suddenly, within a split second, the CyberForm that was
directly behind Stone grabbed the stacked and steadied them, gently
pushing them back further from the edge. As quickly as it all happened, it
was over.
	"Wouldn't want the same thing to happen again." The CyberForm
called Nash said smiling, pushing them back out of the way. "It would be a
hell of a mess."
	"Yeah." Roland said stunned at the speed at which the CyberForm
reacted. "Thanks Nash." He said slowly as he looked at Tucker.
	"I'm just glad they don't let the bastards carry guns." Stone
shuddered, speaking in a low voice.
	"Yeah." Roland breathed staring at the CyberForm cautiously.





From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 05/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:51:49 -0500

Chance Three
	The security guards high above them had already Id'ed the two of
them and ok'ed their entrance, long before either of them had even spotted
the guards in their booths high above, linked by thin catwalks which
stretched across the expanse of the second level of the room, up near the
ceiling.  Without looking, Chance knew the Security guards well, most by
their first names, and knew they each had 10mm Uzi automatics trained on
Tom and himself, and would have cut them down had they not been authorized
access to the center.
	Inside, past the air-locks of glass doors, was bustling with
activity. The room was cavernous. It was two levels, though the upper
level was only a very wide balcony level of offices that extended around
the room. In the center of the room was a glassed-in room on a platform
that was raised to the second level, with only a single staircase leading
up to it. From that platform, which was the office where Chance & Arnaud
had their desks, you could see absolutely everything going on in both
levels of offices surrounding it.
	Chance and Tom stood for a second trying to get their bearings in
the commotion of screens blaring all around the room, desks with multiple
terminals on them demanding attention, and people hurrying around the room
some with papers in hand, some with clipboards, and all with a sense of
urgent intensity in their faces.
	"Home sweet home." Chance smiled at Tom.
	"See ya later?" Tom asked rhetorically, flipping his ID up at the
guard who scanned it quicker than a human could read it, without
cybernetic modifications, and heading off for his department which was on
the lower level of the east side of the room.
	"Not if I see you first." Chance smiled at him, taking Tom off
guard a moment, until he realized Chance was just teasing.
	"Good morning Kyle." Chance nodded to a big man with a clipboard
who sat at a podium on a stool beside the door entrance, looking very
sharp in his uniform, and menacing with the Uzi clipped to the podium,
beside his leg, within quick reach.
	"Mr. Marchenko." The huge man nodded seriously.
	Chance walked to the middle of the busy room, nodding hellos to
most everyone, since he knew them all by first name, and most, he knew
even more details about them than they chose to reveal to him. As Owner
and operator of Full Disclosure, it was his JOB to know as much about them
as possible. After all, some of the things they were working on went way
beyond top secret. And he needed people he knew he could trust.
	Walking up the stairs that led to the center platform, he found
the thin man in the wrinkled suit and slender tie, whom he had spoken to
earlier this morning in ComWeb, with the prize-winning smile, and the hair
that he never combed with anything more than the fingers of his hand.
	"Good Morning Arnaud." Chance said smiling as he sat down, his own
desk butted up against and facing his friends. They had much more room in
the central office than the two of them needed, or could possibly use, but
to Chance, their arrangement just felt more comfortable this way.
	"Good morning Chance." The thin dark haired man answered, lighting
an unfiltered Galoises.
	"Where do you get those around here?" Chance asked curiously.
	"At the Tobacconist over at Crown Center. He has a supplier in
Toronto." He explained holding out the pack. "Want one?"
	"No thanks. I tried 'em." Chance said screwing up his face. "I
think they make them out of the garbage tobacco. I'll stick to Davidoff's
Magnums." He smiled, lighting one of his own as he logged on to his
personal terminal.
	"Still nothing happening." The thin man said sitting down on the
corner of Chance's desk. I got about a dozen new applications though this
morning just since six o'clock." He said with a serious look on his face.
"A few of them have appointments with you."
	"No shit?" Chance sighed, sitting back in his office chair. "Damn."
	"Why do you think you're personally responsible to see to the
employment of every kid with a computer and a little talent in this city?"
Arnaud asked, letting his annoyance in Chance show through.
	"Just because." Chance said low. "In adolescence, the individual
has a sense of potentiality within himself, that has to throw off that
primary mask that society has put on them and find the Antithetical mask,
the mask contrary to society." He tried explaining himself. "They're not
allowed to follow the antithetical; the primary is like a cookie mold on
them." He said, trying to get his point across to his friend. "But this is
the struggle." He continued. "If the family, or society opposes it, it
becomes fierce, but with gradual yielding and attention the young person
can learn his own possibilities and what they can do for him. It's the
proper way Arnaud."
	"You're just wanting to tame the genius in them." Arnaud smiled.
"Don't bullshit me Chance."
	"You gotta admit it's better to have them on your side than against
you." Chance smiled. "And what better target for some young hacker than a
Data Haven? I'd rather have them fighting for ME."
	"True, True." Arnaud nodded bleary eyed. "Well, I'm gone." He
yawned. "I'll see you tonight."
	"Ok Arnaud." Chance smiled. "I'll see you tonight." He said as the
man left him alone in the glass box suspended in the middle of the room.
	"Mr. Marchenko?" Came the voice of one of his security officers
over the speakers in the room.
	"Yeah Kyle?" He said looking in the direction of the entrance he
had just come in a few moments ago, taking off both jackets he had on, and
separating the outer one to examine it's contents.
	"There's a Mr. Gillette Kamekona here to see you. He says he has an
appointment. I'm not showing him as being added to the list." The big man
said in a voice that betrayed his disappointment, which translated as
anger, at not having the man on his list.
	Chance glanced down, and saw Arnaud looking up at him nodding his
head and pointing at the stranger, as he turned again and walked on out
the glass doors, past the scene.
	"It's ok Kyle." Chance nodded down at him. "Arnaud just forgot to
put him on the list."
	"Yes sir." The man said quietly, nodding at the stranger to pass.
	Chance looked up, as did the stranger, at the many faces scanning
him from the ceiling. High up, from their excellent vantage point, several
security officers had their weapons drawn on him, their red laser dots
tracking his chest and head, as another had come up from seemingly nowhere
close behind him.
	If the man had made so much as a slight move towards a weapon, or
tried to stray from the path clearly marked out for him, far from the
offices around the room, he would have died. Everyone in the room knew
that. So, tense and sweating, he climbed the few stairs to open the door
and trembling, shook hands with Chance. "Thanks Teresa." He told the guard
that had quietly followed the man in his trek across the room.
	"Gillette Kamekona?" Chance smiled, offering the man a seat.
	"Yes." He nodded.
	"I'm sorry I wasn't prepared for you Mr.Kamekona, I just got here
myself. Could you fill me in on why you needed to see me?" Chance asked,
quickly accessing the file left for him by Arnaud.
	"I just go by Gillette." He said simply. "I'm here to work for you.
If there are any openings."
	"I see." Chance nodded looking he man over. The man who was
obviously of Hawaiian descent, couldn't have been over nineteen, and
probably closer to sixteen, but that meant nothing except that he was
probably up on a lot more of the newer tek out there than most of the
older people Chance had working for him. Still, age had nothing to do with
need, skill, or ability.
	"Do you pack a piece Gillette?" Chance asked curiously, noticing
that the man was slightly uncomfortable.
	"Yes." He said looking down at Kyle at the door. "It was taken away
from me though."
	"What kind?" Chance asked making small talk.
	"A Tech-9." Gillette said confused. "What does that have to do with
working in a DataHaven?"
	"So you DO understand what this place is then?" Chance asked him
squarely. "That this isn't just another shop?"
	"Yes." Gillette nodded seriously.
	"Good." Chance nodded. "Cause the rules here are a bit different as
you'll find out, if I hire you on. First of all, what can you show me that
can convince me that you're not a Fed?" Chance asked, staring him down.
	The young man thought for a moment, began to speak a couple of
different times, and then simply said: "Nothing." Looking like he was
defeated.
	"Don't worry about it." Chance smiled at him. "It's the right
answer. I have only your word. So. Are you a Fed?"
	"No." He shook his head seriously.
	"Do you now or have you ever worked for the Nation of Breadbasket
or the city of Kansas City?" Chance continued as he accessed his terminal
in front of him.
	"No, not exactly." The young man balked.
	"What EXACTLY?" Chance asked sitting back in his chair. "Why don't
you tell me about it."
	"I worked for Equifax for a while." He explained. "Kansas City was
one of our major clients. I handled the account."
	"I see." Chance nodded. "Are you a loner Gillette?"
	"Yes." He nodded seriously.
	"You kind of give off that impression." Chance smiled warmly.  "You
have nothing to fear here you know. We're the good guys."
	"So I've been told." He said warily. "It's not what I was taught
though."
	"Who told you about us?" Chance asked curiously.
	"A guy that goes by the name of 'Silver Spoon'." He explained. "I
ran a few makes on different people for him for a few extra bucks to get
by on, until I could find work, and he said that you'd probably be
interested in some of my talents as a Netrunner. I couldn't find out much
about you, so naturally I was curious to meet you."
	"His real name by the way is Silas Ferris." Chance smiled. "And
yes, I'm always looking for more people. If they're the right type."
	"Well, " Gillette began uneasily. "I don't really know what to tell
you about myself...I've been miserable most of my life because I always
thought that intelligence should win out over good looks. Now, at 25, I've
adjusted to the truth and see that in the end, I actually HAVE won in the
sense that, like my peers, I could be 25 and stupid."
	Chance laughed out loud and smiled at him. "That's good. I like
that." He said looking the man over once again. "Well Gillette, you see,
there is no employment form we fill out here. We both know how pointless
those are." He said glancing at the stranger. "We'll end up finding out
everything there is to know about you anyway." Chance smiled. "The way
this works is, You and I sit and talk for a while, and then we decided
together if we're right for each other. So, what else can you tell me
about what you know, or how you work? Tell me things about yourself that I
wouldn't find in documentation somewhere."
	"Actually Mr.Marchenko, the best thing I can think of to tell you
about myself is that I'm a smart man, with integrity, and little or no
sense of humor." Gillette said with a straight face.
	Chance laughed out loud again, more at his own embarrassment, than
the humor in the mans statement. "Ok guy. I won't tease you then.  What do
you know of the Computer intrusion act?"
	"Next to nothing." The man said seriously. "It's old, it was
outdated when they wrote it. Untouched for about sixty years now, I
think."
	"Good." Chance nodded. "Because it's the first rule we throw out
here. What was it exactly that Silas thought I might be interested in
about you? Evidently you've done something that you've told him about, or
he wouldn't have referred you to me."
	"Well, " Gillette said shifting uncomfortably in the chair. "When I
was let go from Equifax, I kind of left a logic bomb behind. One that will
go off in about three months, on the date of my birthday."
	"Really?" Chance asked as his eyes began to brighten. "Tell me
about it."
	"Well, " The Hawaiian man began, shifting again.
	"Don't worry about it. I'm not going to betray your secret."
Chance smiled. "I just want to know how your mind works."
	"On my birthday, their system will check for my account. If it's
still there, it will ask a question that only I know the answer to. Since
I'm fired of course, there will be no one there to answer it, which will
start a long virus that will begin erasing blocks of data from the
system."
	"How?" Chance asked sitting forward with his elbows on his knees.
	"After the first couple of blocks of data go, they'll start looking
for a virus. So, they'll switch to the next substation grid to look for
it. When they type in the command "Check for deleted matrices."  the word
'DELETE' will key the main virus." He explained. "It leads to shutting the
entire system down and deleting all data. If after the virus has begun
they access the personnel file, it will wipe itself."
	"So explain this viral chain to me." Chance encouraged him.
	"It's put into the printers as a series of logic bombs." Gillette
explained.




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 06/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:53:25 -0500

Roland Three
	Roland eyed the DownTown crowd with growing suspicion and watched
the readout on the laser scanner as he shot beams into the distance at
different people, turning up his collar against the wind as they walked
the streets of the Executive Center.
	The slick wet streets were lined in dirty slush, reflecting neon
dreams from the shops, bright sparkling islands beneath the dark ominous
shadows of the towering super-structures surrounding them in the icy
morning. Neon promises of joys that would never be delivered to the
satisfaction of the buyer, but still within the limitations of the
honesty-in-advertising laws. Hardware that would make you a 'better' human
being, software that would make you think you are better, and wetware that
promised both but delivered neither.
	The streetek shops along Tenth & Baltimore were bustling with
activity despite the rain mixed with snow that seemed to have been going
on for three days straight, and never quite washing the grit and greasy
grime from the city.
	The group of officers human and CyberForm both, walked through the
crowds, past the shops of Body Invasion techniques and hardware of
prosthetic limbs, designed for the disabled or the desiring, where there
was always something newer available and more 'advanced' than last years
tek.
	Implanted Circuitry that would hardwire a person as his own
personal computer or let him interface with any of a million devices out
in the world. Cosmetic surgery shops where anything could be fixed, or
broken, depending on the style and fashion this month. Last month bruises
were big, and Revlon stock soared. Genetic Alteration shops were there as
well, for those who preferred a more organic look to their modifications.
	Along they went, eyeing suspicious persons, running scans on the
public's bar-code PINS that were supposed to be stuck on their upper right
chests, according to form, but which so many seemed to 'forget'.
Especially if they had a record of something they didn't want the cops to
know about.
	Providing that the public were in a cooperative mood, it was a
simple matter of shooting a laser scanner gun at the PIN bar-code sticker
on the persons chest, and reading out on the hand terminal who they were
and usually gave a good guess as to what they were doing there, if they
were wanted or should be stopped for questioning.
	It was when people weren't feeling so cooperative, refusing to
wear the PIN bar-code sticker in a prominent area, or at all, when the
group had to resort to stopping people and questioning them. This was what
was popularly known as "harassment". Roland tried to avoid it as much as
possible.
	Behind Roland and Stone, the CyberForms smiled cheerfully as rain
and snow poured down them, nodding neighborly at faces that did not appear
happy at all with those around them, or the weather, or the Christmas
season, or the presence of the Cops. Cops meant harassment.
	"What are you up to Willy?" Roland asked a skinny man in a
trench-coat who was looking the other direction and hadn't noticed them
walking up to him.
	"Nothing! I swear it!" Willy said pulling his hands out of his
pockets and holding them up as if that were proof enough. "Oh man.
Roland." He gulped.
	"Now Willy, you know what I've told you about selling downtown."
Roland said disappointed.  "Hand it over." He sighed.
	"Huh?" Willy said wide-eyed and innocent looking.
	"Frisk him Nash." Stone snapped, standing back and aiming his
automatic shotgun at the skinny man, eyeing him evilly from behind the
glowing red targeting sight that suddenly appeared in his left eye.
	"Oh man." Willy whined. "I do NOT need this shit right now."
	The CyberForm did as he was told, producing several tiny various
colored bags of powder from the pockets of the long coat.
	"Is that all of it, or am I going to have to take you in?" Roland
asked calmly. "You're just selling cut Ice today?" Roland asked
suspiciously, arching an eyebrow with a smile.
	"Here." The dealer said disgustedly, producing an envelope from an
inside pocket.  "You're robbing me you know."
	Roland was mildly surprised that the CyberForm Nash had missed it
during his search.
	"Why don't you do as you're told Willy and we wouldn't have to take
it away?" Roland asked him as if speaking to a child, putting his hand on
Tuckers gun, stressing for him to lower the shotgun. "Just stay out in the
suburbs or the outer moderate zone, off our beat, and we'll leave you
alone." He explained simply. "I can't make it any simpler than that."
	"You know I can't make no money out there Roland." Willy whined, as
if it might change Rolands mind. "DownTown it's happenin'."
	"Sorry, but there are a lot of legit dealers with very expensive
licenses, paying sixty percent taxes that are coming down on US Willy."
Roland said taking the dope from the CyberForm and dropping it into the
gutter. "You're cutting into their profits, so we gotta come down on you."
He explained easily. They all stood watching it as several hundred dollars
in assorted drugs floated down stream in the dirty slush and into the
storm drain.
	"Damn. There goes my rent." Willy hissed through his teeth. "Can I
GO?" He asked angrily.
	"Yeah." Roland sighed, knowing the man would head straight for his
distributor. "You can go. Keep it out of my beat though." He warned.
	"Sure Willy!" Stone smiled at him. "We don't want to detain you, in
this, our Holiday Season."
	"You're an asshole Stone. You know that?" Willy spat. "Roland I
forgive because he's just some poor dumb stiff trying to make a living and
survive. But you Stone, are a true asshole." He grumbled as he walked off,
shrugging the coat up on his shoulders, and ducking into the wind that was
blowing icy knifes into their faces. "So much for the golden land of
opportunity." He growled.
	"Merry Christmas Willy!" Stone called, as the man disappeared in to
the bustling crowd. "Sorry we didn't get to go in and do the glove thing.
Maybe next time."
	"Ok, ok, Stone." Roland winced.
	"I swear, that guy is as hard to figure as a Chinese speed freak."
Stone just grinned a moment and then shrugged down deeper into his coat as
dirty and probably toxic snow landed on his eyelashes, making him blink.
"Doesn't this weather bother you guys at all?" He asked the CyberForms who
stood calmly by in their orange T-shirts, their big arms crossed over
their massive chests, oblivious to the weather, and still smiling as if
they were having a great time.
	"No." Nash shook his head. "Should it?" He asked smiling.
	"You could at least LOOK miserable." Stone grumbled.
	They continued down the sidewalk of hundreds of faces, some angry
at their presence, while others actually looked relieved to see them there
in uniform. Very strange. There must be a gang in the are. Roland thought
to himself, looking around at the faces of the crowd, reading it like a
barometer, and scanning for any of the two dozen distinct gangs that ran
through and fought over this area. Most of the gangs live in The Core, a
deliberately unsupervised are up next to The Wall, where humanity was at
it's lowest point on the planet.
	The Mind Invasion shops seemed equally as busy during the
Christmas shopping season as any of the other stores and shops. The
underground mall must be packed. Roland thought to himself. Or else there
would be this many people on the streets. Of course, with a growing world
population of 13 Billion, there wasn't much room for anyone these days.
	Brain-Computer Interface shops offered cut rate (Actually hiked up
their prices just before Halloween) prices on their wares. Artificial
Intelligence shops offered newer and better programs available for the
home. Programs that Chance often referred to as 'User-Hateful'.
Neurochemistry shops offering the absolute latest in brain chemical
realities, all absolutely proven and tested.
	Yeah, Roland smirked, on poor people who had no way of making any
money except by selling themselves as guinea pigs. And THAT was just the
legit way of doing it. Other companies had been found to infect whole
populations just to watch the reaction and of course, clean up on profits
by offering the antidote to whatever horror they had introduced into the
minds of the populace. We're redefining humanity. Roland thought drearily
as they continued walking around the blocks that were their beat for the
morning.
	All around them was technology at the touch. People so packed with
Hardware, Software and Wetware that they vaguely resembled that which they
came into the world as. Personal computers slung over the shoulder or hung
around the neck, Sony Walk-2000 personal Mainframe systems, Flashchip
units in neon colors, strung on black plastic neck-straps, or stuck in the
shirt pockets for those too queasy about getting hardwired themselves. The
Flashchip units enabled the user with Zeiss contacts, clarity in vision,
magnification, and speed reading. Ear plugs, as well as contact leads
wired to taste and olfactory centers, from the units memory, for touch
taste and smell. Enhancement or deletion. Basically, they were the most
popular cybernetic modifications crammed into a box the size of a pack of
cigarettes. So the user "could maintain their humanity."
	The popular little boxes even had parameter sensors that would
notify the user of impending collision or if someone was rushing up behind
them. It would also accurately judge distance for them if they were blind.
	They provided music, video, books, computing, memory, peripheral
access, news updates from the media of your choice (Radio, Newspaper, TV,
VR) as well as offering library cellular access, interface through the
Zeiss lenses, buffer processing for greater access and later processing,
and Person-to-Person interface if the owner of the unit was so brave.
They had recording ability, playback of flashchip programs (Only 3 at a
time though, unlike 10 in a Chip Interface unit that was installed in the
chest) which included of course, the ever-popular Personality Flashchips.
Become anyone you want to be. Also available were Modifiers or assumption
chips, Cellular access to satellites through Uplink towers, sharing of
group minds if the user was so stupid, notebook chips that would take
notes automatically, therapy chips, and electronic telepathy through
add-on Sony-Crosslinks. Price: $194.00 Cheap! Needless to say, the public
of course was saturated with personal technology. This made Rolands job
all that much tougher. He paused a moment.
	"We better enter an update." He told Stone, who typed in for an
update back at the station on the cellular system he had over his
shoulder, and then entered the encounter they had just had with "Willy",
and that currently, all was well.
	"Everything was fine back at the station." Tucker commented.
	"Great." Roland said, rubbing lightly at his own soft contact
lenses.
	"Headache?" Stone asked as he pulled out a pain-killer drug patch
from the med-kit he carried and handed it to Roland.
	"Thanks." Roland smiled as he peeled the back off of it and stuck
it to his own throat. "I think it's just the weather. Sinuses or
something." He shrugged as they continued walking.
	"With the shit we're breathing out here, who knows?" Stone
commented.
	"Yeah." Roland agreed squinting up at the greasy and gritty film
covering the buildings towering above them and clung to every exposed
surface around them, making even the halogen street lights that weren't
broken appear dimmer than they should have been.
	They stopped at a street vendor and bought "coffee" or what was
passing for such these days, and tried to find a small corner of shelter
against the elements standing up close to the wall of the old Merchants
Bank, now a VR theater, after years of being an adult bookstore, which was
actually just the facade of the original building, only a corner of the
Conrad Tower which rose over 300 stories into the sky and took up the
whole block.
	Most of the older buildings of DownTown were now only facades to
the larger super structures behind them. Pretty fronts and corners to
super towers that now contained contemporary interiors. For the first few
stories the city appeared "quaint" with that old world charm of antiquity,
but looking up above them, one could see the true city, the new city, that
soared in executive towers hundreds of stories in the sky.
	Roland curled a lip in disgust, but enjoyed the buzz the simulated
coffee of caffeine and artificial flavorings would eventually give him
anyway.
	"You guys go walk around a while." Roland instructed the
CyberForms. "We're on our break for a couple of minutes."
	"Yes sir." Nash nodded and instructed his three friends using the
police hand/sign language they had been taught, to each take a separate
street to walk up and down on the immediate block.
	"Were they giving you the creeps or something?" Stone smiled
sipping the strange brew that steamed up in his face in a thick cloud.
	"Nah."




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 07-a/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:55:12 -0500

Chance Four
	Chance eyed the new man Gillette across the room and thought to
himself. I wonder how much the guy actually DOES know about the privacy
game? Does he know just how much of a persons 'assumed privacy' there is
for sale out there for the right price? Does he realize just how much of
his soul is bared out there in the ethereal interface of The Net? Does he
know that the cost of ComWeb Shadow, to find REAL privacy, is far higher
today than it's ever been?
	As if he had heard him, Gillette looked up and into the eyes of
Chance. Taking advantage of the situation, Chance crooked his index finger
up and sighting along it, called the man over with a motion.
	Selling the media footage of this morning's transportation crashes
was out of the way, along with the appointments, (he ended up hiring only
two of twelve) and so he didn't have much to do in the afternoon except
check on everyone else and make sure they were doing ok, or if they needed
anything.
	Chance watched Gillette curiously, as the man walked down the
stairs from the balcony offices and crossed the room filled with hundreds
of the fat squat DataCores that were the extra, liquid crystal storage
they used on-site.
	The actual main system storage itself was in an underground
limestone cavern several miles out in the suburb of Independence, under
the 291 Light Rail System. That was "just in case" someone was to think
Full Disclosure would be so stupid as to keep the actual data on-site and
want to take them out with a bomb. It wasn't unheard of these days.
	Especially a very hated company with a reputation like they had at
Full Disclosure. People didn't always appreciate the real facts. Truth was
something relative, and sometimes was best left undisturbed amid the dusty
and crumbling hard copy paper records of the last century, and the laser
etched disks of the current one.
	He looked across the vast expanse of the quietly humming room and
thought back to when it was just himself and Arnaud, working together as
friends, just larking around the data nets, hustling talent where they
could to others who had the idea but not the skill, using little PC
mainframes they kept at Arnaud's apartment, the constant unspoken thought
that they would someday run across some fat chunk of virgin credit out
there on the fringes, just begging to be dropped into their own accounts,
like apples waiting patiently to be picked.
	That was a long time ago.
	"Hey Tony, can you come in here a second?" Chance called out the
door of his office to a man who was standing down on the floor, examining
the face of one of the DataCores near the foot of the stairs that led up
to Chance's office.
	"Sure Chance." Tony nodded, politely motioning for Gillette to take
the lead, and following him up the stairs.
	As they entered, Chance waved them to seats.
	"So how's it's going?" Chance asked Gillette curiously.
	"Fine." Gillette nodded. "I finished taking out the virus as you
requested, and I'm working on putting together a make on the Id's. So far,
it's telling an interesting story." He smiled. "Where did you get all of
that stuff?"
	"Great." Chance smiled, waving Gillettes question safely away.
"Tony, this is Gillette, I want you to show him some of your stuff.
Gillette, this is our own Michaelangelo."
	"Sure Chance." Tony Michaelangelo smiled. "Like, what EXACTLY do
you want me to show him?"
	"Show him the in's and out's of a home's dedicated lines" Chance
said thoughtful. "You know, your fourteen ways you can get into someone's
home after you know where they live."
	"Fourteen?" Gillette asked incredulous. "I knew of three, the Fax,
the Computer line and the VR-computer line, but FOURTEEN?"
	"Sure." Tony nodded smiling brightly as he explained to Gillette.
"There's also the audio only phone, the VR phone line, Newspaper line,
audio/video cable Tv line, Library Reference line, audio/video Video
library line, the Government access line, audio/video 911-emergency line,
Music library line, VR entertainment line and the utilities billing line."
	"Tony can show you how to get in to their home systems if they're
still in an area that uses fiberoptics or, if, like DownTown in the
executive center, they're using cellular Local Area Networks." Chance
commented proudly.
	"I would never have thought that some of those were two-way data
lines." Gillette said amazed. "I'd be glad to learn how you work that."
He said appreciatively.
	"Sure." Tony nodded smiling. "Anything else Chance?"
	"Nah, that ought to keep you guys busy for the rest of the day."
Chance said as they got up to leave. "Is there anything you're working on
you can't put aside for a little training class? Or anything I could
handle for you?"
	"Nope." Tony shook his head. "I was just bullshitting around. I was
fixing to go home myself, but since you've got a reason for me to stick
around, I will."
	"If you got time, before you guys get tired and decide to go home,
go over some of the newer VR techniques with him." Chance said on second
thought not for sure how fast the new man could learn. "Show him how the
Feds are wanting to start controlling criminal behavior by slipping
subliminals into the VR stream."
	"You mean that thing with stopping shoplifting through the use of
subliminals?" Tony asked furrowing his brow.
	"Yeah." Chance nodded solemnly. "It's better than propaganda if the
controllers use the right neural cut-outs." He explained. "That's when
they'll start using it against the rest of us. Like NOT seeing Toxic
waste, or Poverty, or Dilapidation?" He almost said in a snarl. "I don't
care if people buy chips that will give that sort of fantasy to them,
hell, there's nothing better than a stiff drink to help you forget your
troubles." He shrugged. "That's VOLUNTARY though. I just don't want the
government shoving pretty little fantasy worlds into everyone's heads."
He said vehemently. "I want to be ready for them."
	"Right." Tony said in serious agreement. "I'll also show him some
of the personalized Icons we use in our VR systems, and our VR keyboard."
He paused.  "We have a system of visual typing without the user having to
have biochip inserts." Tony explained to Gillette who stood fascinated.
	"Also, you could help in teaching him how to visualize and
comprehend multidimensional worlds in VR, first through using spread
sheets, then move him on into physics theory." Chance said thoughtfully.
"So he'll at least be able to recognize their patterns once he's in the
system.
	"Ok." Tony nodded.
	"I guess you'll also have to show him our version of the VISOR that
uses multiple inputs and how we simulate VR signals we pick up from
satellite transmissions. You can use the simulated telescope's microwave
link to Hubble." Chance added. "I think Becky's done with it by now. She
might be playing around with it. If she's just screwing around watching
stars, make her give up the line."
	"I knew Virtual Reality had gone more visual/mental, for the self,
as opposed to visual/remote operations of robotics, but some of the stuff
you just described sounds incredible!" Gillette said amazed.
	"Oh yeah." Tony said as the began to leave Chance's office. "I'll
show you what I'm currently working on too. I'm trying to show that by
using a Free-Jack soul bank, The Breadbasket Rand Shop wouldn't constantly
be losing it's best agents." He explained as they descended the stairs
together. "Constant re-saves to laserdisk or flashchip, then dumping the
store into a clone, would create a unit or an army of ultimate warriors
that would effectively be immortal." He said as they began crossing the
room. "Of course the same would be true for several castes as long as they
had access to the tek. Also, I've shown how AI's can go in and slip
programs into say, the Presidents store and insure it's own mortality that
way. You know, slip the old man a hint that he NEEDS the AI for some
reason, by writing it into the storage medium, so the next time he's
revived, bingo!"
	Chance smiled, glad to know that the two were going to get along
so well, when suddenly his personal phone rang inside his head.
	"Yeah?" He answered, sliding his awareness into the cellular
datastream of the network, feeling it tug at his mind, demanding more and
more of his attention as he continued typing a memo to the marketing
department.
	"Chance?" Came the image of the Fixer, Jerry Bones, all dressed up
in his urban flash outfit, that Chance actually DID see him wear one time.
	"Yeah Jerry." Chance said in the Virtual Reality link that had him
sitting behind his desk in the blackness of the cellular network.  Even
though the image showed him as busy as he really was, it was at least more
polite than showing no image at all. That was simply rude.
	"I got a flash for you. It's worth a bundle." Jerry Bones said
nervously looking around, as if someone might see them. For a moment,
Chance thought that perhaps, Jerry might REALLY be concerned from the tone
in his voice.
	"So how much do you want?" Chance asked, knowing that Jerry would
ask for twice as much as he really expected, and Chance would offer him
only half of what he was really going to pay.
	"You know how much information costs these days." Jerry hinted.  "I
have to re-coup my investment. And this is BIG man." He emphasized.
"That's why I always bring my stuff to you instead of that cheap bastard
Arnaud."
	Chance usually didn't like doing business with Jerry Bones when he
was strung out on speed, but he did seem sincere.
	"So how's a thousand sound?" Chance began the bidding at the level
of the quality of information he usually got from Jerry Bones.  Chance had
found over the years that he was a VERY reliable source on a wide variety
of subjects. Most of Chance's informants got only a tenth of that amount.
	"No no no man." Jerry threw up his hands seriously. "I mean REALLY
BIG!" He tried explaining. "We're talking a Million NuYen in Cash."
	"Oh please!" Chance laughed out loud, truly amused. "Jerry, you're
high man. Call me back when you come down. I don't pay that kind of money
to ANYONE for ANYTHING even if I COULD get a hold of that much free cash.
I don't give a shit if you got first hand, the Second Coming of Christ."
	"Ok look." Jerry said nervously. "I'll go ahead and give it to you
this time, and then you can just pay me what you think it's worth."
	Chance immediately stopped typing at his terminal and looked
directly at Jerry Bones. This WAS serious. The Fixer had NEVER done
business with him like THIS before. He just wasn't the trusting type.
	"What are you talking about Jerry?" Chance said seriously, kicking
shut the door to his office, shutting himself off in a sound proof booth
where even his security guards couldn't hear him, with even THEIR hyped up
senses. "What's going on? Are you in some kind of trouble?"
	"No no man. It's nothing like that." Jerry said shaking his head
firmly.
	"Then what's with you man?" Chance asked frowning. "You know that
you and I have NEVER done business like this before. Now what's the shit?"
	"Look. Ok, Let's say twenty grand?" Jerry said impatiently.  "How's
that?"
	"Five." Chance said flatly.
	"Ok. Ten. Great." Jerry nodded to himself, unable to contain the
information.
	"First of all, where are you?" Chance asked calling up a map of the
city.
	"Would you believe The Republic of Texas?" Jerry laughed nervously.
"I'm in fucking Austin of all places. Can you believe it?"
	"Hang on a second." Chance said nervously putting Jerry on hold in
the VR realm and quickly picking up an Audio-only phone on his desk.
"Carla?" He said into it, turning in his chair and looking over at her
seated in her office. "I'm talking with someone in the Republic of Texas.
Austin specifically. I'm not sure of the address but he's on-line right
now."
	"Yes?" The woman asked coolly from the other end.
	"I need an absolutely secure line. Ok?" Chance asked clearly and
patiently, taking all precautions. "However, I want you to watch the line,
but DON'T listen in and I want it all dumped to a flashchip store."
	"Sure Chance." She said as he heard the sound of keys on her
keyboard clacking in the background. "Your down-link chip number still the
same?" She asked casually.
	"Yeah."
	"Ok. I got you." She said as Jerry Bones's image flickered for a
moment. "Go ahead Chance."
	"Thanks." He said to her.
	"Jerry?" He asked the man who had been impatiently waiting.
	"Where the fuck WERE you man?" Jerry demanded. "I could be bugged."
	"I've got us on a secure line now. It's scrambled." Chance assured
him. "It's cool now."
	"No. It's not. Nothing is going to be cool for a long time."
Jerry shook his head.  "Ok, listen to this. The government of the
Republic of Texas is getting ready to announce that they're going to
change the color of their cash from red to blue. Right? They're afraid
too much is floating around in their black market right now." He quickly
explained. "Meanwhile, behind the scenes, they're making out like bandits.'




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 07-b/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:56:14 -0500

"Listen man." Jerry nervously explained. "Their Texas Rangers, well a
branch of them, that functions kinda like the CIA, is going to be in
control when this shit goes down and they are planning to buy up companies
for pennies on the dollar when the market crashes. I'm not sure though, if
they have contingency plans laid out as well, or not. That's why I called
you."
	"Those sons-of-Bitches!" Chance cursed, clenching his jaws tightly.
	"Listen man I gotta get out of here before it all comes down around
my ears, and right now, I'm kinda tapped for funds." Jerry explained
nervously. "Can you help me out at all? I was going to take out a loan
down here, and re-nig on it later, but it doesn't look very inviting at
the moment." He explained. "I don't want to be trapped down HERE of all
places."
	"Yeah Jerry. I got you." Chance said seriously, now taking action
"Do you want me to wire you cash for this?"
	"No, just put it in my account up there like you always do and I
can get the next shuttle back home." Jerry said clearly relieved. "The
airlines are still running, at least until they drop their bomb Monday."
	"Consider it done." Chance nodded to him. "When do you say this
supposed to go down? And just exactly how well do you trust YOUR source?"
	"I think Monday or Tuesday, reliability 9.5. This is NO BULLSHIT
Chance. But GodDAMN if it gets out, or back to them that I..."
	"Don't worry about it Jerry, no one will ever find out." Chance
assured him. "I PERSONALLY guarantee it."
	"That's good enough for me." Jerry nodded. "I'm gone then. See ya
when I get back home."
	"Ok Jerry." Chance nodded at him. "And THANKS."
	"Yeah." Jerry said nervously, as he disconnected.
	Immediately, Chance pulled his keyboard out from under the
terminal, and transferred three times the agreed upon price to Jerry's
account, knowing the information was worth a thousand times that, but at
the same time, sticking to tradition between them. It WAS worth the bonus,
but he didn't want Jerry to get the idea that all his Hot information
would be treated like this. He then picked up the phone and called Carla
back.
	"Did you get it?" He looked over at her trying to remain calm, even
though he wanted to scream in terror.
	"Sure Chance." She said confidently nodding with the mastoid in
front of her face, her hands still typing at her keyboard.
	"Great. Can you bring it to me?" He asked politely. I need the
physical Flashchip itself.
	"On my way." She said hanging up and pulling the mastoid off her
head..
	Chance watched her carefully as she went from her office out into
the great central room and opened on of the fat DataCores. Looking inside
and running her hand along a chart on the back of the door to the unit,
she figured out which chip is was, slid the tray out, and extracted the
single chip, slightly tossing it up in the air with one hand and catching
it quickly. He watched her kick the tray back in, and shut the door to the
unit quickly with her ankle, waving to a friend of hers across the room as
she walked towards Chance's stairs. She opened his door and handed the
chip to him with smile.
	"You've worked here, how long Carla?" Chance asked, waving her to a
seat and closing the door to his office.
	"Almost five years Chance." She said worriedly, thinking she may be
about to be terminated. "Is there something wrong?"
	"No. You understand that when I say something is Very Important,
I'm not just fucking around." Chance said slowly, cautiously picking his
words, as he dropped the little Flashchip to the floor and stomped it
quickly, crushing it completely with the heel of his boot. "You're my best
communications officer." He explained, not taking his boot up off the
chip. "I need you to absolutely FORGET about that call I just had.  This
is Very Important."
	"Sure Chance." She nodded solemnly.
	"I now need you to do a couple of things for me." Chance explained
slowly. "There's a bonus in it for you, because I want you to do this
without ANYONE except me and you to know anything about this."
	"I understand." She said low, stiffening her back quickly.
	"That means your husband as well. No friends, no co-workers, NO ONE
must know about this." Chance said clearly. "Do you understand how
important this is?"
	"I understand how important it is for YOU." She said cautiously.
"But I didn't hear the conversation, just as you asked of me."
	"Good girl." Chance smiled. "I need you to remove everything from
the system about the call. Ok? Then, you'll have to go into the City's
cellular network and remove THAT entry. Right?"
	"I understand." She nodded. "You don't want any existence of the
call ever having been made. Not a single trace, however minute."
	"Right." He sighed. "After you finish that, I've got something else
I need you to do." He began carefully. "Under a random circuit, and I mean
make absolutely SURE no one can trace it back to us, I need you to send
out a message. No record of it again. Preferably teletype, but you can do
it however you think is best."
	"Ok." She nodded following along with him, and at the same time
thinking ahead to the steps she would be making, to preform the required
task, as he requested.
	"This will go out ONLY to Friends and Family of THIS company."
Chance explained. "ONLY. If you have any problems or conflicts with the
database of those people, let me know ahead of time." He explained.
	Friends and Family meant just that. Sometimes though, it also
meant anyone whom they thought it was necessary to inform. Sometimes that
involved an anonymous tip to the authorities, a leak to the press, or a
leak to one of their many Media friends who did not work directly for the
company, but were informants. This, however, was too big to include THOSE
friends, THIS time.
	"I want the message to say the following..." Chance said, again,
carefully choosing his words. "Sell ALL Republic of Texas interests before
Friday at 6pm. Confidence is HIGH. Repeat, Confidence IS HIGH.  Market
trouble can be expected as well. Cut ALL ties with Republic of Texas for
the duration. Get everyone out of any importance. Borders may be closed
for quite some time. FRIDAY 6PM is the ABSOLUTE deadline.  Signed, A
Concerned Friend. End-of-message."
	"I got it." She said nodding.
	"Ok." He nodded as well. "After you send it, can you erase it from
YOUR chips? You've got Biosoft don't you?"
	"No, I've got a standard DownLink with peripheral Ramchips, which I
store to archive at home daily." She explained the hardware she had in her
head. "But yeah, I can erase everything from the time you called me.
Chronologically."
	"Great. I really appreciate this Carla." Chance smiled at her.  "Be
sure and fill in SOMETHING for that time frame though, otherwise, after
you forget it, you'll start asking questions about what actually DID
happen, that you don't remember."
	"Sure Chance." She nodded smiling. "Anything else?"
	"Nope. You're a good girl." He smiled at her. "You know your job."
	"Ok." She said standing. "Later. You'll known when I'm done."
	"Great." He sighed.




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 08/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:57:46 -0500

Roland Four
	Roland and Stone walked unhurriedly as they headed from the City
Offices on the basement-2 level of the City Hall building, to the City
Office Compound that lay about 14 blocks south of the Police Station. A
little over a mile on foot. Those who had to go from City Hall to the City
Office Compound always took the underground Light Rail System that ran in
a loop between the two, but it was required of the two officers to walk
the ground level of the same trip, keeping an eye out for terrorists or
disgruntled citizens who might want to trash the LRS.
	They were supposed to put this trip off until after lunch, after
they had finished "Programming" the CyberForms for their individual beats
around DownTown. Roland however, became increasingly irritated by the
waste of time and man power, sending the CyberForms n their individual
ways, with instructions that should they run into trouble, give a call
over the com-link that all the officers shared, or call in to the station
for instructions. They were big boys Roland decided. Cybernetic life forms
or not, they were eventually going to have to be turned loose. And
besides, there had been no trouble with the previous CyberForms that had
been released to their own devices. So after a brief lecture, he took off
in a rush, with Tucker struggling to keep up, with their portable terminal
and med kit in tow.
	Roland always had bleak flashes of Things-to-Come when they walked
this beat, along the mound of soil that covered the roof of the LRS
tunnel-system. It was natural that the very thing they were watching out
for, was merely effect, from the bigger cause, of the failing economy of
the New World Order, and how it had brought about changing the old USA,
(and now the current collection of North American Nations), bringing them
down to Third World status. People in North America today were angry. VERY
angry.
	The world today, unlike when he was a child, (and at least things
SEEMED better then), was now a complex synthesis of modern pop culture,
Hytek, and advanced living techniques, that no one was able to adjust to.
Everyone seemed to walk around in a bitter mood of hard edged gloomy
passion, coupled with, and perhaps irritated by, intensely realized
detail. Thanks again to the Darwinistic Pop-Hytek of the current age.
	Today it seemed, people didn't think twice about betrayal for
personal gain, or betrayal to get out of an oppressive situation.
	Of course, Roland didn't blame them for the latter. It was human
nature. The first however, wasn't.
	Bringing his mind back to the task at hand, he and Stone walked
along the roof of the tunnel with their guns in their hands, inspecting
the little mound of soil for signs of tampering, watching the crowds just
outside the fence, trying to stay constantly ready for anything. Though
the LRS was underground, and even then, the mound they walked along was
behind a twelve foot high fence, complete with hurricane wire along the
top, people had been known to break in and try to bomb the LRS.
	"What do you think?" Stone asked him, nodding and pointing with his
automatic shotgun, towards a group of about eight, identically dressed
kids, looking like WW I ace pilots, dressed in knee high lace up boots,
dark brown leather bomber jackets and white silk scarves around their
necks, with quite modern black matte Videoshades on, about eighteen years
old, that were staring at Roland and Stone as they walked, standing about
twenty feet away. The clean white silk scarves and cold staring black
matte Videoshades, were what brought the eye to them, making them stand
out from the crowd, and from the dirty snow that blew around them.
	"Call for an update and see if they're wanted for anything."
Roland shrugged, zooming in on the group with his cyber-eye. "They're
outside the fence, so there's not much else we can do about them." He
explained. "They haven't done anything wrong yet."
	Stone entered the request about the group on the portable terminal
on his hip, holding his gun in one hand, not taking his eyes off them as
he typed quickly with one hand down at his side, the black plastic strap
of the portable terminal long enough from his shoulder that he didn't have
to bend his arm to type.
	"No data available." The box told them both in their heads, on the
microwave frequency that kept the three of them linked as one unit.
"Gather data if possible for DataCentral." It told them.
	"You think we should?" Stone asked Roland, trusting his partners
judgment of the gangs more than his own. Roland had a way with people that
he didn't.
	"Might as well. They're not acting crazy or anything." Roland
shrugged, walking over closer towards the fence, and closer to the group
of kids who were starting to make him feel creepy. He was about to say
'Cover me' but knew Tucker would have that in mind anyway, and he didn't
exactly want to encourage any undue violence out of him at this point.
	The group didn't say a word, nor did they take their eyes off
Roland as he neared them.
	"How's it going?" Roland asked rhetorically, to which he received
no response, but his question was supposed to make them feel more at ease
with HIM, and not the other way around.
	"What's the name of your group?" He asked, knowing they couldn't
resist identifying themselves which was the reason gang members went to
such lengths to look as much alike as possible.
	"Flying Dragons." One boy spoke as he took off his Videoshades, who
appeared to have quickly taken over as spokesman for the group, revealing
deep black, vat grown Kodak eyes, probably last years models, that
revealed the fact the kid was still kinked for video recording, despite
removing the glasses.
	"What do you, as a group, stand for?" Roland asked casually,
getting straight to the heart of the matter.
	"Survival." The boy said simply.
	"Of course." Roland nodded, not betraying that the kid was
answering with the lowest common denominator of all gangs. "Everyone is
looking out for their own survival." He told them. "I meant, what is it
that The Flying Dragons themselves represent to the community."
	"We can give them freedom from the enforced poverty of the New
World Order." The boy explained, staring intently at Roland, as Roland
looked in turn into each of their unblinking stares, hidden behind black
matte glasses that turned his very real self image into nothing more than
data pixels, to be transmitted through the glasses, and stored to memories
for future reference.
	The one time that Roland had tried a pair on, the visual
distortion of depth perception was so bad he had the constant urge to
throw up as his stomach was rolling over, and the lenses threatened to
overwhelm him with data streaming through the scene in bright green
day-glow characters. He didn't like it.
	"Are you on the side of the law?" Roland asked, knowing they would
of course answer affirmative.
	"Sometimes." The boy said surprising him. "It depends on the
situation, as do all things in life. We have a code of situational ethics
we live by." He explained patiently, giving Roland more information than
he was expecting to get out of him.
	"I can certainly understand that." Roland smiled, giving them the
disarming impression that he was on their side. "I myself have to work
under such circumstances." He explained.
	The boy stood looking from him to Stone, Rolands vision zoomed in,
studying his face intently, noticing minute details about the face that
said the boy was wanting to ask a question, but didn't dare for some
reason. He's holding back to keep face. Roland decided.
	"We aren't here to hurt anyone." Roland explained to him, testing
the kids thoughts. "We're just walking our beat."
	"Nor are we." The kid said seriously. "Except our enemies."
	"Is there something you'd like to ask me?" Roland asked, cutting to
the point of the matter, perhaps taking the kid off balance, but getting
tired of the game they insisted on playing in the cold blowing rain and
snow.
	"Aren't you two detectives normally?" The boy asked.
	"Yes!" Roland said, sincerely surprised. "How did you know?"
	"We might have some information that would be helpful to a case you
are working on." The boy explained, as Roland quickly ran through his
personal case-load files he kept stored in his head, none of which he
could find that contained anything about kids that matched these
descriptions.
	"Yes?"Roland asked now curious.
	"There was a woman killed outside the door to her apartment. In the
Corporate Zone. On the Kansas Side. The door to her apartment was locked.
Nothing was taken." The boy said in short bursts, as if he were reading
from some file just behind his eyes, getting to the matter quickly.
	"Yes!" Roland said remembering just such a case that was still
open.
	"She was killed by Jolly Rogers." The boy said and turned to leave.
	"Wait a second!" Roland protested. "How do you know this? And how
can I trust your information?"
	"We know." That kid nodded at him. "You'll just have to trust us.
Trust isn't easy to come by is it?" He said showing a feral smile to
Roland.
	"No, it isn't." Roland agreed with him. "Thank you for the
information." He smiled. "Perhaps I can return the favor?" He asked,
trying to find out the price of the information.
	"Perhaps." The boy nodded. "Someday." He smiled and walked off with
his group in tow, silent, and disappearing into the crowd, quite proud
that he had couped a favor out of a City Detective.
	"I got it all." Tucker nodded and smiled at Roland as he walked
back to him standing on top of the hill, where he had just moments before
been hunching down behind the hill covering Roland with his side arm.
	"Anything on them?" Roland asked curiously.
	"Not before now." Stone shook his head. "No information available.
But I entered them as a semi-law abiding, tech-gang from the Kansas side
of the city."
	"That sounds good." Roland nodded as they continued down the
causeway. "What do you think about what he said?"
	"You mean about the woman being killed by Jolly Rogers?" Stone
looked puzzled. "It MIGHT be true, but we've always got along with Jolly
Rogers Gang."
	"I know." Roland nodded "WE do. That's You and I only. And this kid
definitely said they were enemies."
	"I entered that." Stone informed him, nodding as they walked along.
"But Jolly Rogers aren't really a violent group. Petty thiefs is all."
	"Could they maybe have killed her by accident?" Roland asked.  "But
what kind of accident is putting a gun to someone's temple?"
	"True." Stone nodded. "Hell Rolly I don't know. You're better with
these gang things than I am." He sighed. "Well, there's nothing we can do
about it until we get back to our cases. Maybe next week, or after the
first of the year."
	"You're right." Roland sighed as well, going back to trying to
concentrate on suspicious characters in the area, but his mind kept
tracking back to the case.
	It might be a class struggle thing. He thought to himself. She
might have been just a victim that happened to be a part of the
destruction during conflict. Collateral Damage during a random robbery.
But there was still that gunshot wound. There was power in the sheer
numbers of the homeless that roamed the streets. Perhaps she had said the
wrong thing at the wrong time.
	Since the "takeover" revolution of HUD housing left over from
before the turn of the century, homeless people meant trouble brewing.
They had formed coalitions, extended families, clans, gangs and leagues
that extended for years, into the hundreds of members sometimes, that had
existed even into the current day. Housing meant possessions. Neither of
which the homeless could acquire for any extended period of time. Their
lives were transitory conditions. And in protest, they had taken over BIG
buildings out of frustration. They had to OWN SOMETHING instead of just
using it for a time. That meant, old schools that were no longer being
used, churches, hospitals, the old Bellas-Hess building, the Union
Station, office buildings out in the inner moderate zone, and even run
down hotels sometimes.
	They got their food by either growing their own, in some fairly
imaginative ways sometimes, like hydroponic roof gardens, or fish farms,
or by simply trading for it. Trade could mean, for or with, goods or
services. Whatever the market demanded at the time. Since they had long
ago organized into their own sub-culture, there was a lot of variety in
their groups. Though, for the most part, being homeless did not mean the
people were dishonest. They had simply met with a situation that took them
out of mainstream culture and into another, different world where they had
to learn to survive.
	They managed clothing by reclaiming the art of sewing as a trade,
and of course, sometimes simply stealing clothes. They had their own
MedTeks in some of their groups that knew medicine without technology.
REAL medicine. Not this Hytek magic that was performed today by the
elite, whe




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 09-a/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:59:17 -0500

Chance Five
	Chance lit a cigarette, throwing the pack on his desk, and sat
rocking and swiveling back and forth in his big leather chair, thinking to
himself. Things were going to start getting crazy either Monday or
Tuesday. There were lots of human responses to unusual phenomena, and he
had a feeling they were going to see the gamut soon.
	The New World Order was a survivalists dream. It was every country
for themselves, and the world government had bigger agendas they had to
attend to than the greedy, uncivilized, uneducated and lazy Americans who
were screaming about their bank balances. There were 13 Billion people to
feed.  AND believe it or not, there were other people in the world besides
Americans! So, the now defunct United States, had to go through it's own
period, trying to survive the hatred of the rest of the world towards
them. These steps towards survival, were under the deliberate guidance of
the corporations, the only remaining power left in tact.
	Americans, which included Canada, the United States, Central and
South America, had to learn a few lessons. The new world was once again
being taught the facts of life by the old. The first of which was full and
honest acceptance of the nature and inferiorities separating themselves
from the advantages of other people. Then, there was national solidarity
for a while in all positions taken in dealing with the other cultures. New
nations sprung up everywhere. Afterwards, highly controlled and limited
intercourse was permitted with the other side, or the old world, doing
those things advantageous to the foreigners which the people were faced to
do by circumstances.
	After a while, a friendly and correct attitude towards the others
arose, followed by national eagerness to learn everything possible about
the others; their tek, cultural strengths and weaknesses, and this
involved sending selected groups and individuals to their nations to
become "One of their kind" or ambassadors, or even to help them in their
wars against other adversaries.
	Survival is then accomplished by finally adopting as many of the
advantages of the others as they could, and doing it as fast as possible,
while still protecting their identity by molding each new knowledge
increment into their own cultural cast. Kinda like what the Japanese
pulled after WW II. This time, Texas was not going to get the jump on
Breadbasket.
	Chance thought about Jerry Bones and how he was probably already
on the shuttle up to Breadbasket out of Dallas. First class no doubt.
Where the hired consultants and high technocrats sat, and he would use it
to his advantage no doubt. Make a few connections. Networking, he called
it.
	Where he would be treated like an individual, by the flight
attendants, even though he really wasn't. He was a faceless fare. That's
all. Still, it was better than coach. In coach, he would have to ride like
a sardine packed in a tin. At least up in First Class, they could fake
friendliness enough that, if you were drunk, you could almost believe
them.
	Once back in coach, with nothing to remind him of home except the
overhead fiberoptic dataports for personal computers, and the personal
phone/TV on the headrest in front of him, he would have to endure the
flight, punctuated only by the screaming children and cranky people around
him cussing and sweating as they were served peanuts and Cokes by people
who saw thousands of him every day. That is, IF the airline he chose even
bothered with coach class flight attendants on their air-buses.
	Most of the jets today were flown on automatics, linked by
satellites to Air Traffic Control, where the companies each had offices,
which linked the jets in the skies to the hubs and node ports of the
global flight network. Airports were such strange places. Sealed
environments where you could travel all around the planet and never touch
the ground. Global islands in a network of airline flight paths. A nowhere
node of sweat and jet lag with the smell of luggage and floor wax
permeating the air.
	From Kansas City International, or Mid-Continent International, or
just MCI, you could see the towers of DownTown even though they were about
ten miles away. At night, you could even see the red aircraft warning
lights flashing, red blips racing from ground to sky, seeming to fling
themselves upward into the stellar blackness.
	Instead of taking the Mag-Lev into the city, Jerry Bones would
have the money to buy a card key that would operate a taxi. Outside,
picking up signals from the key card, the taxi would light the area at his
approach, start up, and the door would pop open for him. By signals in the
rarely used highway, it would take him to any hotel in the city he chose
to tell it. Netix were SO cooperative. Unlike human cabbies who refused to
drive in some areas of the city.
	Chance called up the GEOS satellite that the city got it's weather
information from, and watched Kansas City from twenty two thousand miles
out in space. There were so many fewer problems out there.  Or so it
seemed. In actuality, he knew that the off-world colonies held even more
dangers than there were on Earth. There were so many civilizations out
there, one almost had to be an expert on Human interactions before he
could think of taking on the other worlds where some interfaced with
aliens and their cultures.
	He traced his finger along the screen a moment and thought briefly
about the flight-plan that Jerry Bones might be taking, aboard the air-bus
he was on. The weather for the next week is going to suck, He thought to
himself.
	Chance stood up and shook himself from his day-dreaming. Slipping
his cigarettes back in his shirt pocket he grabbed his NuCity Fashions
jacket and Smith & Wesson in it's shoulder rig, and started down the glass
steps from his aquarium-like office that stood on stilts in the middle of
the room.
	Every time he entered or exited the room, he could feel the eyes
of the employees in the surrounding offices, and the security guards above
with their eyes locked on him and his every move. He could feel it.  He
also knew that while these people all respected him, it only went so far.
They also feared him. Chance Marchenko meant the difference between life
and death for a lot of them. The difference between a job and the street.
Some of them he supposed would even grow to resent that fact.  Especially
in Breadbasket. Where the Guilds were the REAL Power.
	Feeling particularly boxed in, and getting more claustrophobic as
he thought further about the problems approaching from The Great Republic
to the south, he felt he had to get out of there for a while. Be by
himself to think.
	Slipping his shoulder rig on and smoothing the velcro closed, and
his medium armor jacket over that, he still felt vulnerable to the hidden
things he could feel going on around him. Paranoia had sunk in. He
decided.
	"Kyle, I'm going to the La-Lo for a drink." Chance said turning his
collar up against the cold outside. "I should be back in a few."
	"Right Mr.Marchenko." The big burly guard nodded from his perch on
the stool, which, despite it's amazing strength, looked far too fragile to
hold the Nordic mans muscled bulk. "Did you want security?"  The man asked
in his deep voice.
	"Nah." Chance shook his head and walked out. Chance, in his long
dark brown hair, and soft features, looked 20 years younger than the man
next to him. Just as he often did next to Roland's muscular hulk and dark,
burly, often scarred features. Chance's thin body and boyish good looks
made them appear almost opposites. Roland was still handsome though,
despite his years and scars, and Chance thought his graying temples were
dignified.
	Suddenly, Chance felt very lonely, desperately missing the
comforting words of his husband, and longing for Roland's warmth and
protective strength. Even after ten years together, perhaps because they
HAD been together for so long, Roland knew just the right things to say
when Chance was in one of these moods that could make everything seem ok
again, or at least not so big that Chance couldn't handle things on his
own again.
	Once outside the office and in the clear skywalk that linked the
IBM building he leased space from, with the hotels and buildings in the
area, he took the stairs down instead and stepped into the dirty slushed
strewn street. The weather outside was just as shitty as he had predicted
from his office. He headed down the sidewalk pushing his way through the
crowd pushing back at him, wondering if perhaps this little expedition in
search of libation had been such a great idea after all.
	"Asshole." A masculine voice spat at him, as Chance walked past the
Salvation Army pot, where a man was glaring at him and pointing to a
crucifix he had around his neck, swinging a bell as people mechanically
walked past and dropped NuYen in as instructed. He started to go back,
fighting against the swarm of people, to donate a little something, and
then realized he was being bullied into being generous and was only giving
it out of guilt.
	"Hey Christian!" Chance yelled back at the man. "Fuck you." He said
flipping him off and continued with the current of the crowd. He got a few
glares from people behind him, but he kept up with the traffic and ignored
them all. He soundlessly cursed the rude shoppers and the horrid weather
silently to himself and walked on, despite the crush of the people and the
slush splattering his legs.
	Past Under Paradise Lane, Twenty-One's, with the dismal gray of
the afternoon sky twisting things into an unreal state, past the
Dreamworks Media Theatre, and 8th Alley, as the acid rain fell and the
dirty snow melted when it touched anything, glancing in the windows of
Sam's Electronics, and the Bull's Eye Book shop as he huddled down against
the coldness that had sunk deep into his bones. A crowd of people standing
in the middle of the sidewalk caroling was almost enough to make him
scream in rage at them, but he changed his mind when he saw the big black
man with a Russian AK-47 protecting them.
	Finally, he reached his intended destination of the La-Lo Bar, and
opened the door before the rush of the crowd could push him past the door
handle. Once inside, he stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the
darkness, and the still silence, taking in the scent of stale smoke of
years, and stale beer. It was a relaxing scent, the smell like a lovers
cologne.
	In contrast to the filthy outdoors, the place was clean even WITH
a layer of year old dust on the fixtures. The bar itself was practically
sterile though. That much alone started it's calming effect on him.
	Trying to breathe with all the binding armor on was enough to
irritate him, and the shoppers with their packages and obsession with
ownership, of "Stuff", taking even that much more of his personal space,
was just getting to be too much. It robbed a person of dignity to have to
endure that sort of pressure day after day. Perhaps it was just Christmas.
The people out in the street were tense and hateful, which in turn made
the poor bitter and resent them even further, for the people whining about
the extremes they have to go to just hang on to their "stuff". It's a
frustrating situation in which no one is happy.
	Between twenty and forty died every Christmas just from the mall
riots. Bets were often placed, as to just how many would die each season,
and it seemed as if every one he knew was in on a pot somewhere. Superior
attitudes always seem to get in the way of good manners.
	The setback was in that unholy "Profit Incentive" that made the
world turn and drove people on to newer and deadlier heights. Without
that, there is no reason to pursue the dream with any hurry. However, once
it is established, there are more people involved than dreamed possible.
It was what made Chance such a very fine businessman, despite the fact
that he let Arnaud be the Corporate of their team, and handle that end of
things. He didn't like money and the greed it brings. Funny that the very
thing which was the key to his success in life, was what he hated most.
	Chance and Arnaud wanted their hobby to make them money, and since
they had the drive to see it though, it usually did. Now, they found
themselves detectibly, Kansas City's most sought after "Information
Source".
	Things used to be so simple. He thought to himself. But, the time
for things past and can never be again. We can't let ourselves get bogged
down in past emotion.
	Chance hated the whole Halloween to New Years season, conspicuous
consumption and all. Even IF things WERE better now, than then. It made
him bitter towards everyone, which was definitely "not him", but he knew
of no solution. Except one.
	"Yerik, can I get a Johnny Walker Red & Water?" Chance asked the
man behind the bar across the room, who stood six feet plus.
	"Sure, Chance." Yerik nodded and scooped ice into a rock glass
for him, and poured his request. "Things getting rough out there?




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 09-b/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:00:25 -0500

"So this is what has you strung so tight today?" Yerik asked
	"Yeah." Chance sighed. "I guess so. I can't help but think back to
the crash of '35 and everything that went so bad THEN. I was just a kid,
but I remember."
	"Yeah, it WAS bad." Yerik agreed with him. "But we survived it.
We'll survive this one as well." He said with some finality. "Just like
we've made our businesses work, despite this shitty economic downturn
we're in. Maybe you should get into another line of work. Something less
stressful."
	"Starting a business with cash on hand can be difficult, but not
impossible." Chance said speculatively. "It's the drive and the happiness
that the work brings that makes any endeavor work."
	"You've been through a great deal of growth lately after all you've
been through. The past year was hell for all of us. This is to your
advantage." Yerik commented. "Find something you really like to do and
start doing it. Arnaud can market it." He smiled surely. "Or help you
start it. Perhaps you might even find out that you're quite good at it
yourself."
	"So just go right ahead?" Chance smiled. "Full steam ahead?"
	"Fear not." Yerik smiled. "For I am with you always." He laughed.
"Seriously though Chance, you're gonna have to kill that dragon "Thou
Shalt" and start living by your own rules instead of what is expected of
you. Follow your Bliss!"
	"I think I have Yerik." Chance arched an eyebrow in his direction.
"Running through private systems isn't exactly legal you know." He smiled.
"You end up making more enemies than friends. But at least the enemies are
weaker. Have you followed YOUR bliss?"
	"Yes." Yerik said firmly. "I have. I own my own business. I have
security as well! THAT's a bonus! But keeping this place going keeps me
happier than I have ever been in my life." He said seriously.
	"You certainly seem wise today Yerik." Chance said teasing him.
	"Well, perhaps I AM a bit deep, after the shoot-out today and all."
Yerik nodded solemnly. "But I must say, I have found out that the sequence
of events to the life adventure are true to form."
	"Like what?" Chance asked, now curious.
	"Well, when you start out to follow your life adventure, there's a
sense or potential that opens before you." Yerik explained in all
seriousness. "You have no idea how to achieve it, so you start out in the
dark. Then, strange little help mates come along who give you clues, and
these open out." He said smiling.
	Chance nodded as he followed along Yerik's explanation, seeing how
it really did apply to his own life quite accurately.
	"Then there's a sense of danger you always run into. Really deep
peril. Because no one has gone this way before." Yerik continued. "And the
wind blows, and you're in a forest of darkness very often and terror
strikes you." He explained using his hands to talk. "So often, we see
those dark places as huge problems rather than opportunities. But where
you stumble, there your treasure is." He said smiling sincerely. "Take the
time off Chance." He nodded warmly.
	"Well, maybe I COULD take a month or so OFF, to RELAX, but I
wouldn't feel right starting another business." Chance said thoughtfully.
"I don't know." He shrugged. "Hell. Just being off for a while, with
nothing to do, I wouldn't know what to do with all my time though." He
said talking himself out of it.
	"Why do you run through systems now?" Yerik asked sincerely. "I'm
curious." He said attentively leaning forward.
	"Well," Chance began thoughtfully. "You can run on a system to
obligate someone to you, and you can run to link tribes, or increase a
profile on someone, or for just simple power, or, you can run against some
system just to see how far the other side will go in counter measures
defense."
	"Clearly, if you WERE to take time off, you couldn't pursue THAT as
a relaxation technique." Yerik laughed. "Don't you like to do anything
less stressful? Like travel or something?"
	"Yeah, I suppose." Chance agreed. "I'll have to think about it
though."
	"So is everyone like you that works over there?" Yerik asked as he
fixed himself a cocktail and sat back down, enjoying the slow time, just
talking with his friend Chance, not having to bother with other customers.
"You know, I don't think we've really had a chance to talk like this. It's
good to get to know the real you. Without all those silly queens in here.
I should bring in the heat more often." He laughed.
	"Yeah it IS kinda nice." Chance toasted Yerik and sipped at his
scotch. "No, everyone does different things. Whatever they want to
actually."
	"And you still make money with sloppy rules like that?" Yerik asked
amazed. "Hell man, I got two other bartenders that I can't get to show up
in here half the time."
	"They like what they do." Chance shrugged. "They're dangerous and
smart, but they never turn on friends. I make sure of that."
	"Then you become their friend?" Yerik winked.
	"Well, sure." Chance smiled. "But it's not like THAT, it's more
like, I want to keep things CLOSE. You know? A trusting atmosphere. A
surrogate family of sorts. That's why oppressed minorities and families
have ties that are so strong. Out of lack of trust for outsiders."
	"I guess it makes sense." Yerik shrugged. "I don't think I could do
that here though. Each bartender is his own shift."
	"Well, I have to admit, they do better work when I can distract
them enough to keep them in small groups." Chance nodded. "That's because
creativity comes from small groups. Large groups end up having to manage.
Like a bureaucracy."
	"If you say so." Yerik shrugged. "Are you ready for another?"
	"Sure." Chance slugged the remainder of his drink and pushed the
glass forward. "See, the first level of unity is the family unit. Close.
The next level of unity between people is the Tribe or social unit. Bound
by "type". Then the final level of unity is common human identity."
Chance said thoughtfully. "The hotshot brain experts thought that after
the aliens came, that everyone would stick together on that basis alone."
	 "I guess they didn't figure on us being such a shitty species."
Yerik commented as he handed chance his drink and sat down again. "We're
still out there blowing each other away, and war is not unheard of even
today. New World Order or not."




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 10/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:01:56 -0500

Roland Five
	Roland and Tucker stopped in at the Town Topic for lunch, easing
their heavy, black leather clad frames down at the counter with tired
sighs, and waited to be brought menus by the waitress.
	"This sucks." Tucker commented angrily, wiping the sticky film the
gray snow left on his face, wincing as it stung his eyes. "I hate winter."
	"Tell me about it." Roland sighed and shook the rain from his black
& gray hair, as he took off his Dutch Corps, armored leather jacket and
shook the water from it, laying it around the back of the stool he was
sitting on and shivered.
	"So why do you think those kids wanted to share that information
with us?" Tucker asked as a tired old woman brought menus to them and laid
them in front of them and walking off to take someone else's order.
"Revenge on Jolly Roger?"
	"I was thinking about that myself." Roland nodded, not opening the
menu, but staring off into space. "Nothing is for free. There WILL be a
price to it sooner or later." He agreed. "I just wish I knew ahead of time
what it might be."
	"I've heard of the street sharing information for an opportunity to
work with another gang, to learn something new from another gang, or to
gain clout by working together with another gang, but I don't see how
those could apply in this case." Tucker said in a low voice, looking
around at the crowd in the greasy spoon restaurant, hoping Roland would be
the only one listening to him.
	"They might also be sharing in exchange for a favor someday."
Roland said in the same low tone. "That's what I'm afraid of. It's liable
to be something that's going to compromise our positions on the force."
	"Would you do it?" Tucker asked curiously.
	"In THIS case, no." Roland said sure of himself. "I'd just have to
re-nig on the deal. We didn't solicit the information. It was
volunteered."
	"Good." Tucker said, clearly glad his friend Roland had already
worked out the ethics to the situation for them. "Two, Hamburger and
fries, large Cokes." He told the waitress, who looked only at the pad she
was writing on, picked up the menus they hadn't bothered to open and
walked away again.
	Roland knew Tucker would be able to abide by his wishes in the
matter. Tucker was loyal if nothing else. Roland had found that out about
the man early on in their teamwork together, and he respected Tucker Stone
a great deal because of it.
	"Tuck, damnit man! You know, Chance and I are going to have to have
you and Sylvia over to the apartment again this year." Roland said
smiling. "We really enjoyed your company last year when you came to
Chance's Christmas party." He said jovially, clapping his friend on the
back. There was a long pause that seemed to hang in the air for a long
stretched moment.
	"Sylvia left me." Tucker finally said quietly. "About two months
ago."
	"Why didn't you say something Tuck?" Roland asked, sincerely
concerned for his friend and partner.
	"There was nothing you could have done for us." Stone said simply,
shrugging his big shoulders as he looked down into his hands in his lap.
"There was nothing anyone could have done. She just couldn't take living
with a cop any more. At least, that's the reason SHE gave anyway. I just
recently let the payments on our two bedroom apartment go.  She isn't
coming back. It seemed so pointless to have that much room when it was
just me there, and even then, only at nights."
	"I'm sorry Tuck." Roland said gently squeezing his friends
shoulder. "How are you getting along?"
	"Ok I guess." Stone shrugged again, looking down behind the counter
prematurely for the waitress with their lunch. "I kinda like being alone
now anyway. It WAS hard, at first. I kept on blaming myself the first few
weeks. Now though, it's not so hard. I saw her a couple of weeks ago with
our next door neighbor, Anthony. I figure he was probably screwing her
long before then though."
	"Oh man." Roland shook his head. "I'm really sorry Tucker. If you
let your apartment go, where have you been staying all this time?"
	"I got a room down at the old Barney Allis." Stone shrugged.  "It's
clean anyway. I don't have to clean up after myself, I eat out for dinner,
it's really not all that bad." He said cracking a half smile.  "It's kind
of a Nomad's life, being that loose, living out of a carry bag, but the
solitude doesn't bother me that much. And hell, if I get too sick of this
city, I can always pick another one."
	"I'm really sorry Tuck." Roland said again, not knowing what else
to say.
	"Stop saying that." Stone laughed. "It wasn't your fault Rolly."
	"I just feel like there should have been SOMETHING I could have
done to prevent it somehow." Roland said amazed at his own emotions in the
matter. "Why don't you come home with me tonight. You can have dinner with
Chance and I. It'll be ok. Really."
	"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Stone shrugged as the waitress brought their
two plates and sat them down in front of them. "Hell, I'm not above taking
charity." He grinned. "I'm getting sick of the food at the Allis anyway.
Nothing is salted and everything tastes boiled." He said screwing up his
face and reaching for the mustard in the squeeze bottle before him. "How
IS Chance anyway? I haven't seen him since the four of us were at the
Labor day picnic, the force held at Walt Disney Library Center."  Stone
asked conversationally.
	"Oh, he's doing ok." Roland said in a lighter tone, letting the
subject of Sylvia drop, as his friend was obviously indicating he wanted.
"Still working with Arnaud at Full Disclosure. I guess he's still happy
	"You still let him mess around with that underground News Base
stuff?" Stone asked wrinkling his brow, half smiling at his friend. "I
would have thought YOU would have put a stop to that long ago. You're so
plagued by conscience."
	"Yeah, well, I learned a long time ago, I can't TELL Chance
anything. The best I can do is ask him not to do something, nicely, and
hope he's in a cooperative mood." Roland smiled. "He prefers the
excitement of winning and losing fortunes on the edge as opposed to plain
old static Poverty and Wealth. Here comes the Captain." He said noticing
Helen MacGregor come in the door, in the reflection of the mirror, on the
back of the two foot tall pie-tower sitting beside him.
	"I see you didn't bother waiting." She said blandly as she came up
behind them. "Can we get a booth?" She asked the waitress, who nodded and
pointed to one directly behind them. "Come on boys. Grab your grub and
park it over here." She said leading the way. Roland and Stone gathered
their plates and Cokes and moved over to the table, Roland going back for
his coat, the cellular computer terminal and their med-kit.
	"So how'd it go today?" Stone asked the captain in a sincerely
friendly voice, which surprised Roland as he dropped his booty on the
bench seat between Stone and himself, facing the captain, who seemed to
enjoy taking up one side of the booth to herself. "Did she get all the
promo shots she wanted?"
	"Fair." Helen MacGregor said sighing tiredly as she laying her
rifle down next to her on the bench seat. "I'm glad it's over anyway."
She said reasonably, which again surprised Roland. He had never seen the
two of them use such a civil tongue before when addressing each other.
Perhaps it was the lack of stress from the station that changed their
attitudes and mannerisms towards each other.
	"Everything went smooth then?" Roland asked curiously.
	"Oh yeah." She nodded examining the menu. "Fairly routine actually.
Even though nothing was up to her standards, she still came through with
the bucks. I think she was afraid one of her Media boys were going to
write an entirely DIFFERENT story on her if she didn't." She said putting
the menu down, waving the waitress over. "Oh yeah, Stone, I entered the
count for you on that gang you two ran into this morning.  There were nine
of them."
	"I guess I forgot that at the time." Stone shrugged, as MacGregor
told the waitress her order.
	"One less than the city scanners would ident as a problem. That's
either coincidence or good tactics on their part." Roland remarked. "They
must not have been armed with anything out of the ordinary."
	Groups of ten or more people meant trouble. Too many brains
working together. They could easily avoid the scanners by meeting indoors,
but it was outside, where the streets were packed with flesh, and where
riots could break out that caused alarm. The city scanners in the street
lights would scan PIN signals of pedestrians and if ten or more signals
were grouped together closely and following the same trajectory, then the
scanners would notify the DataMain computer DownTown which would interpret
the situation and dispatch a riot crew from the police station to check
them out and break them up. Providing there were crews available to
dispatch.
	The street lights nearest building entrances, also scanned the
crowd for Power-Paks that operated power weapons like lasers and particle
beam weapons. They also acted in conjunction with metal detectors in door
frames, of the newer buildings, picking up signals from the metal
detectors, and again sending a signal to DataMain DownTown. The problem
was still in manpower to cover all the warnings. Thankfully, most of them
were false alarms. Regrettably, the real thing was often ignored as well.
	The social Darwinism going on around them and before their eyes
turned out monsters as well as visionaries. It was a pity. And it was a
fact of life. Intelligence doesn't let you rest and accept the laws of
nature though. It also fuels adolescent rage and keeps one from finding
peace in ignorance. Only in the suburbs could one enjoy the law that
ignorance was bliss, and even then only for brief moments at a time.
	The thousands of kids that roamed the streets of the inner city,
peddling their souls and their flesh, who found peace in sniffing shoe
glue from the factory, knew that it helped a great deal, to hide from
reality, and the self preservation mechanism that keeps one struggling
from day to day.
	"So!" Helen MacGregor said turning back towards the two of them.
"You gonna fill me in on what they had to say to you?"
	"Well, they had a tip was all." Stone shrugged, talking around a
mouth full of fries. "On a case we were working on." He explained.
	"A very GOOD tip I'll bet." Helen nodded running her hand through
her short red hair that she had cut and dyed the day before, sighing.
"They did the same thing for me. They seem to know a lot about the
internal affairs of Kansas City. Or one of them has very high access to
secrets."
	"No kidding?" Roland asked amazed, again letting his mind track
back to the kids in their bomber jackets, white silk scarves and
Videoshades, wondering what else those little Tv's before their eyes might
be showing them.
	"Caulder, doesn't your husband run a computer or something?" She
asked, politely tip-toeing around the fact, that she KNEW what sort of
business Chance was in. All three of them did. It just wasn't talked
about.
	"Uh, yeah Cap'n." Roland said blushing uncontrollably, which, in
turn embarrassed everyone at the table.
	She cleared her throat and continued, not liking the conversation
any more than they did. "Do you think he could find out something on these
kids for us?" She asked politely in a low voice. "I think there's a
problem here, is why I ask."
	"In DataMain? Or the departments own computer center?" Stone asked,
thinking back to a case he and Roland had once worked where they had to go
and talk with the little nerd-ish people at the police force's computer
center, deep underground, beneath the station.
	"I'm not sure." Captain MacGregor said seriously. "I want this kept
quiet though. Just between the three of us." She said tapping a diamond
hard, gloss-burgundy nail on the already chipped, burned and worn table
top. "We can't afford a leak."
	"What about everything ELSE we have to work on?" Stone protested.
"When are we going to get some Goddamed HELP?" He hissed frowning, but
keeping his voice low.
	"It's on the way. The Bitch said she is going to let us have them a
week early. A Christmas present." Captain MacGregor said dripping with
sarcasm. "God she makes me sick." She spat, just as the waitress came up
to the table with her lunch. "Oh! Not you honey." She said taking the
plate. "I was talking about someone else." She smiled sweetly in her
disarming way, quickly defusing the situation before it got started.
	As the waitress walked away, she didn't really care what the three
cops had to say, so long as they showed up every lunch, their uniformed
presence kept the crowed under control, and they paid their lunch bill at
least monthly.
 	"At least we can get off the STREET again." Roland sighed, glad that
Helen had done her work of giving Chairman Lynn Guthrie what she wanted.
"I'm glad YOU'RE good at that politico shit." He smiled at her.
	"It's a talent like any other." Helen waved the comment away.
"You COULD."



From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 11/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:03:40 -0500

Chance Six
	Chance thought through a cloud that covered his mind, as he leaned
on his big sturdy friend Sean and fought the crowd and the weather back to
the office. He seemed to surround himself with people more powerful
physically than himself for some reason. He thought perhaps he should call
up a psychiatric program when he got back to the office and find out what
that was all about.
	"Thanks for helping me back to the office girl." Chance smiled
stupidly at his friend of several years. "How do YOU manage to sober up so
easily?"
	"I have an enzyme packet under my arm that will neutralize the
alcohol if I need to sober up in a flash." Sean explained smiling with his
coal black eyes. "I got it during the war. It's saved my life more than
once." He smiled behind a big black bushy handlebar moustache.
	"Speaking of that, Sean." Chance managed through the haze in his
mind. "Are you currently employed?"
	"Not currently." Sean shook his head. "How much demand can there BE
for a hyped up Cyborg Solo capable of battle action at any moment?"
	"I would think the body guard trade would be in big demand."
Chance commented. "How come you're not a body guard?"
	"Oh please girl." Sean laughed, helping Chance manage the stairs up
to the skywalk. "Body guards are paid a pittance compared to what I
charge. There HAVE been a couple who afforded my very high fees, but not
that many. I'm doing ok on my savings and my investments right now."
	"What if I put you on retainer?" Chance said hiccoughing, as he was
guided through the skywalk and into the doors of the office. "Shhh."  He
whispered to Sean, putting his finger to his lips and grinning.
	As they entered the office, the security guard Kyle stood staring
evenly at Sean, ready to move if given the word.
	"It's ok Kyle." Chance nodded putting his hand on the big mans arm,
to which the giant just looked blandly from the hand to Chance's face.
"Sean is with me. We've got business to discuss."
	"Yes Mr.Marchenko." Kyle said almost disappointed, and sat down
only after they had passed.
	"Oh, Kyle and I already know each other." Sean said with an evil
smile. "Don't we Kyle?" He grinned.
	"Yes." Kyle said flatly and left it at that.
	Chance pulled himself together, trying to keep a straight face,
but he saw more than a couple of smiles from people who knew he was drunk,
and frowns from the others, who knew that when he was so drunk that Sean
showed up with him in tow, he would be in no shape to conduct business for
an hour or so. But hell, he deserved a good drunk once in a while. Fuck
'em! He laughed to himself.
	"What's so funny?" Sean asked as he helped Chance up the stairs to
his office, waving friendly to the guards near the ceiling on the
catwalks.
	"Oh nothing." Chance waved it away and flopped down in his office
chair. "Have a seat girl." He sighed. "God. I didn't think I was gonna
make it back after that one." He smiled.
	"So what is this about you needing a Solo?" Sean asked seriously as
he shut the door. "Do you mind?" He asked indicating the closed door.
	"No." Chance shook his head. "Are you interested?"
	"No Chance. I can't take your money. Not as long as I've known
you." Sean said seriously, conforming to some internal set of ethics he
had for himself. "But I DO want to know what you've got yourself into that
you think you need protection all of a sudden. What kind of trouble are
you in?" He asked forcefully.
	"Oh please girl. Nothing like that." Chance shook his head and
poured coffee for them both from the coffee maker Arnaud had put in the
room for nights. "You know, we don't know the first thing about resistance
fighting here in Breadbasket. The government has subliminated us to the
point where, through television, we are all programmed as easily as a PC."
	"Ok." Sean nodded seriously and sat back sipping at his coffee.  He
was willing to let Chance go into any story he wanted to, so long as he
got the truth out of him as to what kind of trouble he was in.
	"When they show us freedom fighters around the Americas, they tell
us they are trouble makers, and we believe it!" Chance said outraged.
"After all, it's on TV. Right?"
	"I'm following you." Sean nodded.
	"Tomorrow, if police were to come into MidTown and mow down a
thousand people, the Medias all run to the POLICE for answers, and we
believe them!" Chance said disgusted. "The Cops can give any lame answer
they want and there's nothing anyone can do about it!"
	"Yeah." Sean nodded. "Why do you think that is?" He asked smiling.
	"Because in THIS country, as long as the bullet isn't for US, we
don't care WHAT the problem was."
	"It sounds strange coming from the husband of a Cop." Sean smiled.
	"Sean, I think it's just sickening how little we care about
ANYTHING in this world, most especially about our fellow man." Chance said
sorrowfully shaking his head. "You know, here at Full Disclosure, we
believe that any policing of information is tantamount to censorship. And
censorship, in the Data Age, is the most heinous of crimes."
	"Ok." Sean nodded cracking a half smile.
	"Yet, what I need to tell you is so terrible, I'm having trouble
with my own rule." Chance said simply and lay back in the chair with his
eyes closed.
	"Why don't you try downing some of that coffee and give it a shot."
Sean gently encouraged him. "Be a good girl now for your uncle Sean."
	"Oh Sean." Chance whined. "I don't know where to begin." He shook
his head, carefully sipping at the coffee to keep from burning his mouth
like this morning.
	"The beginning perhaps?" Sean smiled, arching an eyebrow.
	"The 24 hour stock market is going to crash Monday." Chance finally
blurted out. "Republic of Texas is giving up prohibition and confiscating
Japanese holdings, then they're going to sell them back to them." He
sighed. "Or to whomever will buy them. The elite down there, their version
of CIA has decided to transcend the rules."
	"What rules are those?" Sean asked curiously calm.
	"That innocents don't need to be hurt." Chance looked at him
strangely. "Did you hear what I said? About the market?"
	"I heard." Sean nodded. "Now why do you think this is going to
cause you some serious health problems, that you might need a Solo guard?"
	"These are Texas Rangers Sean!" Chance said amazed. "CIA Rangers!"
	"Ok." Sean nodded. "But why would they be after you?"
	"Well, I kinda told a few people." Chanced winced. "Just friends
and family of course."  He quickly added.
	"Won't these people keep their mouths shut about it?" Sean asked
seriously.
	"Well, yes." Chance said confused. "But what I'm worried about is
what Breadbasket is going to be like AFTER the crash."
	"It will probably suck pretty bad." Sean nodded. "But I don't think
CIA Rangers are going to be coming for you though." He smiled. "I mean,
what would be the point? You know?"
	"Well, I guess." Chance said shaking his head vigorously, trying to
clear his mind.
	"If you run into trouble though, don't hesitate to give me a call."
Sean smiled broadly, his pearly white teeth gleaming behind the thick
black bushy moustache that filled his face. "You're uncle Sean will make
it all better."
	"You're Not MY uncle girl." Chance smiled. "Maybe I'm just getting
paranoid in my old age. I'm getting to old for this shit."
	"You ARE a little old for a Cyberpunk aren't you?" Sean smiled.
"How old are you now anyway girl? Two or three hundred?"
	"Funny Bitch." Chance grinned. "I'm old enough to know better and
too young to learn. I'm Twenty Eight."
	"Sure you are baby." Sean laughed. "Looking around I can see people
who are deep into computer intrusion, computer trespassing, phone
phreaking, hackers, invaders of computer security, I think you're on the
wrong side of the law girlfriend." He shook his head. "And married to a
cop. It's downright disgraceful." He teased, scolding Chance like a child.
	"What do YOU know about what I do here?" Chance asked looking
around for any tell-tale evidence that might betray Full Disclosure as a
Data Haven and not just an underground news base
	"As a Solo, I've often had to work both sides of the legal fence."
Sean smiled. "I've even worked WITH a couple of people who you have
working here right NOW. I know more than just a few crackers and wormers
from your holy information priesthood."
	"No kidding?" Chance smiled out of the side of his face. "I didn't
know that about you. So you know a few darkside hackers huh? Who?  Phantom
Access Associates? Shadow brotherhood?"
	"A few." Sean smiled sipping carefully. "I like to think of them
more as browsers or voyeurs than high-tech street gangsters."
	"Too bad the law doesn't agree with you." Chance said running a
hand over his face. "We've been considered everything from agents of
espionage to industrial spies." He sighed. "Most here have convictions of
fraud, theft of service, wiretapping, electronic impersonation, and the
list goes on. They're really just computer addicts is all."
	"The elite who transcend rules?" Sean mimicked him. "See, I TOO
have read the Crime and Puzzlement Manifesto." He smiled
	"Well, " Chance paused. "That's different." He said trying to think
of something. "WE don't hurt people."
	"At least not physically." Sean added for him.
	"Yeah." Chance said looking strangely at his friend,
double-thinking his decision to tell Sean about the market crash.
	"Oh please girl. Don't worry about your secrets." Sean laughed
gently. "The guy I knew, I knew on a VERY personal basis." He smiled. "In
the biblical sense one might say. He was with the Electronic Frontier
Foundation. He had a friend though who was a part of the Nu Prometheus
League. So I've seen many facets of your world before."
	"What do you think?" Chance asked curiously. "Do they scare you
like other people?"
	"Nah." Sean laughed. "I figure if they wanted to, they could wipe
me out of existence from the computer world, so, as a hostage to a
coalition of high-tech pirates, the best I can hope for is negotiation of
terms. I let them peek and they don't fry me."
	"That's a very healthy attitude Sean." Chance said amazed. "More
people should look at the world that way and they wouldn't freak out so
much when they find out one of us has been playing around in their
systems."
	"I think you guys just need to grow up and knock it off." Sean said
soberingly.
	"Grow up!?" Chance said disbelieving. "I'm making a fortune at this
business!" He insisted.
	"And evidently a few enemies as well." Sean reminded him. "Or do
you still think you need a Solo on retainer?"
	"Well, " Chance balked. "Ok. Fine. Just fucking forget it." He said
short and angrily. "I'm wrong about everything and nothing is going to
happen."
	"Good." Sean smiled, thinking to himself.





From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 12/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:09:13 -0500

Roland Six
	Roland and Tucker headed back towards City Hall on their last trip
of the day, back and forth along the LRS, protecting a THING that Roland
was growing to hate with each passing step.
	"You and Helen seemed to get along fairly well at lunch today."
Roland commented. "I'm surprised. Lately, you seem to despise each other."
	Roland watched tiredly, as one of a group of kids, threw a beer
bottle up in the air, giggling as it came back down in the middle of the
street and busted, barely missing two cabs, the sound of glass breaking
echoing off the towering structures around them. Their laughter quickly
died down as the bottle was only a momentary distraction. After going to
VR-Cade, where Roland, using his telescopic vision could clearly see they
were headed, and getting a hold of whatever the designer drug of the week
was, their tastes would soon turn to other things. Bigger things. And
perhaps people. Though they had done nothing YET, with the exception of a
little littering, Roland knew, as sure as the sun would rise tomorrow that
they were trouble.
	"Yeah well, I figured sooner or later I was going to have to give
in to her." Stone shrugged. "She wasn't going to change, so I decided I
was going to have to. Besides, I wasn't making any friends by being an
asshole."
	The sun had fallen fast, in the cold gray mist that continued,
despite the weathermen's promise that the rain would soon turn to snow,
and it was quickly dark at Five pm, with the temperature outside falling
fast. They walked along the mound, in the darkness, grateful for the
occasional pools of molybdenum-iodine light, as the lighted towers of the
Executive Center had now started evacuating it contents, sending it's
employees lucky enough to have a good job, back to the suburbs and the
outer moderate zones, along fast moving LRS & electromagnetic cushioned
monorail systems, where they could once again pretend that THEY were not a
part of all of THIS, nor in any way linked. THEY were DIFFERENT. It was a
familiar fantasy. One that Roland often wished he could play.
	"Well, I'm glad Tuck." Roland smiled and clapped his friend on the
back. "You know, I have to put up with both of you two, for ten hours a
day. I'd LIKE to see you get along with each other, but I wasn't ABOUT to
push the issue." His breath clearly visible as he laughed. "I'd just be
the one to end up losing."
	"Thanks Rolly." Stone said quietly. "I doubt if pushing would have
done any good anyway. I'd have just got madder." He sighed, glancing
around behind them quickly and returning to their slow easy walk, cradling
their automatic shotguns in their gloved hands, their heads bent down, the
thought of soon being warm, driving them on through the bitter wind that
whipped through the towers, tearing at them with icy knives. "I just
needed some time." He explained. "I'm ok now."
	They walked along in the early dark of winter, occasionally
shivering with the extreme temperature dropping faster, as they made their
way first back to City Hall, then to the station.
	The crowds had dwindled down to a mere trickle, mostly since it
was dark, but even as cold as it was, there were still people out in the
streets. They were the night crowd. Multi-racial knots of trouble here and
there, that would be boiling over into "incidents" by ten or eleven
o'clock. Roland and Tucker had worked the night shift when they were
rookies, which was where they first met, though it had been years since
they had to put up with THOSE headaches, that the night hours would bring.
	The only thing Roland was looking forward to right now, was
getting back to the station, bringing his friend Tucker Stone home with
him, the three of them having a nice dinner, maybe have a few of drinks,
and after his friend went home, turning on a fireplace simulation on the
wall of the bedroom, and crawling in bed with Chance.
	"Things will be different Monday." Roland remarked as he saw his
friend wince against the cold. "We'll be able to go back to our
case-load."
	"Yeah, I know." Tucker nodded, picking up speed as they neared the
end of the LRS mound where it entered the city hall building. "A lot of
leads are going to be cold by now, but at least we'll be out of THIS."
	Walking the block to the police station was no problem at all,
despite the wet street that seemed to lick up at them as they hurried
across it in the wind.
	The newer, towering, hundred-plus storied ceramic structures that
surrounded the smaller, older buildings, seemed to magnify the wind,
reroute it and direct it downward at them, as if in protest to their
existence. The strange shaped buildings, made from newer, cheaper and
stronger materials, that housed the executive elite, looked on the rest of
the city with contempt. It was obvious in their design and the amount of
space they seemed to want to occupy.
	Some, like Conrad Tower were massive square structures that took
up entire city blocks, towering high above the low gray clouds that
reflected the light from the streets. While others, like the twin Sears
Towers taking up even MORE room as their four legs extended down into the
lower city, some of which were straddling several city blocks at a time.
The new ceramic building materials enabled the designers to "get creative"
and come up with massive blade shaped structures that sunk deep into the
night sky, above the clouds, and above the wet weather below.  Like the
two hundred plus story, Breadbasket Capitol building.
	"Finally." Stone breathed as they came to the entrance of the
station.
	Though there had been days, when Roland and Tucker had desk duties
to perform, that it seemed like the building was kept sadistically cold,
tonight it felt like the warmest and most inviting spot in the city. Even
inside, there was nothing but smiles and warm greetings from friends to
co-workers. Perhaps the holidays did have a magic to them, that was there
if you just looked for it.
	"My God." Roland laughed at himself as he and Stone worked their
way to their desks. "I'm glad this beat is over. I'm starting to get
visions of The Little Match Girl." He laughed and shivered.
	"I know the feeling." Stone laughed mirthless. "Too much more of
this and I would have gone completely mental." His voice died out as he
entered the sound screen surrounding his desk.
	Roland snapped his rifle into it's holder on the side of his desk
and flopped down into his chair without bothering to take off his coat for
a while. He just sat and stared blankly across the room, feeling like the
prisoners sitting there, under maxecurity, who had been doped with
hypnotics or Limbos. Thinking the thoughts that have no words. At least he
could say that a good nights sleep would make him feel better.
	The people sitting across the room, in the same state of silence,
might not come out of this state for years, since the government had taken
to doping all prisoners, to keep them cooperative. Some in handcuffs and
others held to their chairs with magnetic tape around their wrists,
securing them to the electromagnetic strip on the back of the chair, none
of which seemed interested in anything going on around them.  Robbed of
their will. Or, as it was stated in their rights, they had given up the
right of freedom to free will, when they committed the crime against man
that brought them here. Pity. People, as a rule, Roland decided, are
childish in nature, and as a whole dissatisfied with themselves.
	"Hey buddy?" Tucker Stone said in his ear, over the com-link
channel on the Down-Link chip in his head. "Earth calling Roland. Are you
there?"
	"Yeah." Roland smiled and took off his heavy armor jacket. "What
did you need?" He asked, grateful that the chips that linked them as
partners, also allowed them privacy on that channel, and they didn't have
to share their conversation with the rest of the squad room. Though there
were channels for that as well.
	"Are we still on for dinner tonight?" Tucker asked, ticking off
boxes on a form he had displayed on his terminal screen.
	"Oh yeah." Roland nodded to him even though his friend wasn't
currently watching him as he filled out his paperwork for the day. "I'll
give Chance a call here in a few minutes and let him know we're coming,
just in case he gets off work before we do."
	"Great." Tucker sighed, in a tone of relief that Roland hadn't
noticed earlier in the day. WAS Tucker lonely even though he didn't admit
it? "Okey dokey bud." He said signing off, as Roland felt the mans voice
secede from his mind.
	Roland DID enjoy the company of his friend Tucker. He, and Helen
were his closest friends outside of Chance. That was because they didn't
patronize him. He knew from experience that from the patronizing stage to
the persecuting stage was a very short step. Just because it was legal to
be a Gay man in society, didn't mean it was at all easy. It's takes a real
man to be a Fag today.
	Roland's academe class in Assault Lasers had been a living hell.
Despite the fact that he graduated first in his class, the instructor had
been a true asshole. A closet case that couldn't even admit to himself who
he was, that encouraged persecution from the others in the class.  Roland
was glad the man died a violent death. It had taken a lot off his
shoulders just knowing the man couldn't occupy the same planet as he
anymore.
	Roland knew the rewards of finding something of value and quality
in the most unlikely situation. He had at last found it in Chance first,
after searching a lifetime, and, he had found it in his friends Tucker and
Helen. How very unexpected! Tucker seemed as Helen had said, to be a
hot-head at times, but in reality was a pussy-cat. Tucker had once said
that sometimes he seemed to think he had to overcompensate for Roland
being Gay, when in reality, Roland it was his own fear of being inadequate
compared to Roland that bothered him most.
	Roland had seen it in him too often to think differently. That did
NOT however, make Roland think any less of the man. And as for Helen, yes,
Tucker was right in that she WAS in fact a Dyke, and COULD be a Bitch at
times, but for the most part, she was just another person who wanted
respect.
	In Chance, Roland had found someone who needed him and needed
their marriage. Together they made a family unit that fit Roland like a
soft leather glove. Even when they fought, it was never a question of
apportioning blame, it was how, together, were they going to solve the
problem. Subterfuge always seemed a little futile then, given the
circumstances. He then leaned his mind into the chip in his head and
called for Chance at work.
	"Yeah?" Chance said from sitting behind his desk on the black flat
plain. "Hello my dear. What brings you to these parts?" He smiled.
	"I missed you." Roland said, dressed in his blue jeans and cowboy
boots, wearing a simple white shirt, and smiling gently at the sight of
his husband.
	"I missed you to dear." Chance smiled. "I got sick today." He
pouted, talking in baby-talk.
	"Did you?" Roland asked, wondering if it was cause for alarm.
	"I went and got drunk." Chance explained, as he admonished himself.
"I shouldn't have done it on an empty stomach, but, what of that!" He
grinned. "I paid dearly for it. I had to lay down for about an hour. I
might just lay back down again for a few more winks."
	"How did you make it back to the office?" Roland asked curious.
	"Sean brought me back." Chance explained. "I have something I need
to tell you when we get home too." He said seriously.
	"Trouble?" Roland asked peering at Chance, trying to read his
expression.
	"No, not really." Chance waved it off. "Just something big."
	"That's another reason why I called." Roland said remembering.  "Do
you mind if I bring Tucker home for dinner tonight?"
	"No, I don't mind." Chance said earnestly. "Isn't Sylvia coming
too?"
	"No, they broke up." Roland explained. "About two months ago. But
don't say anything about it. I don't want to get him upset. You know."
	"Yeah sure." Chance nodded. "Jeez, I didn't even know they were
having problems." He said sincerely concerned.
	"I know." Roland agreed. "We'll talk about it later though. I got
about an hour or so in paper work and another hour in debriefing with
Helen. Then we'll head on out to the apartment."
	"Ok dear." Chance said making kiss faces at him. "I might be a
little late, but go ahead and fix something if you get hungry. I love
you."
	"I love you too dear." Roland smiled. "See you tonight."
	"Ok dear." Chance smiled. "See you tonight." He said and blinked
out as Rolands mind faded back into the real world of the station.





From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 13/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:10:34 -0500

Chance Seven
	Chance sat up straight from a dead sleep, startled, when Arnaud
came in the office. His eyes burned and his face felt swollen, AND he had
a headache. This was not good.
	"What are you doing? Sleeping?" Arnaud smiled at him, standing in
his wrinkled suit and tie, looking entirely too chipper."Are you sick or
something?"
	"Oh man." Chance moaned, laying back down on the couch in their
office, putting his arm over his eyes, mostly to keep the glaring light
out of them. "I went and got drunk today. Now I feel like total shit."
	"Well Hell guy! If you don't feel good, why don't you go home?"
Arnaud asked, tossing the keys to his metro-car down on his desk. "You
didn't have to stick around here. These people know their job."
	"I was waiting to talk to you." Chance said clearing his throat and
sitting back up. "I didn't want to leave a note in the machine. Have you
heard about what's going down in Republic of Texas?"
	"No. What?" Arnaud asked seriously, closing the door to their
office and sitting on the corner of his desk.
	"Some pretty weird shit let me tell you." Chance said coughing and
lighting a cigarette. "First of all, They're dropping prohibition."  He
said running his fingers through his long hair, pulling it back out of his
face, sniffing.
	"No Shit?" Arnaud asked, rolling up his chair and sitting down in
front of Chance. "But, isn't that going to screw the market?"
	"Yeah." Chance nodded staring Arnaud in the eye. "Also, THEY,
whomever is in charge of this operation, are planning on seizing all
Japanese holdings and then turn around and sell them back to them."
	"Just like that huh?" Arnaud asked unbelieving in a doubtful voice.
"Steal everything the people have down there and hold it for ransom? I
don't see how they CAN Chance."
	"I know, I know." Chance said putting up his hand. "They CAN do it
though. Can't they? Like Zurich did?"
	"Zurich System did this before?" Arnaud asked confused.
	"No!" Chance admonished him. "Zurich Switzerland! On Earth! God,
don't you know anything about where you live?"
	"Oops." Arnaud grinned. "Sorry about that. I'm the one who thinks
South Korea is just west of Washington though." He teased.
	"Well listen." Chance said impatiently. "It get's even worse. The
Texas version of the CIA, A branch of the Rangers, is who I think is
behind it all. They're planning on playing it, so that when the market
fails, they are going to be in a position to buy up companies all over
their country at pennies on the dollar."
	"Oh now Chance, come on." Arnaud said cracking a smile. "Either
you're stoned or you're just not awake yet. You're talking about these
paranoid Agency stories again." He said grinning and sliding his chair
back behind his desk, getting ready to check his messages. "Have you been
talking to Jerry Bones again?"
	"I am NOT bullshitting you Arnaud!" Chance said raising his voice.
	"Ok ok." Arnaud said looking over at him, like he was crazy or
something. "Well, let's suppose it DOES fall, did you send out a notice to
everyone?"
	"Yeah." Chance said, resigned, seeing that Arnaud didn't believe a
word of anything he had just said.
	"Well, there's nothing else to do then." Arnaud said shrugging his
shoulders. "Go on home and go to bed Chance. It won't seem so bad
tomorrow. It's Saturday!" He said thinking happily about the upcoming
weekend, when he and Chance only worked 3 hours each day, and had a couple
of their better trusted employees come in a run things for them.
	"I might as well." Chance sighed, getting up and getting his Nu
City Fashions Flak-jacket, making sure his shoulder rig didn't show too
obviously underneath it, and using the Downlink chip in his head, called
for a cybernetic taxi to take him home. He was NOT in a mood for people.
He didn't want to have to talk to a human cabbie, he didn't want to look
at them on the Mag-Lev, and he didn't want to stick around here any
longer.
	"See you tomorrow morning." He said simply and left, half pissed,
walking on out the door, without saying goodbye to the guards or anyone
else. Angrily he stormed down the stairs and stood waiting for the Cab to
arrive. It pissed him off when people didn't pay any attention to things
HE thought were important. The teasing would be something he would have to
endure for the next month or so. He was looking up in the dark sky for the
cab, scratched his neck a little and BAM!
	He saw blue stars before his eyes.
	The next thing he knew, as his vision began to clear, he realized
through the blue lights twinkling around the periphery of his vision that
he was looking down, out the window of a jet, at wispy clouds floating
above snow covered mountains glowing an eerie blue-white in the full moon
light.
	"Whoa!" He said jerking his head up and looking around.
	Though his head was swimming, he COULD see around him. He was
strapped into a comfortable jump seat, in a small cabin of what appeared
on first inspection to be a Lear jet, although it seemed smaller. Maybe a
Honda.
	 The small compartment he was in only had two small jump seats in
it, one facing his with a window behind the seat across from him, another
behind him.  Two nondescript cabin doors, one fore and one aft. Nothing on
the walls, no flip down TV or phone, or dataport. Just a very tiny room in
which he was the only passenger. Since it was dark in the small room, he
was able to see outside the window across from him. Far off in the
distance, towering thunderheads soared into the night sky, green, blue and
orange light flickering silently through the massive structures, looking
so soft and fluffy and still, in the moonlight, as if one could simply
step out on the white cotton and romp through the skies.
	He tried very hard to think, of ANYTHING that would give him a
clue as to where he was, what he was doing, and how he managed to get
there, but could come up with absolutely nothing. The first thing he
thought of was to call Roland.
	Pushing at the imaginary soft buttons on the chip in his head
produced nothing. Static. No phone, no calendar of events, no time
schedule, no access to DataMain, nothing. All internal files and external
communication lines were gone. It was almost as if he no longer had his
DownLink chip, except that he DID get white noise flooding his senses when
he tried it. He was alone for the first time in years.
	Now he was getting scared. He thought to himself as beads of sweat
popped out in his forehead. He was in ComWeb shadow, and he didn't want to
be. This was complete isolation. He thought briefly about calling out to
someone, and thought better of it. If these people had blanked his memory
thus far, they could do it again. He tried all the different options the
chip had to offer, and none of them worked.
	He tried to think of who would want to do this to him, or for what
reason and could come up with nothing. There had been no threats recently
that he could recall. He looked around the tiny cabin for about the four
hundredth time since he came to consciousness, as if he might find an
answer somewhere in the cramped little space. He could tell the full moon
was coming in the opposite window, so he figured he must be moving west.
That mean the mountains below were the Rockies. Providing he had been out
only a short while.
	Just as he was about to ponder whether or not this might be
connected to his phone call from Jerry Bones, about the Republic of Texas,
he got his answer. A big man in boots and a gray flannel Stetson hat
opened the door and came in laughing at something that had been said on
the other side of the wall.
	"You're awake." He said flatly, taking a drug-gun from a panel
behind Chance's head, and preparing it, to shoot him in the arm.
	"Wait!" Chance squeaked out. "You're not going to get away with
this." Chance told him, quickly, while he still had free will. "They can't
hide this story forever. You'll be caught."
	"Sure we can." The big man laughed. "You're dead my friend.
They'll find your body in the morning." He grinned without it showing in
his eyes. The evil looking big pearly-white teeth behind a brown cookie
duster moustache was the last thing Chance saw, besides the blue stars
again and the smell of Old Spice cologne.
	He must not have been out more than just a few of hours, since
when he came to, it was still dark outside. Though he felt a little queasy
this time, he could open his eyes a crack and see covered patio furniture
outside of a sliding glass door. He took a breath, ready to groan, when he
remembered the big man with the drug gun, and did not want him back just
yet. He had to figure this out.
	"I know you're awake Marchenko." The big mans voice startled him.
"It's timed. The drug I mean." He laughed as Chance opened his eyes and
coughed.
	"Who are you?" Chance asked, trying to gather information. ANY
information would be better than what he had so far. It was the big man
with the Moustache and teeth. He had taken off his hat though.
	The room looked like a living-room in a condo, middle class,
nothing fancy about it, but it wasn't dirty either. It looked like
standard issue prefab condo paraphernalia around the room. Nothing
outstanding at all.
	"Me personally?" The man asked grinning and pointing at himself.
"Or who do I work for?"
	"Well, both I guess." Chance said sitting up on the couch they had
him laying on, feeling his head pound with the blood rushing to it.
	"I am Sir Maxxwell Harris." He grinned, quite pleased with himself
for some reason. "Our friend is Clancy Andrews. I will reserve telling you
WHO we work for, but I will say that you're about to join the team."
	"Friend?" Chance asked wincing at the pain in his head. Suddenly he
was feeling VERY nauseous, as his face flushed and sweat broke out on his
forehead.
	"The Pilot." Sir Maxxwell explained. "You don't look so well. The
bathroom is that way." He said pointing to a door just off the hallway.
	"I'm feeling sick." Chance said swallowing over and over. "I think
I'm going to throw up." He said getting up and heading for the bathroom
where he crouched over in dry heaves just as he cleared the door.
	"You don't have anything in your stomach to throw up." A man said
as he came in the living-room with trays of food on a floating Z-G push
cart.
	As Chance continued to heave a few more minutes he figured that
the new guy must be the pilot. He was smaller and "looked" like a pilot.
If his Downlink worked, Chance could have got a line out to someone at
Full Disclosure, to run a make for him. More dreams though. It didn't look
good at this point.
	Chance got up, from where he had been on his knees on the floor,
clutching his stomach, and looked at himself in the mirror, wondering if
they might have poisoned him somehow. Cold water on his face didn't feel
any better either. God he was SO SICK! He couldn't remember EVER being
THIS sick before. He walked back into the living-room, sweating,
shivering, and fell back down on the couch he had just woke up from.
	"God I think I'm dying." He moaned, clenching his eyes shut.
	"This will make you feel a little better." The second man said,
shooting him in the arm. Chance opened his eyes, when he heard the hiss of
the drug-gun, and the man was grinning at him, but it WAS true! He DID
feel better. A little light-headed though. At least the aching in his body
and the shivering had stopped. The man must have given him a pain-killer
of some kind. As a matter of fact, he suddenly felt SO good, he decided to
stretch out and take another nap.
	"Get him up Clancy." He heard the big man say. "He should probably
eat now, and he wouldn't be out so much." The man said as a
matter-of-fact. "That shit keeps knocking him on his ass. He wont be worth
a shit to talk to her later."
	"Yeah, you're right." The shorter man said. "Up you go my little
junkie." He laughed pulling Chance up from the couch.
	"Wow." Chance smiled with his head lolled forward and eyes still
closed. Though he could clearly hear the two men talking in the room, the
words did not seem to matter to Chance.
	"Yeah I'll bet wow." Clancy laughed and slapped him. HARD.
	At the edge of his mind, Chance thought that perhaps the man had
enjoyed that just a little too much.
	"Whoa." Chance said shaking his head, feeling like he was made of
rubber, surprised that the mans hand didn't hurt when he slapped him. All
he felt was the force. The new guy, Clancy, just laughed at him.
	"Sit up here and eat." Clancy instructed him in a loud voice.
	"I'm not really very hungry." Chance smiled, yawning. "I'm tired
though."
	"Eat." Sir Maxxwell said simply, as Chance looked up, he saw the
man had an automatic pistol held on him. "Don't worry, it won't kill you.
They're rubber bullets. But they WILL hurt like hell when they break a
couple of your ribs. But those can be fixed later."
	"So what's on the menu?" Chance joked cheerfully, not
understanding why he was in such a good mood, as he lifted the cover from
the plate




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 14-a/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:12:24 -0500

Roland Seven
	Roland drank deeply from his scotch, red-eyed and dog tired, and
stared a long time at his favorite holo of Chance on the wall in the
hallway, reading the caption under it, written in long hand script.  To My
Beloved Husband,
 After whom God patterned the Angels All My Love, Chance
 	It made Roland burst into silent tears again. It had been five and a
half hours since he had last spoken to Chance on the phone. It was now
going on eleven o'clock. Chance didn't answer his phone in his head, and
so far, no one had seen him since he left to go home, from work.
	"Come on back in here Rolly, and sit down." His friend Tucker
encouraged him, taking him by the shoulders and gently guiding Roland back
into the living-room to sit down. "I'm sure we'll hear something soon."
Tucker said trying to be encouraging, despite the fact that they still had
heard nothing since they put the call in to the station, after calling
Full Disclosure, four hours ago. It was way past dark, and getting colder.
Chance wasn't ANYWHERE.
	They had everyone down at Full Disclosure looking for him as well.
They seemed to think there was something THEY could do, though armed with
nothing more than Flashchip camera-recorders and word-processing files,
Roland couldn't think of what they could do to help. Maybe they were
calling around looking for him at different places, as Roland had already
done. Calling the hospitals and the organ-banks had definitely been the
hardest thing he had ever done in his life. But if he was still missing,
and not confirmed as dead, it meant there was still a possibility he could
be alive.
	"Oh Christ Tuck." Roland cried, shaking his head. "I don't know
what I'm going to do, if something has happened to him. I just don't know
what I'm going to DO. He was my LIFE man! I can't live without him."
	Roland sobbed a while, as Tucker looked around the room, not
knowing what to do to console his friend Roland, but knew that just 'being
there' would help some. Other than that, there wasn't much else he COULD
do. They had the night force out looking for him now.
	"I'm sure he's ok, Rolly." Tucker lied quietly.
	"You don't understand man." Roland cried in pain. "It was NEVER
supposed to have happened this way!" He cried. "I was supposed to go
FIRST. We both knew, if something was to happen, it would be ME to go
first. We were prepared for it that way! It wasn't supposed to HAPPEN this
way!"
	Tucker just sat silent and listened. It was the only thing he knew
to do.
	"Not to Chance." Roland whimpered in a tiny voice. "Not him."
	"I'm sorry Rolly." Tucker said quietly, squeezing his shoulder.
	"He was like Man, woman and child all in one." Roland explained
wiping his face off with his hand. "He was strong, tender and innocent."
He said clearing his throat. "Maybe that doesn't make any sense to you."
Roland sighed. This was one time, he wished his friend Tucker was Gay, so
that maybe he COULD understand.
	"It does." Tucker nodded not looking up at him. "I just don't know
what to say though Rolly, to make you feel any better." He shrugged.  "You
really shouldn't worry. I'm SURE everything is going to be ok."
	"Yeah." Roland cleared his throat again and slammed back the rest
of his scotch, getting up to fix another. "Do you want another?" He asked,
holding up his rock-glass.
	"Sure." Tucker sighed and sucked back his drink, and handed the
glass to Roland, hoping the booze would reduce some of his OWN tension.
He too was worried about Chance.
	Tuck didn't want to say it, but he knew Chance was a goner. If he
wasn't dead already from a bullet or a knife to the throat, he soon WOULD
be, frozen to death probably, if he was out in some alley-way knocked
unconscious. Chance had been out in the weather for over four hours, and
the temperature was steadily dropping. As the blizzard blew in, it was
down to five degrees and blowing to beat all hell outside. They were
expecting ten inches of snow by morning. His odds of survival, through the
night, in street clothes, were dropping every second. Everyone out looking
for him, knew that.
	Tucker had always liked Chance. Chance was always a very good
friend to he and Sylvia. Chance was the kind of guy who was friendly to
EVERYONE. He made everyone feel welcome and at home no matter who they
were, how they were dressed, what they did for a living, or where they
came from. Chance didn't know a stranger, it seemed. No one was a stranger
after they had met him. If they were in HIS house, they were ok by him,
JUST the way they were.
	Though Tucker Stone wasn't Gay, and probably didn't understand all
the emotions of how his two friends felt about each other EXACTLY, he DID
have a general idea. And he knew it probably hurt like hell. It had hurt
like that when Sylvia left him, betraying him and the trust he had in her.
The Bitch.
	"Here you go." Roland said handing him the drink, and flopping down
in a chair beside the couch that Tucker was sitting on.
	"I wish I could say something Rolly." Tucker said seriously in a
low voice.
	"That's ok." Roland smiled and sniffed. "You're here. You've
already helped a lot, just by being here." He smiled a tight smile that
didn't cover up the tears that were still welling up in his eyes, nor the
redness around his nose and eyes that betrayed the fact that he was coming
apart at the seams.
	Roland wasn't taking this very well at all. It pained Tucker to
see true fear in the big mans eyes. He had always admired Roland for the
sense of power and strength he seemed to exude. To think that such a
competent brave man could be brought down like this, was scary.
	"I wish I could think of something else to DO!" Tucker cursed at
his own inadequacies in this situation. His friend Roland was depending on
him to help him through this, and he was just as powerless.
	Tuck reached for the audio-only mini-cellular he had in his back
pocket, got up, walking to the kitchen and made another call to the
station for an update. If it was going to be bad news, he wanted to have
all of it before he sprung it on his friend, and didn't want him hearing
bits and pieces of a possibly ugly conversation. When a voice finally
answered, he spoke low, so he couldn't be overheard in the other room.
	"DownTown." The mans voice said simply, as Tucker sat down on a
bar-stool in the darkened kitchen.
	"Yeah, uh, this is Stone. Has anyone heard anything?" He asked
quietly.
	"About what?" The man asked bored.
	"About Chance Marchenko!" Tucker hissed, angry at the idiot who
didn't realize just who he was dealing with, nor the gravity of the
situation.
	"Was that the missing persons thing earlier?" The man asked trying
to get rid of Tucker by giving him the run around.
	"You asshole." Tucker cursed the man in a low, angry voice. "Just
patch me through to Harry DuPont in Homicide." He cursed under his breath,
to himself, looking back in the living room, not seeing Roland sitting
there, but keeping his voice down just the same, just in case he could
still hear him from the bathroom or the bedroom, or where he was at the
moment.
	"DuPont here." Came a deep booming voice on the other end.  Despite
the Dolby noise-reduction chips in the phones, Tucker could still hear the
wind blowing around the receiver of the mans mini-cellular he was talking
in. That meant he was outside somewhere. Looking for Chance.
	"Law-Man, this is Stone." He whispered. "Have you got anything
yet?"
	"Still nothing Tuck. I'm sorry. We've got an APB out to everyone
who's on patrol to keep looking though." The big man on the other end
apologized. "You know it's getting colder out here don't you?" Harry
DuPont hinted.
	"Yeah I know." Tucker sighed, letting his breath out between his
teeth.
	"So how is Roland holding up?" He asked sincerely concerned.
	"He's doing ok I guess." Tucker whispered. "Could be better though.
Will you keep me posted?"
	"Sure Tuck." The deep voice acknowledged. "Anytime."
	"Thanks Law-Man." Tucker sighed. "I'll talk to you later."
	"Yeah. Later guy." The man said and hung up.
	Tucker sat quietly a few moments, looking straight ahead,
wondering if he should call Chance's job again, to see if he had gone back
to Full Disclosure, when he thought he would ask Roland something first.
	"Hey Rolly?" He called from the kitchen. "Do you know of any
friends he might have gone home with, to like, maybe sober up or
something? I mean, you DID say he got drunk today." He said walking back
into the living-room.
	Roland was not there.
	"Rolly?"He called down the hall, hearing no reply.
	After searching the entire condo, he realized there was a note
laying on the coffee table. Picking it up, he knew what it said before he
even read it. "Tuck,
	I can't sit around here any longer. I've got to find him Dead or
Alive. You're more than welcome to wait here if you want, and I would
appreciate it if you would. There's stuff to eat in the refrigerator, and
booze in the cabinet. The apartment AI will recognize you. If Chance shows
up, or if he calls home, Please call me immediately on our DownLink
comm-channel.
	Thanks man. You're a true friend.
	Roland.
	So. There it was. Now Tucker was sitting and waiting for TWO of
his friends to die. If not from exposure to the elements, then from the
criminal element that never seemed to let up, even in inclement weather.
There were just too many easy ways to die today. If not from your enemies,
then by some low life Organ Harvester who was looking for a few quick
bucks free-lancing as Butcher at night for the Organ Banks.
	 Hell, a entire skin alone would bring in an easy couple of grand,
with or without the throat cut... And those characters were just as
cybered up as everyone else. Who knows? Maybe one of them tracked Chance
and trapped him back in some alley, using gunfire, where the guys partner
was waiting to sneak up behind him... Tap him on the head with a lead
pipe...
	STOP! There was no sense in this. There was a million ways to die
today. No need to make matters worse by going through the entire list.
	He decided to fix himself a sandwich and lay down on Rolands couch
for a while. Maybe one of them would show up soon. Might as well take
advantage of their condo while he was here. Since it was offered.  Though
he was still alone, it was certainly better than sitting all alone in that
grungy hotel room. Besides, Chance MIGHT still be alive.
	
	





From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 14-b/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:13:39 -0500

Roland hated leaving his friend to sit alone in the apartment, but he just
couldn't bear to sit and do nothing, when Chance could be out there
somewhere, bleeding to death, or freezing to death and possibly needed
him.
	While Tucker had been on the phone, Roland had gone into his
bedroom and got his hunting gear out of the closet. The heater under-suit,
beneath his kevlar body suit was working great even against the blizzard
that was threatening to cover the city in dirty gray drifts.
	Once Roland had decided to take action, he was like a machine in
motion. He had quickly dried his tears, and had only a single purpose in
mind.
	The first thing he did was go to the medicine cabinet, where
Chance kept all the various recreational drugs they used on occasion, and
dry swallow an Adreno-88, AND a Black beauty, pocketing the bottle, which,
if it didn't kill him by heart-attack, was threatening to keep his head
pounding, and his teeth gnashing for the next 36 hours. He would just have
to put up with the side-effects when he came down. Right now, they were a
tool he needed. Next, he quietly got his rifle and a box of shells, out of
his gun cabinet. He had also grabbed a MedKit he kept in the top of the
closet with his hunting stuff, in case Chance was hurt, a flashtube, and
his light-booster goggles for night hunting. He would rely on the
Tele-Optics built into his cyber-eye when he needed it.
	Inserting his Hunting Flashchip into the Chipware socket in his
upper left chest, snicking it into it's slot with a sharp click, he felt
all the raw data of a hundred different expert systems moulded to his
brain, washing through him like a cascading waterfall. All the clues and
tips from a hundred expert hunters who had hunted everything from quail to
Elephants to Alien beasts.
	Though they didn't go often, maybe a couple of times a year,
Roland enjoyed going hunting out on the game preserve with Chance's
brother Misha. Now it looked like the equipment was going to fill a need,
instead of hobby.
	He put on his cowboy hat, a fur liner to his heavy armor jacket,
his thermal gloves, and grabbed a wool tartan muffler out of the closet,
sneaking his way out of the apartment.
	Roland quietly made his way out the fire exit and down the stairs
to the 88th floor, the next floor down, then called for the elevator. He
didn't want the PING of the elevator to alert Tucker that he was leaving.
He knew his friend would insist on coming along, and he could do more help
by waiting there, to answer the phone. Or in case Chance came home.
	The drugs hit his system just as he was standing in the elevator,
and he could feel the tightening of the muscles along his jaw line, the
fly-or-fight adrenalin surging through his system giving a primal urgency
to the hunt. Striding across the great marble lobby in deliberate strides,
the energy coiled in each step clearly visible as stress and necessity
pawed at his mind.
	Pushing through the revolving door, cold air clawed at his face.
Now, he stood on the wide slick marble steps, that led up to the main
entrance of New Orleans Condos, where he and Chance had bought into their
Co-Op building, so long ago, looking up into the night at the front of the
building. He could just barely make out the tiny dark figure of Tucker so
high above, waving to him from the balcony of the 89th floor, high up in
the cloud covered sky. Tucker was a good friend.
	The Hunting Flashchip heightened his awareness and filled his mind
with tracking and stealth techniques used by the best hunters of the
world, making him aware of things he didn't normally notice, in everyday
life, like different footprints in the snow, and scents on the air, but he
had to keep compensating his awareness against the chip, over-riding its
electronic nudges at his brain, by constantly reminding himself that he
was looking for Chance, and not prey.
	It was an edge though. One he felt he needed. Gripping the
Rifle-Tek 12mm Light Assault, tightly in his hands, he started out and
down the stairs, to make his way towards DownTown. Beginning the long and
arduous process of searching everywhere, covering every square inch
between home and where Chance was last seen, at Full Disclosure. Though to
many it may have seemed pointless, it seemed Rolands best move at the
moment. Curfew or not, he HAD to do something.
	Within a couple of hours, fighting the icy wet wind, snow drifts,
and the night, he had crossed the 11 blocks from 36th, in the Inner
Moderate Zone, past the guards into the Corporate Zone, to 25th & Grand.
	 Normally, he could have made the trip in just a few minutes, on
the LRS that went to DownTown in the Executive Center, or even by taking
the Mag-Lev that followed Main street from the Suburbs down to Crown
Center, except, for city security reasons, they didn't run at night after
Ten pm.
	Roland's path took him back and forth across Main street, into the
cross streets for a block or two in each direction, checking dumpsters,
disturbing homeless people who were huddled together in them, sometimes
walking down into darkened alleyways, looking for anything that might
resemble a body, anticipating regretfully with mixed emotions finding a
couple of different ones, which, to his relief, were not Chance.
	He was grateful that the streets were almost empty, with the
exception of a couple of whores, who looked near dead, a half dozen
unlicensed drugs dealers, probably selling highly toxic home-brews, and a
few legit citizens making their way to the store for last minute items
despite the curfew, in case they got snowed in.
	The streets around Crown Center were uninhabited, empty of normal
activity, lending an eerie component to the dark foul streets, that were
normally packed with bodies all rushing about. Even the homeless people,
(those new to the game) who normally lived around the fountains and
statues, while waiting for some idea to come to them, where to go next,
had managed to find some place to get in out of the elements.
	When he first entered the skywalk, the bright lights inside cast
his reflection on the glass, startled at the image he saw there. The face
in the reflection looked old and broken. There was frost covering his
face, ice on his eyebrows and eyelashes where he had been panting, as he
made his way through the cold wind, his black/brown moustache was now
white with a solid clump of ice, where the hair had caught the moist
particles of his breath and froze there.
	Getting into the office was no problem. The man at the door
recognized him right away, even though Roland didn't know him from Adam.
He was mildly surprised that anyone could recognize him at all.
	"Right this way Mr.Caulder." He said holding out his hand to guide
Roland to Chance's office. He walked along beside him, politely quiet.
	"Have you heard anything?" Roland asked the man.
	"No sir." He apologized. "Perhaps Mr. Dubois can help you." He said
extending his hand again, showing Roland the way up the stairs to the
glass box office.
	"Roland." Arnaud said getting up from his desk and shaking his
hand. "My God man, you must be frozen. Can I get you a cup of coffee?"
	"Yeah." Roland said laying his rifle down beside the desk and
blowing into his hands. The thermal gloves did NOT do the job they
guaranteed. Perhaps he should have bought the American brand as Chance had
wanted him to...
	"Here you go." Arnaud said gently, handing him the mug that Chance
always drank out of. On the front of it was a cartoon holo of a computer
terminal with a mean face, yelling at a programmer sitting before it with
a fearful face, saying: "Without ME you're NOTHING!"
	Touching the mug, holding it in his hands, his finger tracing the
cartoon, a rending pain tearing at his heart, as he remembered he had
given it to Chance just after he and Arnaud had started this business
together, Seven years ago, in Arnauds apartment. The silence that filled
the glass box, building slowly.
	"Arnaud?" Roland looked at the man with pleading eyes, noticing
that Arnaud was trying to avoid looking him in the eye.
	"Still nothing Roland." Arnaud said shaking his head in obvious
guilt. "I sorry. We're still looking though."
	"What is it?" Roland demanded, now keenly aware the man was hiding
something. "You DO know something." He accused.
	"Sit down." Arnaud sighed, sitting down in his own chair.
	"What is it Arnaud?" Roland demanded.
	"It's like this Roland." He began. "See, this evening when I came
in, Chance told me this wild story about the RepTex CIA, and I didn't
believe him. Since then though, I have talked with Jerry Bones, the guy
who Chance got the information from. Now I believe him."
	"It's a little late." Roland spat.
	"You gotta understand Jerry Bones, Roland." Arnaud began
defensively. "He can come up with the most outlandish bullshit..."
	"Forget it!" Roland said sticking up his hand. "Where is he?"
	"Well, since he heard that Chance is missing, he's disappeared."
Arnaud apologized. "I've got people looking for both of them though. I
keep hoping we'll hear something soon."
	"Damn." Roland cursed and sat back in the comfortable couch,
drinking the coffee he was offered, surprised it was so good. "Where does
this Jerry Bones live?"
	"Well, he actually lives out in Independence. The Independence
Towers. Though lately, he's been staying at his alternate digs. A room he
rents by the month at the Marriot in the old City Center Square building.
He's not at either though. I've already had people check it out." Arnaud
closed his eyes. "He usually conducts business at either the As-Tek Bar,
Technomancers or the Mind-Players Club. I guess you could consider those
his "offices". He's not at any of them though either."
	"Evidently he has another hide-out that you don't know about."
Roland smirked angrily.
	"Yes." Arnaud nodded. "Which bothers me. We usually do a complete
work up on everyone we do business with." He said thoughtfully. "I've got
a couple of people running complete makes and Go-To's on him now."
	"What about Chance?" Roland demanded.
	"I've got all my best people on it Roland." Arnaud explained.
"I've even got people putting in overtime for free, working from home
terminals. We're all worried about him Roland. It's like he just
vanished."
	"I know." Roland sighed, feeling the drugs in his system take hold
of the coffee and put it to use by tensing his shoulders.
	"Look. Just ONE of my people at a terminal can cover more area in
ten seconds than you can in a day." Arnaud said sitting forward. "Why
don't you go home and get some sleep..."
	"NO!!" Roland yelled, standing up. "Just do what you can and keep
it up. If you get any clues let me know right away."
	"We have both your DownLink number and your mini-cellular."  Arnaud
nodded. "You'll be the first to know."
	"Thanks." Roland tried to smile. "You might give my friend a call
and let him know I'm ok, and I'm still out looking for Chance. He's at our
apartment watching the place." He said sitting the empty mug down on the
desk and leaving.
	"Um Roland?" Arnaud began tentatively.
	"Yeah?" Roland answered, pulling his heavy jacket close around him,
preparing to go back out in the weather.
	"Have you given any thought that maybe Chance might not WANT to be
found?" Arnaud asked.
	"What are you talking about?" Roland demanded.
	"I'm talking about the fact that he is leaving absolutely NO trace
anywhere in ComWeb or the Net." Arnaud explained. "No one can do that.
EVERYONE leaves tracks SOMEWHERE." Arnaud insisted. "If ever there was
someone who wanted to move about without being tracked electronically, it
would be Chance."
	"You're wrong Arnaud!" Roland said getting up in the thin mans
face. "I know Chance. YOU know Chance! He loves me. I had just talked with
him not ten minutes before he disappeared. If he wanted to leave me, or
leave his entire life behind here, I would have known about it."  Roland
said angrily. "And you would have seen it in him too."
	"Well, maybe you're right." Arnaud conceded. "It's just that this
has taken me by surprise. Thrown off my routine."
	"Yeah." Roland nodded. "I know." He sighed.




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 15-a/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:15:11 -0500

Chance Eight
	Chance woke up very sick a couple of times in the middle of the
night, desperately needing the drug the two men had been feeding him. It
was beginning to worry him deeply that the side affects of coming down
seemed to becoming more severe with each dose. Not a good sign.
	Beside him on the coffee table, he found a small, single dose
hypo-spray, and a card of drug-filled bubbles that he hoped was the
chemical he was craving. Placing the end of the hypo-spray down on the
bubble, sweat popped out on his forehead as he watched it fill with
shaking hands and the sickness that penetrated his every fiber. As soon as
he was sure every drop of the drug was in the dispenser, he jabbed it to
his thigh and listened to the hiss of the drug entering his bloodstream.
	Only while he was coming down, did he have enough sense to realize
they had very quickly addicted him to something. Something military, Sir
Maxxwell had said. Though after he got his dose, the thought of addiction
didn't seem to bother him at all. There were times when he was down, and
sick, that the thought of being a drug-addict repulsed him. Although those
times didn't seem to last long after he got his dose.
	In the morning, it was Clancy who woke him, by cruelly and
casually kicking him in the face. Chance opened his eyes, rubbing his nose
as blood erupted into his hand, and glaring at the shorter man, who had a
hint of something unstable behind his eyes, something dark.  Something
that deeply bothered Chance. It told Chance that the man was used to
cruelty as a way of life.
	 Perhaps Clancy was military. He certainly fit the military model
of maintaining simplicity and brutality. The man was simply a sadist.
Clancy stood in mock confidence dressed in the Urban Flash style that was
characteristic of Eastern, Inner City dwellers, even though the man was
obviously from the sprawl of the suburban south, and from his accent,
Chance guessed somewhere near the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex.
	It wasn't so much that Clancy seemed to HATE Chance, as much as he
just enjoyed being cruel to him, while Chance was down and out on the
dope. He had to wonder if that wasn't the reason Clancy kept him on the
stuff. Just to be cruel, and brutalize him.
	Chance got up and put on his same jeans, sleeveless sweat-shirt
and boots, as best he could, running his fingers though his long hair, in
the place of a comb, wishing he at least had some clean clothes from home,
watching Sir Maxxwell come out of the bedroom dressed in a very tasteful
black Nipponese business suit, putting a soft contact lens in his right
eye as he walked.
	"Sorry I don't have any clothes that would fit you, but, you can
take a shower if you want." Sir Maxxwell said to Chance, handing him a wad
of paper towels for his bloody nose, glaring at Clancy. "We've got enough
time."
	"No we don't!" Clancy interrupted him. "We've got to get to the
airport right away. I don't want to miss that shuttle out of Dallas." He
explained. "The next one to Daedalus wont leave for another three days.
Let's just go."
	"We need to eat breakfast." Sir Maxxwell frowned at the man. "I'm
hungry even if you aren't." He said walking over and putting his hand on
Chances shoulder. "Come on. I'll fix you something to eat." He said
guiding Chance.
	"Well I'm going to go out and warm up the Bell. We'll need it to
recover lost time. Don't piss around all day." Clancy said angrily,
slamming the door as he left.
	Sir Maxxwell seemed right at home in the condominium, and Chance
got the distinct impression the man lived here quite a bit. Chance watched
him as he moved around the kitchen, knowing exactly where everything was,
moving with relaxed sure confidence.
	The view outside was magnificent. The dawn sun, licking at the
tops of the snow capped mountains in the ridge on the opposite side of the
valley, was awe inspiring. It certainly was a view worthy of travel
brochures or VR travel chips. Uncluttered by society, room like this, was
very EXPENSIVE.
	Sir Maxxwell had not lied when he said they were no where close to
anyone. From where Chance sat in the little breakfast nook, in a bay
window, he could see down the canyon in both directions for several miles,
and there wasn't a single cabin, nor any roads, nor anything in sight that
would indicate life anywhere except in this one home, very high up on the
side of a mountain. Chance supposed the airstrip they brought the jet in
on last night was just for this one home. A private airstrip for a private
mountain. Who was this man in front of the stove, fixing breakfast for
them both, who could afford a private playground with toys like these?
	"What have I done, to make Clancy angry with me?" Chance asked,
wondering if he would even receive an answer, and quite surprised when he
did.
	"Oh, nothing." Sir Maxxwell said shaking his head. "Clancy's just
not wired right." He explained. "It's just the effects from some
assignment he was on during the war. He's strung kind of tight now. Just
avoid him if you can." The man said gently.
	"I'll try." Chance agreed. "It's not that easy though, since he
holds the proverbial leash. When he kicked me in the face a while ago to
wake me up, it didn't hurt, but I didn't understand why he did it." He
said rubbing his now red nose.
	"Damn!" Sir Maxxwell hissed. "See, this is Clancy's first
extraction." He explained as he fixed breakfast for them both. "He's got
some idea that you're the enemy or something." He shrugged. "He doesn't
understand how civil these things are supposed to run. That you're to be
treated as a valued guest."
	"So I'm being kidnapped to work for someone?" Chance asked.
	"Of course!" Sir Maxxwell smiled, setting the plate in front of
Chance. "I thought you understood that last night when you talked with
Queen Lizallen." He said eating quickly. "We're taking you to Dallas,
where we'll get a shuttle to Daedalus Station. You'll be working with her
up there."
	"For who?" Chance asked, eating even though he didn't feel hungry.
"I mean, who can afford all of THIS just to get a hold of ME?"
	"Oh no, THIS is MINE." Sir Maxxwell laughed good naturedly, nodding
around at the house. "I own THIS place. We just thought it would be a good
idea to stay here for the night, since the weather was so bad last night
between KC & Dallas. There was no way we could have made it around the
massive thunderstorms. The Lear is Clancy's." He explained.  "We're hired
by a company called ColdFire Taipei International to get you out and bring
you to them. We don't have a stake in any of this operation. We'll be paid
upon your delivery to Daedalus. We're just hired help."
	"Oh." Chance nodded, eating in silence for a while. "Can I ask what
you're being paid to do this?" He asked curiously.
	"Thinking about doubling the offer, so we'll let you go?" Sir
Maxxwell smiled. "No Mr.Marchenko, I'm sorry, but I can't do that.
Professional pride you see." He apologized. "I have no doubt you COULD in
fact double, or even triple their offer, even as much money as that is,
given your talents at accessing some very large lines of active virgin
credit, but I still have to be able to get work AFTER that." He smiled.
"Once word was to get out that I can be bought off, no longer reliable, my
clients will go somewhere else for help. I think you understand my
position."
	"Oh." Chance said, finishing his breakfast, not sure it was going
to digest properly now that he felt hopeless again.
	"Cheer up though!" Sir Maxxwell poked him. "We'll be there by noon
or so, when it will all be over, and you can settle down into your new
life." He grinned. "You'll see. It will be ok." He nodded. "If you don't
like it, you can always hire someone else to take you back home."
	"Yeah." Chance sighed, clearly miserable over the chain of events
that had been set in motion for him. "So is this the first you've worked
with Clancy?" He asked, resigned to his fate and deciding to make the best
of things for a while, until he could find some way out. Perhaps at
Daedalus...
	"Oh no." Sir Maxxwell shook his head, lighting a cigarette and
offering one to Chance who took it gratefully. "We've worked together for
the past couple of years now." He said thoughtfully. "I'm not sure how
long that will last though. Lately, Clancy has been going a little nuts on
me." He explained conversationally. "I'll have to get rid of him someday I
suppose." He sighed. "I hoped he would get shot or something on an
assignment, so I could spare us both the humiliation of breaking up the
team. I may end up having to shoot him myself. Oh well." He shrugged
beneath the big Stetson as he finished his toast. Just as he finished
shrugging, the front door slammed again, and the two of them listened as
Clancy clopped down the hallway.
	"Are you two fucking ready yet or what?" Clancy demanded.
	"Yeah." Sir Maxxwell sighed getting up, nodding at Chance to do the
same.
	Chance eased himself out of the chair, careful to avoid Clancys
quick back-hand, to which the cruel man only cackled maniacally.
	Up on the roof, Chance squinted his eyes tightly against the
bright dawn reflecting off the snow, and the wind that blew from every
direction. He stood close to Sir Maxxwell as he slid a KeyCard down
through the lock on the door and pocketed it with a smile.
	 Carefully, he made his way up the surprisingly clear stairway
built into the side of the mountain which led from the roof of the condo,
below, up past the solar heaters which melted the ice on the walkway, to
the airstrip and hanger on top of the mountain ridge, about a hundred feet
above them, with Clancy leading the way and Sir Maxxwell following close
behind.
	At the top, he stood by Sir Maxxwell obediently, at the side of
the hanger, as Clancy backed the Bell Osprey out of the hanger. Inside, he
could see the painted black Lear jet, which had brought them here last
night.
	His right hand had kept wanting to stick to the steel railing,
even through his thinsulate thermal glove he was given, while his other
hand rolled the single dose hypo-spray around and around in his other
pocket. Again the thought of being addicted to the unknown drug bothered
him, and he quickly counted each of the unused bubbles by touching each
one with his index finger tip, calculating the time left until he would
run out, and have to come down for good. That thought troubled him.
Stepping up inside the Osprey, he took a seat behind Sir Maxxwell, in the
rear compartment, hoping Clancy's reach was short enough.
	"Hang on." Clancy said dully, as they lifted gently from the
mountain top, and headed them in a south east direction, into the slowly
rising sun. At Clancy's touch of a button on the massive console, the
windshield of the Osprey started slowly going black from top to bottom,
against the bright sunshine they were heading into.
	Soon, Clancy had programmed in their destination, using a single
hand on the pad to his right, the other on the control yoke, and sat back,
letting the automatic pilot take over, using ground based radar and
satellite communications to guide them quickly over the mountains and
through the corridors of airspace that surrounded them at ballistic
speeds.
	"So are you going to be a good boy today and not give me any shit?"
Clancy asked, getting up from the pilots seat, and coming back to where
Chance was sitting, near a kitchenette of sorts, and began fixing himself
a sandwich.
	"What do you mean?" Chance asked warily, wishing that Sir Maxxwell
would come back and supervise them, instead of closing the door, to talk
on the phone in privacy.
	"Once we get to Dallas, we'll be taking a commercial shuttle
upstairs." He said around a bite of his sandwich, pointing up with a Coke
in his hand. "Now you can try and run..." He grinned. "In which case I'd
be GLAD to put a bullet through you. OR..."
	"Yeah?" Chance swallowed dryly.
	"You can be good, and I'll give you a little extra candy." Clancy
grinned again. "I bet you'd like THAT wouldn't you?" He said in a
mockingly kind voice that betrayed the fact that he was enjoying Chance's
dependent state. Chance only nodded in silence, not taking his eyes off
Clancy.
	"Good. Glad to see you're as smart as they seem to think you are."
He said getting something out of the cabinet that Chance couldn't see.
"This will make you sleep, but I think you'll like it." He grinned,
handing Chance a patch.
	"Hey, I'm out of that other stuff you gave me last night." Chance
blurted out, hoping it was Clancy that had left it for him, and not Sir
Maxxwell. "I don't want to get sick again." He said, trying to be
convincing, which wasn't too difficult, considering he could feel the
first effects of the sweats begin. The way he had it figured, Sir Maxxwell
had no idea that the drug they were giving him was this horribly
addictive. Clancy however seem to know of it's effects first hand.
	"You didn't say anything to Max did you?" Clancy asked in a
serious voice, betraying his concern




Article: 5070 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo
From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 15-b/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:16:09 -0500
Lines: 130
Reply-To: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com

"Here you go." Clancy said retrieving another card of the bubbles from the
same "medicine chest" set into the wall of the craft. "Slow down on the
stuff though." He warned. "I don't have enough to support a habit."  He
frowned. "Once on the station, you're going to have to find your own
connection."
	"What's the name of this stuff anyway?" Chance asked pocketing the
drug.
	"Black Lace." Clancy said proudly. "You like?" He grinned, seeming
in a better mood today than yesterday. Perhaps because he would be paid
soon. Chance nodded, forcing a sly grin out of the side of his face,
nodding, feeling like attacking Clancy with his bare hands, as the man
locked the cabinet again.
	"It's new." Clancy explained casually. "Easy to make by the ton,
but hard to replicate. I know the guy who makes this. He used to work for
the Chemical Guild." He grinned again. "I talked him into going
free-lance. Now we both get to profit from his talents."
	"I can get this in orbit then?" Chance asked trying to make
conversation, to keep the man from hitting him.
	"Oh yeah." Clancy nodded. There was a soft double-ping in the cabin
and he headed for the forward door again. "It's cheap enough you'll be
able to afford it. The main reason we're giving it to you is that the guys
who hired us wanted you hooked on something. So they have a leash on you."
	"Oh." Chance said simply.
	"Put the patch on." He said with more force in his voice. "We're
coming up on Denver and I need to take over the controls." Chance did as
he was told, peeling the back from the patch and sticking it to his inner
wrist.
	"If you want to dose, you better do it soon." Clancy said
conspiratorially in a low voice, to keep Sir Maxxwell from overhearing.
"You'll fall asleep soon, and I don't want you throwing up back here."
	Chance nodded and said nothing as the man went through door and
closed it again. Once the door was closed, he pulled the patch off, bit a
tiny hole in it, spitting the bitter chemical out, squeezed the patch
empty, and then stuck it back on his wrist.
	Taking the hypo-spray out of his pocket, he felt disgusted with
himself as he shakily loaded it and shot himself in the thigh, surprised
that he had wanted the drug enough to beg more of it out of Clancy. When
he asked for the extra card of bubbles, he really DIDN'T want the drug,
but free from it's hold on him. It was his subconscious though, that knew
what he wanted and had blurted out a way to get it. He closed his eyes,
remembering that he was supposed to be asleep. As the drug took hold, he
grinned at his own cunning, and relaxed in the seat, enjoying the soothing
sensations the drug brought him, by tickling his brain.
	By the time they reached the Dallas airport Love Field, Chance had
worked out a tentative plan. He HAD to get away from them. Once up in the
air, or in orbit, he would be at their mercy. Controlled environments had
the tendency to become life threatening in some circumstances, and though
they may be controlling him through threat of taking away the drug "Black
Lace", he didn't want to get into a situation where they could be able to
hold the very air he breathed over his head.
	He had no idea who was in control of Daedalus Station at the
moment, the last he had heard, it was an independent entity, but the way
these guys talked with confidence, he supposed ColdFire Taipei
International had somehow managed to get control over it. That was not
good.
	Chance lay very still, hoping Clancy didn't kick him again to wake
him up, and was startled when it was Sir Maxxwell who gently shook his
shoulder. He opened his eyes smiling stupidly, hoping they bought the idea
that he was as truly doped up, as they thought he was. Playing his part,
he nodded his head, shuffled his feet slowly and tried to look as groggy
as possible.
	They led him inside the airport, one on each side of him, holding
him up by each arm. If he could only get them to let down their guard for
just a minute...
	There HAD to be a million places to hide in an airport. He thought
desperately to himself. Or, there might be none. How tight could the
security BE here? How dense was their camera field? One every twenty five
feet? One every hundred feet? Was Love Field an intersystem,
interplanetary, intercontinental, international or a domestic airport?
Did they use CyberForms here? Olfactory boosted dogs? How many security
guards would there be here?
	He finally decided his break would have to be here, because after
he was inside the tight security of the Dallas Shuttle-port, he was
theirs. How did they plan to transport him there? He couldn't very well
jump from a flying cab. Though he had heard of people doing it before, the
thought wasn't too appealing at the moment.
	"Where the hell is the limo?" Clancy asked disgustedly.
	"Go call them." Sir Maxxwell said in a calm voice. "I'm going to
get some cigarettes."
	"What about him?" Clancy asked.
	"He'll be ok. He's not going anywhere. He can't even keep his eyes
open." Sir Maxxwell shrugged. "No one is going to steal him in here."
	"I don't know..." Clancy said in a distrusting voice. "Watch him
for a while."
	They helped Chance to a chair and Clancy walked off, to find out
about their limousine transportation. As soon as Chance sat down, he acted
like he was too tired to remain awake, and had dozed off again. He could
feel the body heat of Sir Maxxwell sitting beside him, and smell his Old
Spice cologne as the man sat looking at him, and then the next minute, he
got up and walked off.
	Chance opened his eyes a small crack, trying to look around him a
little. He could see Clancy at the phone booths, and then spotted Sir
Maxxwell at a news stand buying a pack of cigarettes. He could feel the
adrenalin pumping through him, the fly or fight syndrome gripping the pit
of his stomach.
	In a flash, with all the strength he could muster, Chance was
flying down the terminal, dodging people as best he could, knocking some
of them down, and not once looking back. He was running for his life.
	He ran until his breath was coming in heaving gasps, and then he
had to find some place to rest. Quickly glancing back, he didn't see them
coming after him, but knew they would be back there somewhere. Dodging in
one of the bathrooms, he ran to the stalls, only to find out as he stood
panting, that he didn't have a quarter to open it.
	"When you gotta go, you gotta go." He said shrugging at a man who
was staring, and obviously disgusted at him, as he climbed under the stall
door.
	Picking his feet up off the floor, he squatted with his feet up on
the toilet seat and caught his breath, trying to be as quiet as possible,
hoping they didn't see him come in there. Sweat trickled down his sides as
he stayed very quiet, listening for sounds of anyone in the room.
	Several minutes later, once he was sure there was no one else left
in the bathroom, he stood up, stepped up on the lid of the toilet and
lifted one of the ceiling panels. Moving as fast as he could, knowing his
very life depended on it, he reached up into the ceiling and grabbed the
metal struts. He felt terribly out of shape, wishing he had gone to the
gym with Roland, cursing himself for not taking better care of himself.
Finally, he managed to pull his thin body up through the ceiling, and had
the ceiling tile back in place within a few seconds.
	He found himself scrunched between the two ceilings, grateful for
the coolness that penetrated through the steel roof above, sitting on one
of the steel struts, with his feet on the other. The sound of the rain
pelting the metal roof above him threatened to drive him insane.
	Carefully turning around in the cramped space, he found that he
could lay across three of the struts by stretching out. Though they held
him at his ankles, his waist and his throat, he found it only slightly
more comfortable by turning sideways, and folding his arm under his head.
	He would be ok for a while anyway. Maybe enough that the two men
would leave, and look outside the airport, thinking he had escaped.
	



From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 15-c/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:17:21 -0500

Trying to be as quiet as possible, he rolled on his other side and managed
to get his hand inside his pocket.
	Carefully avoiding dropping it, he filled the hypo-spray and
injected himself in the thigh with a hiss, that he hoped wasn't loud
enough to be heard down through the ceiling tiles. Then, with a numb
smile, he went into a semi-sleep hanging on to the struts for his very
life.
	After a long while, he woke up sick, and quickly dosed himself
again, having no idea how long he had been out in his semi-conscious
state. If it was anything like his other time frames between doses, he
suspected it would have been about four to six hours later. That made it
after noon. Was it enough? He lay there in the darkness unsure of himself.
	Using his fingernails, he carefully lifted the ceiling panel below
him and looked down into the bathroom. Once he was relatively sure the
place was empty again, he lifted the tile and dropped down onto the floor,
slipping and falling against the toilet, barking his knuckles on the
cracked floor tile.
	As quickly as he could manage in his drugged state, he got back up
on the back lid of the toilet, and put the tile back in place. Then he sat
on the toilet and rested. He had no idea what he was going to do next, but
he felt relatively free from the two men. At least he HOPED so.
	Had they contacted airport security to look for him as well?
Probably. So, he had to get OUT of the airport and as quickly as possible.
He thought to himself, lifting his feet up off the floor. Then what? They
would also by now have enlisted the Dallas police, if the Republic of
Texas had paid for his extraction. So he couldn't go to the cops.
	He needed a Netrunner. Surely they had a Netrunner bar SOMEWHERE
in this city.
	Why wasn't his DownLink chip working? They must have put a rogue
program in it when the captured him, was the best he could figure.
Something this Queen Lizallen bitch had whipped up no doubt.
	Carefully putting his feet down on the floor, he opened the door
as quietly as possible and started out of the bathroom. Once he saw how
dirty he looked in the mirror, he decided he had better clean up a little,
if he didn't want to attract attention to himself. Using the soap and sink
available, he did his best.
	Now looking a little cleaner, he started out again, only to find a
rubber band laying on the floor. He picked it up and used it to pull his
hair back behind his ears, and into a pony tail. Looking at himself in the
mirror, he decided that it helped SOME in changing his appearance.  Not
much, but enough that some amateur wouldn't point him out in a crowd if
they had posters of him out. The fact that he was unshaven helped more.
	As calm as possible, he made his way through the crowds and out
the exit to the sidewalk, trying to look like just another airport
tourist. Sans luggage.
	Now what? He had no money for a Taxi, not even enough to buy a
chit, to take the Mag-Lev into the city. So, following the flow of
traffic, he started walking. On his way to the DownTown towers of the
overwhelming Metroplex, he tried to take stock of his situation.
	He had no money, no credit, no ID, and no weapons. He was addicted
to some kind of military drug, and only had enough left for a few days.
The thought of withdrawal made him cringe inwardly. He was in a city where
they hate outlanders, and his face in particular would probably fetch a
fair reward. Hitchhiking was not an option, even if anyone DID stop to
pick him up. Car-jacking was just too popular these days.
	Well, at least it was a little warmer down here. Even if the rain
was still cold and blowing. It felt a lot like early spring in KC. March
or April.
	Following the elevated roadway at a reasonable distance, close
enough to see the traffic flow and not get lost, but not close enough to
be spotted by the motorists, he soon found himself wandering into a
homeless Box Village.
	Things were looking up. He decided. He wandered the "streets" of
the Box Village, appalled at the poverty surrounding him. The entire place
had been thrown together with cardboard boxes, boards here and there,
sheets of plastic in various thicknesses, junk and trash, gathered
together from where ever it could be found. He thought it was amazing.
	The people looked clean, well fed, and he could only hope,
friendly as he walked up to a young man about his own age and asked him as
politely as he could manage. The anger at these people, for what they were
about to do to the world, was more than he felt he could bear.
	"I'm from out of town, and I don't have any money." Chance
explained. "Could you tell me where I could stay around here? I just need
a place to lay down for the night."
	The man looked him up and down for a minute and snorted. "Try Old
man Williams." He shrugged, going back to patching his cardboard home with
a tube of silicone sealer. "He's down at the end of this street." He said
pointing with he caulking gun.
	"Thanks." Chance said, trying to be sincere, and continued down the
street. The Box Village surprised him in many ways. He saw entire family's
huddled in some homes, and heard everything from cursing, to dogs barking,
to babies crying, to laughter. He did not, however, hear any gunshots.
	When he came to the end of the haphazard muddy path the man had
called a "street", he found what appeared to be their town council from
the way passersby respected them. A small group of perhaps a dozen men, in
ages from about fifty to eighty, gathered around a barrel containing a
fire, in the middle of the street end, all drinking from the same bottles
that continued circulating, seemed to be those in charge.
	"Excuse me?" Chance asked, trying to be as respectful as those he
had seen waving and speaking politely to the old men. They passed around a
few bottles of wine, looking at him, but not saying anything. They knew
right away, he was not their kind.
	"I'm not from around here." Chance began, which elicited raucous
laughter around the barrel. "I'm looking for a Mr. Williams." He said
simply, thinking he was doomed once again.
	"I'm the one they call Old Man Williams." A big man with a gray
beard, in a red flannel shirt said grinning at him with a cigarette
between his teeth, his left eye squinted shut against the smoke rising in
the rain. "What is it then?" He asked, betraying an Australian or British
accent, that surprised Chance.
	"I don't have any place to stay. I was told to come see you."
Chance explained, hoping the group wouldn't turn him away in the cold
rain.
	"Really?" The man said sarcastically, which erupted laughter around
the barrel again. "Do you think any of us have a place to stay?"  He
grinned.
	"I don't know what I thought." Chance sighed and began to walk
away.
	"Wait a second comrade." The man said, now with a straight face,
not moving from the barrel. "Come here and get warm." He said low voice,
serious at showing Chance some compassion at least.
	Comrade? Chance thought. Was this a communist commune? It was the
best offer he had all day, he decided, and turned back to the group,
taking a place within the circle, gratefully warming himself by the fire
made from tires that had been shredded, paper trash and scraps of wood
boards. The warmth of the fire felt inviting even if the people didn't.
	"I say young man, what kind of talents might you be in possession
of?" The man named Williams asked, as the others only stared at him and
remained silent, listening earnestly. "We work on a different system of
barter here than you're most likely used to."
	"I'm a programmer." Chance offered, hoping he would be able to work
for them in exchange for a place to hide, until he could get back home.
	"We don't have any computers here." The big man smiled.
	"You're kidding." Chance said in disbelief. "Not even so much as a
Lap-Top?" He asked, finding it amazing that anyone COULD live without a
computer in their life. Surely they had SOMETHING.
	"What a queer snit you are! Do I look like a kidder?" The man asked
angrily. "Not very good manners I'd say. Considering you're a foreigner
here."
	"I'm sorry." Chance said tiredly. "I can do a lot of things I
suppose." He said shrugging in the cold rain. "I don't know what you need
though. I'm smart and I can work." The man whispered something to one of
the others who was younger than him, who nodded, and left the group.
	"Come along then." Williams said walking away from the fire.
	Chance followed him as best he could, slipping several times in
the muddy "streets" following the old man, trying to keep up, and once
nearly fell face first in the mud as the man ahead of him took the paths
in long strides. Somehow Chance got the impression that not all of the
mans mass was fat. Perhaps the fatty bloated look was from a primarily
starchy diet.
	"Do you have drugs here?" Chance asked the man trying to keep up
with him.
	"Got a taste for the candy do you?" The man grinned at him with
yellow teeth, still puffing on the cigarette. "Sure. We got just about
anything you'd want. You'd have to look around for it I'm afraid. I don't
mess with it myself. I don't do anything I can't sleep off. Here we go."
He said pulling back a wool blanket to reveal a darkened room.
	As Chance entered the haphazardly constructed hovel, created from
a thousand pieces of junk, he was surprised to find it warm and dry
inside. He listened carefully to the man fumbling around in the dark, and
nearly jumped out of his skin when an electric light bulb came on, showing
the interior of a room constructed of the same erratic melange of trash.
	"You have lights here!" Chance said in amazement.
	"Yes." The man laughed. "We're not without SOME basic creature
comforts. Have a seat." The man said motioning him to a chair at a card
table. Chance sat down tiredly, prepared for the questioning he knew was
coming.
	"So are you going to tell me who you're running from?" The man
asked gently.
	Chance sat and thought for a moment about how much he could tell
this man, still not sure if he could answer truthfully or not, when the
man suddenly offered him a drink.
	"It's cheap, but it hits the spot." He laughed pouring two fingers
of whiskey into a fairly clean cup, that Chance thought made an adequate
rock glass, all things considered. The whiskey DID help take the chill off
his bones.
	"Ok." The man began. "I've performed the rites of host, so now you,
as guest, will answer some of my questions." He said in a tone, that
indicated Chance had better do as he was told.
	"Well, I'm from Kansas City." Chance began. And three drinks later,
he told the man his entire story. Including what Jerry Bones had found
out, and even about the Black Lace.
	"I see." The man Williams said nodding when he was done, not saying
anything else for a long while. "Well, I can tell you that this is a
"Safe-Zone" for homeless people. However, it sounds like keeping you here,
could be a problem. Since I'm the leader here, I have to think about the
welfare of these people. This place is the only thing they have left." He
explained. "If it wasn't for this strip of mud on the edge of the shittier
part of town, they wouldn't have anything."
	"I understand." Chance sighed, too heartbroken to be angry, and
standing up to leave... But the combination of the drug in his system, and
the whiskey, coupled with the fact that he hadn't eaten anything since
early that morning, landed him on his face in the middle of the floor.





From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 16/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:19:01 -0500

Roland Eight
	Roland still hadn't found anything by Monday morning. He had
exhausted his options. He had looked everywhere. The only thing he knew to
do, or where to go, since he knew his friend Tucker would be there, was go
to the station.
	After they had shown Roland the body they claimed was Chance, in
the morgue, he had lost it. He left the morgue with only one purpose on
his mind, and that was to FIND Chance. How could they believe that was
Chance? He didn't even look anything like Chance. Even Tucker thought it
was. Roland KNEW it wasn't Chance.
	Roland walked into the police station, his nerves frazzled from
three days on speed, unshaven, and still unshowered. The Hunting Flashchip
gave him the stealth capability to unconsciously sneak up behind his
friend without a sound, though from his lack of sleep, he had stumbled
coming up behind him. His eyes were bloodshot ulcers as he sat down on a
chair beside his friend Tucker's desk.
	"I still can't find him, Tuck." Roland said as his voice started
cracking, betraying his sorrow and his unstable state of mind, as he put
his head down on the desk.
	"Roland." Tucker breathed, shocked, seriously concerned over the
health of his friend. "Stay right there a second. DON'T YOU MOVE." He said
sternly as he got up and strode deliberately across the room, went into
Captain Helen MacGregors office, speaking with her a minute or two, some
of which was spent yelling, some using his hands, to emphasize some point
he was trying to make. Then he came back out trotting.
	"I'm taking you home." Tucker said simply, putting his coat on,
checking the clip in his Sternmeyer12mm very heavy auto-pistol, and
pulling Roland up by his arm. "No arguments Rolly." He said quietly in his
ear.
	"No Tuck, I gotta find Chance!" Roland protested weakly. "He's
still out there. He might be hurt." He rambled in a mumbling voice.
	"If you fight me on this Rolly, I'll dope you." Tucker said
seriously, in a clear voice, low enough that no one else would over-hear
him. "You've got to get some sleep, before you snap."
	"He still out there somewhere." Roland mumbled around a thick dry
tongue, that was threatening to strangle him soon. Dehydration he
supposed.
	Had Roland been more alert, he would have noticed that all eyes in
the station were on him, and almost everyone was silent. In his current
state though, he only nodded weakly and swallowed, following along, with
his friend in control.
	"I got the keys to a department vehicle." Tucker explained, leading
Roland in the direction of the station garage. "Where have you been
anyway?" He asked in a low voice, trying to avoid the security voice
pick-ups.
	"It wasn't his body Tuck." Roland mumbled as they walked the
tunnels towards the garage. "It wasn't."
	"Ok." Stone said simply, thinking that Roland was gone to the point
to where he was denying reality to himself. They had already found Chances
body. It was in the morgue. It even had Chances jewelry, including his
wedding ring on it.
	"The scars weren't right." Roland mumbled shaking his head, trying
to get his friend to understand before he lost consciousness. "I can't
seem to find any information on him. I've been everywhere. I talked to
everyone I know."
	"We'll talk about it, when we get you home." Tucker hissed.
	They hadn't gone very far, down the tunnel towards the underground
garage, when they rounded a corner, to find the gang of Flying Dragons
standing there, unmoving.
	"What the hell?" Tucker said pulling up short and drawing his
sidearm, quickly leaning his friend Roland against the wall around the
corner, in case there was going to be trouble. "What the fuck are YOU
doing here?" He demanded.
	"We're not breaking any laws." The one boy said simply. "We're here
to talk to Caulder. We have information."
	"What do you want?" Tucker demanded. "He's in no condition to
talk."
	"We know where his husband is." The boy said simply.
	Roland came around the corner then, the life restored to his
shattered nerves and weary body. "Where is he!?" He demanded.
	"I will tell you that he WAS in Hayden Colorado, the Empty Quarter,
until he was moved." The boy began. "We tell you this in good faith. You
can either follow up on that lead, or, you can listen further." The boy
said shrugging.
	"You know where he is now?" Roland asked weakly.
	"Yes." The boy nodded. "We think. We want a deal though."
	"No deals." Tucker interrupted shaking his head. "Just tell him
what he wants to know, and maybe we don't hurt you." He said cocking the
Sternmeyer 12mm with a thumb. "You ARE in violation of building security
you know."
	"The little man talks big." The boy said in a straight face, his
eyes unblinking behind the videoshades. "Perhaps he should do the talking
now, and we'll do the listening." He hinted.
	Tucker clearly bristled at the kid, ready to tear him limb from
limb.
	"Shut up Tuck!" Roland barked. "What kind of a deal?"
	"We'll tell you what we know." The boy said laying out their terms.
"You take the Jolly Rogers out of circulation, by hauling them in."
	"What have they done?" Tucker asked in a more civil tone. "We get
along ok with the Jolly Rogers. They don't hurt anyone."
	"That's the deal." The boy said flatly, turning to walk away.  "All
or nothing."
	"Wait!" Roland protested. "I'll promise to do what I can." He said
resigning himself to the circumstances.
	"You are a man of honor Caulder. A man of your word. We know you."
The boy said in his flat voice. "I believe you. Meet us at the Truman
Sports Complex this afternoon." He said disappearing with his gang around
a corner in a flash.
	Boosterware. Roland thought weakly to himself. Or Speedware.
Cybernetic modifications would be the only answer, to how the gang could
disappear by moving so fast. Roland looked at Stone with an amazed look on
his face, and blacked out.
	When he came to, he was laying in bed, staring at Chances gold
wedding band still on the end of his index finder, his clothes removed,
parched, and hurting all over. It was still morning, even though he felt
completely rested. In the other room, he could hear his friend Tucker
talking to the apartment AI, telling it which channels he wanted to scan
on TV.
	As Roland sleepily, gathered the blanket off the bed and made his
way to the bathroom, he heard Tucker and singing along with what sounded
like some song on MTV, as he was scanning channels.
	"Baby.
	"Life with you is all ups & downs,
	"When you're up, you're off down town.
	"I've had enough."
	"Baby.
	"Don't tell me about your lack of restrictions,
	"Guilty record & previous convictions,
	"Or I shall start playing rough.
	"Baby.
	Roland smiled to himself and came out into the living room feeling
surprisingly very hungry. It seemed like only a couple of hours ago he was
strung tighter than a piano wire, not hungry, not sleepy, but seriously
exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally.
	"I didn't know you had another talent." Roland smiled dropping down
into his favorite chair, pulling the blanket up around him to hide his
nakedness.
	"Oh." Tucker blushed. "You heard me singing huh?" He grinned.
"That was a song my ex-wife used to like. I would have liked it too, if
she hadn't have rubbed it in my face so much. It's actually a pretty good
tune." He smiled.
	Roland grinned. "Hey!" He stopped short, frowning, rubbing his
hand along his chin. "I'm shaved!"
	"Yeah." Tucker agreed, unsure at what Roland was driving at.
	"And I don't smell as bad as I did." He said amazed, lifting his
arm to check his body odor. "When did I clean up?" He asked unsure of his
memory.
	"I gave you a bath and cleaned you up." Tucker explained a little
embarrassed. "Hell Rolly."
	"Did you?" Roland asked now embarrassed. "Why?"
	"Because you asked me to!" Tucker said as if that was answer
enough. "Do you want something to eat?" He asked getting up, clearly not
wanting to finish the conversation.
	"Sure." Roland answered slowly, wondering what else he had said or
done, while he was out.
	"I can't get over this eating fresh food." He heard Tucker say from
the kitchen. "I haven't eaten like this since I was a kid. Sylvia just
fixed peel-a-meals."
	"You're welcome to anything in there you know." Roland said getting
up and moving to the bar in the kitchen to get himself coffee, surprised
to find it already made, and sitting in a mug on the counter waiting for
him.
	"It's hot." Tucker said not looking at Roland as he fixed bacon &
eggs for them both. "I tried to keep your place clean. I ran the cleaning
'Bot."
	"Thanks." Roland sipped at the coffee, finding it surprisingly good
compared to the way Tucker usually fixed it at the station. "Hey Tuck,
what's going on?" Roland finally asked, wondering why his friend was being
so tense.
	"Nothing." Tucker lied. It was obvious to both of them.
	"Have I said something?" Roland asked curious. "I'm not
understanding. Tell me why you gave me a bath."
	"We already covered this." Tucker objected. "You know why."
	"No, I don't." Roland paused, thinking that a lot more had gone on
than he would have had time for. "Wait a second. What time is it?" He
looked at the clock on the microwave and almost spilled his coffee
"EIGHT-THIRTY! Jesus! We're going to be late for the station." He said
jumping up and running into the bedroom to get dressed. Tucker walked in
behind him.
	"What are you doing?" Tucker asked curiously.
	"Getting ready for work!" Roland answered irritated.
	"You quit the other day." Tucker stared at him. "Don't you
remember?"
	"No. I don't." Roland said opened mouthed, sitting down on the bed,
with his pants down around his ankles. "Why did I do that?"
	"What's wrong with your mind Rolly?" Tucker asked seriously
concerned. "It's all the dope I'll bet. Come back in here and eat, and
I'll explain everything."
	"What DAY is this Tuck?" Roland asked cautiously, following his
friend back into the kitchen, and sitting back down at his coffee.
	"This is Wednesday morning." Tucker said simply.
	"Oh my God." Roland said shaking his head. "What happened to me?"
	"Well, I'm not quite sure what all you did while you were gone over
the weekend, you were kinda vague about that, but you did seem to answer
my questions fairly easily. I figured you were on some kind of hypnotic."
Tucker shrugged, serving up their breakfasts. "You've been VERY honest
about ... things... lately."
	"Oh my god." Roland moaned, putting his head down in his hands.
"What did I do?" He asked resigned.
	"Before or after you put the moves on me?" Tucker smiled.
	"Oh God Tuck." Roland closed his eyes. "I am really sorry." He said
sincerely. "What have I done?"
	"I know you are." Tucker smiled sitting down on the other side of
the bar and began eating his breakfast. "You said so enough since then."
	"When was that?" Roland asked.
	"Monday, after I put you to bed."
	"Did I go out to the Sports Complex to talk to the Flying Dragons?"
	"No, I went in your place." Tucker explained. "They cooperated with
me though. Everything went fine. After I came back and woke you up, I sat
on the bed and told you everything they told me. That was when you pulled
me down in the bed with you." He grinned. "We DID sleep together, but that
was all we did. For a while there, you almost had me talked into it you
know." He laughed.
	"Oh my god Tucker." Roland sighed. "I am SO SORRY. I don't know
what got into me. I would NEVER have put you in that kind of a
situation..."
	"I know you are." Tucker grinned. "Anyway, yesterday we went to the
top of One KC Place, and talked with the Jolly Rogers, and then, we went
out to the old Bendix complex to talk with the Flying Dragons leader."
	"You got us caught up in some kind of gang war?" Roland asked
puzzled. "What did you do?"
	"YOU did it my friend." Tucker laughed. "You also conducted all the
peace talks as well. I did a little talking, but for the most part, the
two sides just wanted your presence there, and they solved their problems
between themselves." He explained. "As a matter of fact, I think you slept
through most of it."
	"So why did I quit work?" Roland asked confused.
	"It was Chairman Guthrie again. " Tucker explained. "They were
filming their series "Cops in Kansas City" and she had one of their media
teams go with us on a few of our cases." He began." She was thinking about
keeping a crew of them here and assigning one to each team. 'For
Documentation' she said." He laughed. "You didn't like the idea. Anyway,
we were out on that case, where the missing woman was found buried under
the potted tree, in the Bannister Mall?" He paused making sure Roland was
following along. "We were tripping over the Medias there were so many. As
soon as we got our lead, they beat us to the killer and he got away. You
finally got pissed, and left them out in the Combat Zone."
	"Well, as long as I had a good reason." Roland rationalized it all
quickly.
	"Oh yeah." Tucker nodded. "I quit too. I said I would stand by you.





From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 17/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:22:15 -0500

Chance Nine
	Chance slept in the land of nightmares. He was in George Jetson's
home, held captive for some unknown reason, and he was trying to get to
DataMain. Or was it DataCentral? His thoughts at times were completely
unrelated, while others, the transition from one dream-state to another
was as smooth as a segue on NuzKlips. He knew the last thing he remembered
for any truth was the Friday before Christmas, 2032. Since then, a day or
a year could have advanced without him, the drug and it's effects leaving
his mind in little puddles along the way for him to worry over. He dreamed
people were coming in one at a time and discussing him, or talking to him,
though he couldn't be sure if that was real or dream.
	Chance remembered threatening one of the people in his dreams,
telling the man that Roland was a military cop, a foot taller than Chance,
five years older than himself, and a mean motherfucker when it came to
Chance's health. Roland was a plainclothes detective and an Ex-Marine and
they had been together for ten years. But he was unsure whether the dream
man was impressed or not. He eventually disappeared anyway. He remembered
seeing banana clips in some very big guns.
	Chance was used to guns. Roland always carried his AutoColt 45,
and Chance USED to have a S&W 45 Auto, somewhere, though he couldn't quite
pinpoint when it had been taken away from him. He found himself wondering
absentmindedly if Clancy and Sir Maxxwell had taken him out of Kansas City
through MCI - Mid Continent International, or out of the DownTown airport
KCI. He vaguely recalled hearing some bitch drone on in the background of
his mind, talking about the architecture styles of the past century:
NeoDeco, AntiDeco, and Eco-Fast. Until he began screaming for her to shut
up.
	Someone came and gave him a shot, to his dismay, and then he no
longer cared what they gave him. As long as it kept coming. He moved
through a wall of televisions, each tuned to a different channel, and was
broken down into subatomic particles by the electron gun in each of the
TV's, sending him backwards through the cable to the transmission station
and in reverse order, up through the dish antennae to bounce off the
satellites and split into a thousand distinct personalities.
	In his dreams was a skinny little man, about 35, who was
decorating the walls with pills. A million different types. He was
systematically gluing a rainbow of pills to the walls of the Jetson home,
using a glue gun. Chance stood back and looked at the monstrous effect,
pointing out to the man that Greenies, Marvols, 88's should not be placed
together. As if HE knew everything there was to know about using pills for
wallpaper. Somewhere along he line he reached the conclusion that he was
simply insane, so there was no reason to fight it. In his dream he had
wandered away from the Jetson Home, to find himself out on a prairie,
under a sky of white noise. The electronic snow of a non-channel.
WesTexas.
	No, he was not in WesTexas, but he had been there before. This
place just reminded him of it. When was it that he had been to WesTexas?
School mail boxes. Oh yeah! That had been when he was in high school.
Right after he and his family had come to North America from the CIS.
	His mother had been with the Hallmark Corporation and she had been
transferred to WesTexas. Was that real or a dream? God how he and his
brothers, Sasha and Misha, had to fight to survive! The Chicanos of the
region felt as if allowing Russians into the Great Republic of Texas was
just going too far. The Nips were bad enough, but at least they carried
NuYen. But NO poverty bound Russkies.
	Hell, Chance and his brother Sasha had spoken better English than
the teachers there. But had it really happened, or did he just remember it
that way? His mind tracked back to Clancy. He could see him standing out
there in the plains of WesTexas, in all his feral cruelty. The military
model. Intelligence, Courage, Contacts. That was Roland.
	Chance could see Roland standing in the distance, waving to him,
in his heavy leather Dutch Corp field jacket, short black hair, big thick
moustache, his massive chest threatening to swell out of the jacket where
he had it buckled at the waist, and his smile that had entranced Chance
for years. Then he was gone. Over the horizon.
	The military model also consisted of: Unquestioning loyalty,
maintaining simplicity, brutality. That was Clancy. Most were Sadists,
most had commitment problems, or current relationship problems. Clancy
again. Most ended up Gangsters, or in Law Enforcement. Clancy and Roland
had fallen on opposite sides of the spectrum.
	Someone in the background of his mind reminded him that
Civilization is only skin deep. And he had to wonder where that had come
from. Where had he heard that before? His friend at the La-Lo, Yerik? It
sounded like him.
	Fat people are emotional babies. One of his security men had said
that. He recognized the 10mm Uzi, jacked into the wrist of the security
man, linking it to his brain, and making the gun a lot more smarter than
most people he knew. Was it Kyle? He KNEW the words to be true though.
Fat people hid behind food as a source of comfort. They cry at the drop of
a hat and are forever "Sensitive". Which is why he never hired fat people.
	Sean even put in an appearance once, short fat and handsome, even
with the interface cable that ran from the base of his skull to the
assault rifle he carried in his hands, and Sean was someone Chance never
expected to see in his dreams.
	Most of this dream-scape Chance participated in, rather than
controlled, by talking with people who entered the scene, or hearing
voices out of the past reassert themselves in his current time-line. Most
of this took place on a Hollywood set he dubbed: "Old Western Sci-Fi:
subtitled (The Martian Ranch)" as he roamed at random through the barren
landscape, in search of something he could quite remember he was looking
for.
	It surprised him when Tucker Stone appeared, and asked him what he
thought he was doing. The surprise came when he realized he couldn't
answer the question with any certainty. However, they walked along, with
Tucker telling him what it had been like in the Navy Seals, occasionally
brushing at some unseen lint on his kevlar body vest, a heavy auto pistol
in one hand and an Auto-shotgun in the other, jacked into his wrist, a
portable terminal slung over one shoulder and carrying a MedKit on the
other.
	His friend Tom had walked with him for a while, in all his Media
get-up, which was a comfort compared to walking alone through the barren
landscape of his mind, but as soon as he asked where Roland was, Tom
shimmered away and was replaced by Arnaud, who felt he just had to go
through a routine of reminding Chance how many times he had fucked up in
his life. He even produced a palm-top computer with records of all of it.
Chance looked suspiciously at the palm-top computer, wondering if Arnaud
had taken it out of his desk drawer. Then Arnaud had disappeared with a
haunting laugh that echoed in the canyon.
	He walked for endless miles of that dreamscape walk, where you
feel like your legs are trying to move though sand, or thick gooey water,
and you know logically that in the real world, the waking world, your legs
are just tangled in the blankets. It was hot out on the prairie, which had
changed more to a desert scene, and he wondered if he was walking towards
Mexico or Phoenix. His long hair blew about his shoulders as he walked
along, pondering the things his ghosts from the past had felt their need
to tell him, feeling guilty, as if there should be something more he could
be doing, though what it might be just never occurred to him. So he kept
walking. It surprised him to find his Smith & Wesson 45 Auto in his
shoulder rig, and wondered briefly when it had appeared, but was grateful
for it's comfort, and thought no more on the subject, least he lose it. He
was still dressed in the sleeveless sweat-shirt he had put on Friday, the
same boots, same blue jeans, and his NuCity Fashions leather flak jacket
was quickly becoming a liability in the desert sun. His clothing hung on
him like wet drapery on his tall hairy body, and he was sweating so much
he had to wonder if anyone had ever dehydrated in their sleep. Probably
wireheads did.
	They died a thousand different deaths, plugged into the wall
socket, with juice trickling down into the pleasure center of their
brains. They forget to eat, or drink, or shower, or go to work, and after
a few days, sores appear on them, and after a few weeks of not moving,
they die.
	Just as he thought it couldn't get any worse, or he couldn't feel
any more miserable, Mattie Silver appeared from behind a Saguaro cactus
and punched him in the stomach, making him throw up. Needless to say, the
scene changed a lot. But why did she have to call him a fucking faggot?





From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 18/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:23:24 -0500

Roland Nine
	Roland felt cramped in the airbus flight from MCI to Cape Kennedy.
It didn't seem as if they designed the cheap ceramic jets for anyone over
five feet tall. North America had been definitely affected by the last
century of Japanese yen that flowed ever increasingly across the ocean
blue. Sean O'Casey looked perfectly at ease, though Tucker, thankfully,
looked as uncomfortable as Roland.
	Once they made landfall, and walked down the collapsible ramp that
led from the airbus to the terminal, the first thing the two taller men
did was stretch, in the middle of thick crowds milling past them, and
laugh at each other.
	"You think you were cramped in that, just wait 'til you get in the
shuttle." Sean grinned up at them, leading the way to the ticket counter.
	"Are they gonna have liquor on the shuttle?" Tucker asked.
	"Are you still chicken of this flight?" Sean laughed at him.
"Because they won't even have flight attendants in the can we'll be flying
in. Once we're loaded, they seal it up, air tight for the trip.  We'll be
on our own."
	"You don't have to go if you don't want to Tuck." Roland said
gently. "It's ok. Really." He nodded. "I'll put you on a plane back home."
	"No Rolly." Tucker insisted stubbornly. "I go where you go." He
said simply, causing Roland to be just a little uncomfortable.
	Roland had noticed more than just a little sexual tension around
Tucker lately, and he had no reason for it. Tucker was just possessive
about their friendship was all. Still, the fact that Roland could sense
it, was real none the less. The attraction to the forbidden fruit. He
supposed. But, he recalled, Tucker DID say they didn't actually DO
anything in bed together... Still, he had to wonder.
	"Here you go." Sean stopped, tapping at the front of a drug-vending
machine. "Valium. The best thing for a space flight. Knock yourself out.
Literally." He smiled, winked, and walked off as Tucker reached in his
pocket for credit card. "I wonder what the exchange rate is today." Tucker
said to himself as he made his selection, along with a bottle of Compazine
for the space sickness he had heard so much about.
	Almost immediately, he was surrounded by four different kids,
ranging in age from Ten to Fourteen, wanting to sell him all sorts of
drugs, swearing on their grandmothers graves that THEIR stuff was 100%
pure, and the stuff he was buying was nothing but garbage. Finally, out of
desperation, Tucker showed them his badge. It was an extra he kept at
home, and now carried "just in case" since he and Roland had turned in
their other badges to Helen when they quit.
	The kids, he knew, probably couldn't read that it said Kansas
City, Breadbasket on it, but they recognized the little shield of metal
and what it meant. They were gone in a blink. As fast as the Flying
Dragons had vanished around the corner in the basement of the station
house, back home.
	"We got the tickets. We're lucky we booked them over the phone
ahead of time. The flight's booked solid now." Roland said walking up to
Tucker. "But the flight has been delayed for another hour, until the
thunderstorm passes." He explained. "Do you want to get something to eat
before we go?"
	"I wouldn't." Sean warned them. "Let's just get a beer for now.
SAS can be a killer if you have any food on your stomach. Wait until we
get up there to eat." He suggested. "It's a little more expensive, but
you'll be glad you waited. TRUST me." He grinned. "You can thank me for my
pearls of wisdom later."
	"What exactly IS this SAS shit anyway?" Roland asked
conversationally as they all headed towards the terminal bar, to get a
beer.
	"Space Acclimatization Syndrome. Your adrenalin kicks in when you
first start feeling free-fall and it won't stop until we make it to
Daedalus." Sean explained. "Your nuts will crawl up in your stomach and
you'll break out in a sweat. If you don't throw up, sooner or later,
you'll feel like you're going out of your mind. But, like I say, it only
lasts until you get some gravity under your feet."
	"If it's that bad, maybe we should get first class tickets, so we
can have a compartment with gravity." Roland said worriedly, looking at
Stone who was swallowing his machine dispensed drugs by the handfuls.
	"You're kidding!" Sean laughed. "And pay TEN times the amount of
coach? Not on your life. These are expensive enough."
	"True." Roland had to agree. It was horribly expensive for an
orbital flight. Each ticket was equal to about a months wages. That is,
equal to a months wages BEFORE he had quit. Still, he HAD to pay it. If it
meant getting Chance back, he was willing to pay a million times that
amount. How could he have been so stupid as to quit his job? Hell today,
any job was a good job, regardless of the crap you had to put up with.
	So WHAT could have been so bad about a few Medias, tagging along
on their cases, that could have made him want to quit? He must have been
out of his mind. Maybe after this was over, Helen would give him and Stone
their jobs back... If they hadn't already been replaced by CyberForms.
	"Second thoughts?" Sean grinned at him as they sat down at a booth
that overlooked the rainy tarmac, where they could see about a dozen
shuttles standing tall and erect on their platforms, ready to go as soon
as the weather cleared.
	"No." Roland shook his head, sure of himself. "I was just wondering
if Chance is still ok."
	"I'm sure he is Rolly." Tucker said gently.
	"I TOLD you he wasn't dead Tuck." Roland scolded him easily, not
pushing the matter too far. "That WASN'T his body. I knew that much, even
if I COULDN'T have told you my own name at the time."
	"It looked like him to me." Tucker said shrugging. "Hell, they even
went to the trouble of putting Chances jewelry on him. Including his
wedding ring."
	"Maybe so, but I've slept with that body every night for ten
years." Roland said with surety. "I KNOW his body."
	"Have you given any thought as to where you're going to start
looking if he's not up there?" Sean asked.
	"No." Roland said pausing, then simply sipping at his beer. "I
haven't thought that far ahead."
	"Why wouldn't he be, Sean?" Tucker demanded. "YOU were the one that
said he was on Daedalus Station."
	"And the Flying Dragons said he was in Hayden Colorado." Roland
reminded him. "I have to check out all the possibilities Tuck. Especially
now that I know he's still alive."
	"ColdFire Taipei has him. That much I'm sure of." Sean spoke up.
"But that doesn't mean they intend to keep him around close to work him."
	"Where else beside Daedalus would they go?" Tucker asked confused.
"I mean it IS the main data satellite for EarthSystem. It seems the
logical place."
	"You forget that the Intersystem datanet goes where ComWeb goes.
With that, means, FTL communications." Sean looked at Tucker. "So,
technically, he could work for them, from anywhere in OrganizedSpace."
	"But OrganizedSpace is over a thousand light years across!"  Tucker
protested. "Faster Than Light communications or not, what would be the
point?"
	"To keep him out of my reach. Out in the off-world colonies."
Roland said quietly. "Or to make his escape from them, more than just a
little difficult."
	"Yeah." Sean nodded solemnly. "You're catching on."
	"You can't check every city and satellite on every planet in every
system in OrganizedSpace!" Tucker protested. "It would take millions of
years!"
	"Well, let's hope I find him soon then." Roland smiled, shrugging
slightly, staring down into the amber of the beer in his hand.
	The flight was uneventful, to Rolands surprise. He took the
G-Force well, better than he thought he would, since it was his first
spaceflight, and the SAS everyone warned him about, really wasn't that bad
either, once you got used to it, and trusted your mind more than your
body. He had sincerely thought Tucker would throw up before they got to
Daedalus, and was quite amazed when the man simply fell asleep before they
even left the ground. He didn't even want to wake up after they had
docked. It must have been the mix of beer and Valium.
	Docking was something Roland hadn't quite expected though. For
some reason, he had assumed that the Shuttle would come right up to the
station and park along side it, and he had pictured in his mind some white
flexible umbilical snaking out to link them to the station, or at least
some sort of Stanley Kubrik 2001: A Space Odyssey version, where the
shuttle would rotate with the station's hub, matching it's velocity before
penetrating it's inner reaches. He couldn't have been more wrong.
	Actually what happened was, the shuttle came within a few miles of
the station, waited there a few moments, hung suspended, with their heads
down pointing towards Earth, then they opened the cargo bay doors, and
using the shuttles powerful work arms, pulled the passenger compartment
out, and just sort of slung it over it's back on a trajectory aimed at the
station. Then, with a few spurts from the thrusters, the shuttle took off,
to go do other things more important while up out of the gravity well, in
orbit. For a good ten minutes they were free falling sealed in the can,
with no engines of any kind. The thought that something might go wrong,
and they would start falling on some unplanned trajectory, terrified
Roland. The voices of those around him chit-chatting about this and that
helped soothe his nerves immensely.  LIFE was going on around him in the
icy blackness.
	As they neared the station, in the free floating can, the space
station rotated to a point where a huge web which was strung on long
struts just sort of reached out and scooped them up like a butterfly in a
net. THEN he could feel the centripetal force, finding an "UP" and a
"DOWN" for him, and he felt much better. The next thing he knew they were
being guided by robotics into a sealed bay and there were technicians all
around, cutting the bolts that sealed them in the can, the airline called
a "Transport bay". Everyone else on the flight took everything in stride,
as if it happened all the time, so Roland thought it was best to just keep
his mouth shut and maintain his cool, least someone realize that he was a
virgin at this sort of thing.
	They made it through customs so quick, it was eerie. He knew there
would HAVE to be a catch to the procedure, and it would probably be hell
getting back down. He was just thankful he had his passport with him.
Roland let Tucker deal with all the bother of checking into the Marriot
hotel. Meanwhile, he and Sean went straight to work. Starting with an
information DataTerm, right there in the hotel lobby.
	 "Might as well start with the easy part first." Sean grinned and
shrugged, typing in commands on the screen, like he had used one often
enough to be familiar with them.
	"No," said the DataTerm touch-screen computer terminal. "they had
no one by the name of Chance Marchenko listed as either a resident OR a
visitor, nor had he passed through this station on his way to the outer
worlds or other systems."
	So, Sean had the machine display a list of corporations who leased
space on the station. "Recognize any of the names listed here?" He asked
Roland who just shook his head. "Anything ring a bell?"
	"Nothing significant." Roland explained. "I mean, sure, I recognize
the names, but nothing there makes any big connection."
	Sean nodded and had the machine print out a hard copy map of the
station along with the names of everything. "It might come in handy." He
shrugged folding it and putting it in his pocket, as they headed to the
hotel desk to check on Tucker and see how he was doing.
	"You got it?" Sean clapped Tucker on the back good naturedly.
	"Yeah." Tucker said sleepily, wrinkling his face as he had a bad
taste in his mouth, and slipped the card key in his breast pocket. "Let's
find something to eat. I'm starving."
	"Sure." Sean shrugged, leading them to the hotel restaurant.





From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 19/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:24:49 -0500

Chance Ten
	Chance came to consciousness, laying on a greasy foam pad, covered
with a sheet of thermal plastic. It was warm, but it didn't let any air in
to his skin, so his sweat clung to him in a sticky film, that threatened
to suffocate him.
	"How are you feeling?" The man called Williams asked in real
concern.
	"Sick." Chance moaned, feeling the withdrawal pulling at him all
over, especially his mind. He threw the plastic wrap off and sat
shivering, looking for his jacket.
	"Are you looking for this?" Williams asked holding up the
hypo-spray.
	"Yeah." Chance said holding out his hand, trembling, feeling his
vision stretch into a long tunnel, where it seemed like the man was
talking to him, in slow motion, from a million miles away. All he could
think of was the drug, The Drug, THE DRUG!
	"Please." Chance rasped out.
	"So sorry." Williams said sincerely. "We've got to get you down off
this crap. And I do mean RIGHT away."
	Chance could only stare at the man, cry over the loss of the drug,
and shiver, pulling the thermal blanket back around him, and lay back
down. Over the next few days, he remembered visions of cigarettes glowing
in the room, yellow teeth, talking to the man Williams a couple of times,
and he saw various strange faces come in and talk to him, but mostly he
remembered the horrible sickness that followed him even into the land of
dreams. The trembling. The fever.
	When he was finally able to sit up and drink cool water, he felt
he could handle light broth. Surprisingly, the man Williams obliged by
pulling out a packet of cup-a-soup from a cabinet he had set into the
floor, beneath yet another foam cushion where they were stung about the
room.
	"What did you do with my jacket?" Chance asked sipping carefully.
	"It's here." The man said handing it to him, as he started a pot of
water to boiling on a little gas stove. "The drug is gone though, I'm
afraid. We had to get rid of that mess. I had Johnny Fingers move it for
you, so he owes you some cash for that. You'll have to work that out with
him, later."
	"Why did you take it? It was mine." Chance asked him angrily, and
somewhat sad, but inside he was very glad to be off the junk. "Say, Can I
get a cigarette from you?" He begged as he coughed.
	"Did you even know what you were taking?" Williams asked him
squarely, holding out his pack of filtered cigarettes to Chance, and
lighting it with an old fashioned Zippo lighter.
	"No." Chance shrugged, wondering absently what had happened to his
own cigarettes. "I told you about that. I only know it kept me from
getting sick."
	"Hah!" The man laughed in a short bark. "It kept you from THINKING
you were sick. I'll say! It certainly WAS a military drug!" The man
snorted disgustedly. "The E.C. used to use it, to control the soldiers. It
made them VERY cooperative." He winked. "It's been banned for years.
Mainly, because it had the VERY nasty side effect, of causing
demylenization in the brain." He said seriously.
	Chance just looked up at the man and said nothing as he pulled on
the cigarette slowly.
	"DE-MY-LIN-EYE-ZA-SHUN." The man said slowly, thinking Chance
didn't understand. "It's a long process, where the protein sheath covering
the nerves is broke down over time. Then of course, the nerve becomes
useless."
	"I KNOW what it is." Chance grumbled.
	"Then you know you would eventually be brain dead then." Williams
smiled. "Couldn't have that. I've got plans for you Chancey me boy!"
	"Like what?" Chance asked warily.
	"We're going to put that brain of yours to work." Williams
explained. "You said you're a programmer, well, maybe I can get you to a
computer that can do us all some good."
	"My DownLink chip isn't working for some reason." Chance explained.
"I explained that. I don't know why. I can't interface with the machines
right now."
	"You can use a keyboard can't you?" Williams stared at him. "Or
don't you know how to read?"
	"Yes. I can read." Chance snapped, feeling insulted.
	"You'd be surprised at how many in your profession can't." He
grinned with the yellow teeth and the complimentary cigarette. "Will any
of these do you any good?" Williams asked point to a stack of a couple of
dozen Lap-Top computers that had been gathered and brought here.
	"I don't know." Chance breathed. "I'll have to look at them." He
explained accepting the soup from the man gratefully. "Where did you get
them?"
	"We have warehouses of stuff we find." Williams shrugged. "We never
throw anything away if we can keep from it, because you never know when it
might come in handy." He winked again.
	"Some of them are cellular units." Chance nodded looking at the
stacks. "I think I might be able to do something with them." He said
thoughtfully, trying to think of some way he could get to an uplink, that
would get him a line to a satellite, where he could then get a hold of
someone at Full Disclosure, to get him home.
	"You don't know yet what I want you to do yet." The man remarked.
	"True." Chance sipped, nodding. "What DO you want?"
	"You're going to get us the title to a few buildings around town."
Williams said simply. "Safe Zone isn't enough for us anymore, as you can
see. The sanitary conditions around here are deplorable. The health of our
people is at risk." He explained. "You're going to get us a building or
two or three that isn't currently being used, and we're going to take them
over. We need fresh filtered water and toilet facilities."
	"You're kidding me." Chance said, grinning, thinking the man WAS
just teasing, or at least putting him on for some reason.
	"No I'm not." Williams said seriously, sitting back on the greasy
cushions, and watching Chance intently. "We have a complete society here."
He explained. "That includes starvation, plague, and genocide." He shook
his head solemnly. "Just because we're rejected from society, doesn't mean
we lost our value as people. I'm just trying to help my people survive. As
a class of PIN-less people."
	"I'm getting sick here myself." Chance agreed. "I know it. I don't
know if it's the toxins in the air, the water, the acid rain, or what, but
I've got to get out of here."
	"I'll let you go as soon as you do what I ask of you." Williams
nodded. "You've seen the televised executions?" Williams asked, nodding at
the little 2-d color TV that sat in a corner. "Those are people who were
found guilty of crimes against man. In Municipal courts. They go to the
Organ Banks." He explained. "We're not above that sort of thing ourselves
if we deem it necessary. Sometimes it's over something as simple as
stealing water. We have our own connections to the organ harvesters. I
don't want to have to part you out, but I will if you don't help us." He
said seriously enough that Chance believed him.
	"How do you expect to hold the building once you have it?" Chance
asked him. "Won't the government just send in troops to take it back?"
	"We are not without our own weapons." Williams smiled. "But it
won't come to that. The buildings we want, are in old-town. No one wants
them anymore. New-town is up there." He said pointing up to the ceiling.
"The place where everything is happening, and it sits up over the top of
old-town."
	"I'll do what I can." Chance shrugged, having no faith in the plans
of the man and his people. "I can't guarantee what I'll find for you."
	"Don't worry about that Chancey." Williams laughed heartily. "Got
all that taken care of.  I just need your talents as a Netrunner right
now. Then you'll be free to go your own way."
	After he had finished a couple of cups of the very good soup,
Chance got up, from where he had laid for the past four days, and began
examining the Lap-Top computers. Sifting through them went fairly fast.
Most were completely useless. They were true trash. Except for the rare
metals they contained. A couple though, looked near new. Their power paks
were even already charged.  Power? Of course they would have tapped the
power lines by now. Unemployed electricians would have found themselves
here as well. Most of the Lap-Tops didn't do much more than perform simple
basic functions, offer storage, and none of them would give him access to
ComWeb.
	After Chance selected the best one, with a re-charge unit and was
able to rig it up to Williams electricity, within hours he was picking his
way around the keyboard accessing the phone-line BBS's of Dallas, through
Local Area Networks. Dedicated LAN lines. The LAN lines were always there,
if nothing else was. They were the old copper lines that dated back to the
old audio-only phones, and formed the core of the neural network of the
planet. They were the beginning of ComWeb. On which the cellar systems
were added, and The Net was based.
	After making a few quick and easy grid-friends, people whom he
could tell knew their stuff, and using the only currency he had,
knowledge, exchanging information he knew, for other information he
needed, he was able to get access to the bars and night spots where
Netrunners hung out. Information was always a great commodity for trading.
He quietly thanked his mother for those college years as he silently
breathed a sigh of relief, watching the data flow across the antique
plasma screen.
	Soon after that, a nervous skinny man, in a long gray leather
duster coat, looking gaunt and drawn about his face, who Chance found out
was the local drug dealer, Johnny Fingers, came by and gave Chanced a wad
of about nine thousand NuYen.
	Chance could tell from the simple transaction of the money
changing hands that Johnny Fingers had ripped him off, it was something in
the flickering of the man's eyes that gave him away. Besides that, Chance
KNEW something as powerful as Black Lace HAD to go for more than that, but
he took the money anyway, and was grateful for it. It was a start. Nine
thousand NuYen was nothing to shrug off. NOW he felt like he had a hope
for survival. With a grin he grabbed his jacket and left the shack where
he had been staying with Williams, under his watchful eye.
	"Going somewhere?" Williams asked him standing by the night fire
that was blazing in the barrel, located in the center of the Homeless Safe
Zone town.
	"Yeah." Chance stopped and explained. "I'm going to a Netrunner
bar. I've managed to make a few friends, and I'm going to see if I can go
find out more about the Dallas/Fort Worth datanet."
	"You won't mind then, if I send someone along with you?" Williams
asked, cocking his head. "For your protection?" He grinned.
	"Not at all." Chance shrugged as he watched Willliams look over his
shoulder and nod at a big man dressed in black leather, who looked rugged
and mean behind mirrored lensed glasses, and a three day beard growth, who
had been standing behind Chance with his automatic rifle held ready in his
big hands.
	"Joshua here will help you." Williams smiled. "He's been keeping an
eye on you for me since you arrived." He grinned. "He'll keep you out of
trouble, and show you the way back. So you don't get lost."
	"Sure." Chance shrugged, walking off from the group, hearing the
man follow him behind, squishing through the mud.
	A couple of times, as they headed for the outer perimeter of the
Safe Zone, Chance slowed down so Joshua could catch up, but the man seemed
content with watching Chance from behind, and followed along silently.
After a while, Chance could feel the sexual edge to the mans stare as he
watched him from behind, and it began to make him more than just a little
uncomfortable. Rounding a corner, Chance stopped dead short, frozen in his
tracks at the scene before him he was looking at.
	A team of MedTeks, dressed in police riot gear, and framed by
armored cops, were dropping people like flies with needle guns of some
kind.
	Turning quickly around, Chance ran into Joshua with a loud thump,
knocking the wind out of him. Joshua picked him up by grabbing him by the
collar, and managed to haul him bodily, one handed, behind a close tree.
	"What are they doing?" Chance gasped quietly trying to catch his
breath, speaking to Joshua who was peeking around the corner of the tree,
keeping track of the Medical teams, as he checked his own bloody nose from
their previous collision.
	"They're from the Health Enforcement Center." Joshua explained.
"They're inoculating everyone against something. The disease of the
month." He snorted.
	"Jesus." Chance breathed leaning back against the tree, shaking his
head. "What have I got myself into." He asked himself rhetorically.
	"Don't worry about it. They do this about once a month." Joshua
laughed low. "Even if they DO get us, it doesn't hurt, and they leave us
alone afterwards. Sometimes they'll take DNA samples for census records.
Don't worry, it doesn't hurt and you wont even see a mark on your pretty
skin."
	"Fuck! I just wish I was home." Chance said sadly in the dark,
wiping his nose on his sleeve, as he began to cry quietly. "This sucks to
all hell."
	"I know you're lonely Marchenko." The big man said softly
	



From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 20/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:25:55 -0500

Roland Ten
	Roland woke the next morning at his customary seven AM, to a
picturesque view outside the window of their room, of the Earth swinging
around in a circle, as the station rotated. It was beautiful sight. He
just wished Chance was there to share it with him. Rolling over, he found
Tucker snuggled up against him, drooling quietly on his pillow, his arm
lightly draped over Rolands hairy wash-board stomach, and again Roland
wondered what had happened, or what he had said to Tucker, those past few
days, when he was out of it.
	Tuckers affection would have been greatly welcome any other time,
and he might have even considered a "quick one", or even a threesome with
Chance. He had always thought Tucker Stone was a well-built, and very good
looking man, but, with Chance gone, the circumstances as they were, it
just didn't seem right.
	Glancing over at the other bed, he saw Sean sprawled out naked, on
top of the sheet, with his eyes closed, but somehow couldn't believe the
man was still asleep, and again he felt unwarranted guilt rise up in him.
Slowly, he lifted Tuckers arm, and slid out from beneath him and the
sheets, heading for the bathroom and shower. Might as well get started
right away.
	While in the shower, Roland decided that he could probably get
used to the close quarters of space-station living, at least for a
vacation up here, but he could NOT accommodate the fact that everything
was made for these spacer midgets. And they had such an ATTITUDE!
	At his height, anyone under five-ten was a midget. It MUST be the
diet they existed on up here. All that high fibre-low protein crap they
subsisted on. He decided, shampooing his short black hair. Roland suddenly
felt strangely thankful that Earth was one of the food producing giants of
OrganizedSpace, and that he was a native of Breadbasket. As Earthlings,
they might be a little crowded, with a world population of 13 Billion
plus, but at least they wouldn't starve to death.
	As Sean entered the bathroom to use the toilet, Roland looked over
at the sleepy eyed man and wondered if Sean's height wasn't due to spacer
parents.
	"Good Morning." Roland said congenially, self consciously spreading
body foam over the worst of the scars on his body to hide them.  It wasn't
so much that he was ashamed of the scars, or how he came about them, but
this morning he didn't feel like answering unneeded questions, when he
didn't have to.
	"Yeah." Sean slurred, heavy lidded, and stepped out of the bathroom
again with a cough.
	Roland thought it was strange how different people could be when
they were semi-conscious. All the pretense and masks dropped. The real
person showed through at those times. Often times so very different than
their public masks. Finishing his shower and drying off by vacuum, Roland
ran a short hand brush over his head, brushed his teeth quickly and spit
in the sink.
	Stepping out, he dressed as fast as he could and headed out the
door without so much as a word to the others, who were just now rousing
themselves. He had his quest to complete, and time was running out. As he
headed towards the lobby, to start with a phone call down to Full
Disclosure, his mind wandered back to when he had first met Chance, ten
years ago.
	Roland had, for so long, been searching for love, for someone to
call his own. That was why Chance was so very important to his life. He
had found out that love was something that you couldn't rush. You couldn't
demand. You had to wait for it to come to you. If anything DID happen to
Chance, he felt sure he would just lay down and die.
	Just in his few years of experience, Roland found that love didn't
come easy at all, and that it was a game adults only could play, of give
and take. The hardest part was you had to TRUST, every time, every
relationship you entered in to, no matter how long, or how many tries it
takes. And that hurt. So many lonely nights, Roland had wondered how many
heart aches must he stand, before he found a love that would let him
really live. The longer it took, the more he felt himself dying inside.
	The only thing that kept him hanging on was the thought that he
just had to wait it all out, and sooner or later, he too would find HIS
love. How many nights had he gone to sleep alone, wondering how much more
must he wait? How many relationships did it take? How much more, before
loneliness would cause his heart to break? And he would end up a suicide
statistic. All he needed was just one person, man or woman, who would let
him love them forever. He knew he couldn't bear to live his life alone.
All he could do was keep on waiting, for that soft voice to talk to him at
night. For some tender arms to hold him tight. It wasn't easy.  Then, when
he was least expecting it, it happened. He wasn't even paying attention to
what was going on at the time.
	In a bar on Main street, in MidTown Kansas City. It was... What
was the name of that bar? Bobby Rinzetti, the bar owner, and his old
school chum had introduced them... Encounters! That was it! Encounters. A
Multi-mix bar. He was only twenty-four himself. Chance was nineteen.
Christ. They were only children. But he remembered it like it was only
yesterday. Closing his eyes he could relive the moments of the evening in
a flash.
	Roland had just happened to step in Encounters, for a quick drink
and a quick hello at Bobby. He was fresh out of the service, Hell, fresh
off the ship as a matter of fact. He hadn't even changed clothes yet,
still in his old thread bare dress whites. Roland wasn't looking for
anything to happen in particular, except to get good and drunk before
taking a room at a cheap hotel, and then start looking for an apartment
and a job. There Chance was. Roland could see it all so clearly.
	Their bodies that night had said so much more than they had
spoken. Chance was dressed in a starched white button-down shirt, the
cuffs rolled up half way on his hairy forearms, wearing untied, high
topped, white and fluorescent pink sneakers, faded blue jeans, a five
o'clock shadow, with his long dark hair cascading in soft waves down over
his shoulders. Standing there at the bar, in that way he always did, in
all his superior confidence in his good looks, as his eyes reached out
across the room to not only meet Rolands eyes, but consume his soul into
their black depths. Something warm in his eyes, touched Rolands heart
right then and there. All the love that Roland never knew, he found in
Chance.
	Chance was the most handsome man he had ever seen before in his
life. Suddenly, Rolands world stood still, as his life had been fulfilled.
Before that moment he never thought it would be possible. He certainly
didn't expect it to hit him like this or this hard so fast. He had always
thought love was something that people grew into over years.  It happened
in a flash of eye contact for them.
	As Chance gently touched his hand, Roland knew that they had laid
a plan for ever lasting love, that he had been forever dreaming of. It was
an electric touch. And he was more terrified, than he had ever been before
in his life. When Chance walked into his life, and made his lonely life a
paradise.
	Roland thought he remembered asking Chance to slow dance, but
didn't remember actually saying the words, or the two of them moving
around much. As they were standing there swaying to the music, Chance
didn't speak a single word. But his eyes, his EYES said he wanted Roland.
Eyes so deep and black, they consumed Rolands very soul. Chances touch
said he needed Roland.
	A big, tough, street smart, military hardened Roland became Jello
within a split second. And it was just a soft gentle touch that did it.
And Rolands heart said so tenderly, speaking to his mind, it shocked him.
Darling, oh my darling make me yours. Let your kiss touch my face. He felt
foolish that those words came to him at that time, and even today the
thought still embarrassed him.
	It was weeks before he got up the courage to tell Chance what he
had been thinking at that moment when Chance had asked him quietly what he
was thinking, and, like an idiot should, he simply answered "Nothing".
Roland's voice, had somehow managed, on it's own accord, overriding his
brain and said only: "Tell me your love has led me, to this place, to your
warm embrace." Chance had only smiled and kissed him gently.
	It was far beyond sex. Far beyond simple affection. It was a bond.
That night they agreed to share their lives together. Six hours after they
had been introduced, and they had each made firm commitments to each
other, to stand beside each other, through good and bad times, thick &
thin, until death, they would be temporarily parted. They both had wanted
it. Roland could feel it in the way they made love. And their happiness!
Their years together were so fulfilling that the time together seemed to
just fly by.
	Thanks to Chance, Rolands search had ended. Ever since then, he
had wanted the world to see, how gently love had shined on him, with just
one, ever lasting true love. He was so very proud of Chance. Everything
about him was fascinating to Roland. Even to this day he showed Chance off
when he could.
	Men AND women were jealous of them and their love together, how
strong their bonding was, and how easily it had lasted through thick and
thin. The love the two of them shared, was as strong today as it was the
day they met, if not more so, after all they had been through together.
Roland wiped the tears from his eyes as he made his way to the lobby.
Christ Chance! Where in the world could you be?






From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 21/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:26:54 -0500

Chance Eleven
	Chance dreamed of Roland. Of the night they had met. The night
Chance had finally found the true love of his life that would make his
life worth while. Chance NEEDED love. He had found the world just too cold
and cruel to bear living his life alone. He needed someone to call his
own. Someone whom he could turn to when things got too much to bear alone.
He could have taken life with a man or a woman, so long as they loved him
as much as he loved them. Sex was not the problem. Commitment WAS.
	Sex he could get easy. He was good looking and he knew it. He had
certainly worked it enough. A simple wink and a smile from him, towards
either a woman or a man, and they would follow him like a bitch in heat.
Finding someone who would stick around long enough to grow emotionally
attached to was a little tougher. He was just another pretty face to them.
After they had him as a conquest, there was no longer the attraction of
"forbidden fruit" and they would dump him.
	Chance had gone into the Encounters bar that night for a few quick
cocktails, before he had to go home to his studio apartment, alone again.
As a rule, he usually went to any one of the several Netrunner bars around
town, or sometimes a Gay bar, because that was where he had friends, or at
least people with whom he had a profession in common with.  Encounters was
just another Multi-mix bar, a generic bar, no real theme to the patrons,
as most of them, like the Corporate bars, Techie bars, Nomad bars, etc,
but Encounters DID just happened to be the one closest to his apartment.
	Chance was only nineteen. Roland was twenty four, and Chance
thought, as he went to pieces inside, that this was IT. What he had been
looking for. When Roland began ever so slowly sauntering up to the bar,
the ripples of his muscles moving like individual live entities beneath
his uniform, just oozing with all that self assured confidence, that
Chance envied so much in others, dressed in all his military regalia,
Chance went to pieces inside. Chance thought Roland was the most handsome
and mature man he had ever met in his life. He was so perfect!
	Bobby Rinzetti, the semi-straight bartender and owner of
Encounters whom Chance knew only casually, and had never even tricked with
yet, had introduced them as Chance had just ordered up his drink. He
didn't even remember how Bobby Rinzetti had said he knew Roland. He
couldn't take his eyes off Roland.
	Chance stood entranced as he shook Rolands big firm hand, and came
unglued inside, with his heart was singing as he looked into Rolands big
warm caring eyes. A handsome and loving man like Roland was the last thing
in the world he had expected to find in a place as cold and rude as Kansas
City.
	Somewhere along the line he had forgot to pick up his cocktail,
and he thought he remembered Bobby Rinzetti laughing good heartedly in the
background, as Chance flushed and rushed over this tall, gorgeous,
gentleman who led him ever so politely to the dance floor, where they
stood slowly rocking back and forth to some slow tune he couldn't even
remember anymore.
	Chance was speechless, not knowing what to say, if anything, to
this man who, both attracted him and shook him up so much, all at the same
time. Chance had never had this happen to him ever before. He felt like a
fool with his brains so scrambled that he couldn't even think of anything
to say. Then it hit him. He was in LOVE. And he had it bad. Even if it
might turn out to just be a quickie, this man who had so smoothly entered
into his life had made it all worth the wait.
	Once Chance had a word to go with what it was he was feeling, what
was overcoming his senses and filling him up so much, he felt a calm
overcome him at last, and he reveled in the moment. For so long he had
been waiting for someone to love. Someone who could be so much more than
just a one-night trick. He had got his fill of those by the time he was
sixteen. He needed and had been searching for something much more than
ever since then.
	That night Roland had given him a true love. And every day he
thanked him for that love. For a feeling that always felt so new, so
inviting, so exciting.
	Roland had gently pulled him near, and Chance's heart sang a
tender melody, pulling him closer and closer to Rolands arms. Then
suddenly, Rolands lips were touching his own, a feeling so divine filled
him, until he could finally leave the cold and lonely past behind. Chance
was lost in a world made for only he and Roland. That night they had lay
so sweet and tenderly, and every time Rolands lips met his own, the kiss
they shared would bring forth the joy within.
	Chance remembered saying somewhere along the line: "Don't let this
feeling end." and felt a blush over come him, even today when he thought
about it.
	Let it go on and on forever. He prayed to himself. Though tears
filled his eyes that first night together, after Roland was asleep, he
cried not for himself, but for those who had never felt the joy the two of
them had finally met.
	When ever Roland was near him, Chance heard a symphony of Angels.
Each time Roland spoke to him, he heard a tender rhapsody of love.
	As they lay quietly that first night, Roland gently holding
Chance, whispering how much he cared, a thousand violins had filled the
air. All Chance could think of was: Don't let this moment end, keep
standing close to me. And he pulled Roland even tighter to him. And he did
stay close. For ten years now. Where did all their time together go to? It
never seemed enough.
	Chance came to, with Joshua gently smacking his face. Groggily, he
knew that Roland was out there somewhere worried, and looking for him, if
he could only get word to him that he was ok, even if he didn't know
exactly where he was at the moment.
	"You ok?" Joshua grunted as he stood up over Chance, his automatic
rifle in both hands as he scanned the area.
	"Yeah." Chance said shaking his head and standing shakily. "How
long was I out?" He asked looking around at people emerging from their
hovels, grumbling and squinting at the dawn that surprised them all.
	"Not more than a few hours I'd say. It's morning now." Joshua
shrugged."That usual for them." He said examining a place on the back of
his hand that had a patch on it. "I guess they got DNA samples of us all
this time." He remarked. "Hope you're not wanted for anything big, or
they'll be back looking for you."
	"They will?" Chance asked alarmed. "Let's get to the bar. Fast."
He said taking off in the direction he was on before they had been so
rudely interrupted.
	"Sure." Joshua nodded following along closely behind. "Do you think
they'll be open this early?"
	"You don't have 24 hour bars here?" Chance paused.
	"A few." Joshua shrugged. "Yours might be. What's the name of it?"
	"Nightfall Club. I'll lay odds they probably are open. It's a
Netrunner bar." Chance said in confidence. "Computer people keep all
hours."
	"Well, Let's go Boss." Joshua said shrugging the automatic rifle
over his arm with smooth easy confidence.

	



From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 22/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 11:28:55 -0500

Roland Eleven
	Roland made his way to the AT&T "Reach out and touch someone"
Virtual Reality phone booths to make his call to Arnaud down in Kansas
City at Full Disclosure, to see if they had found out anything, or if they
had any kind of leads he could follow. Standing in the booth and entering
the thirteen digit phone number, Roland felt the prickle of fear across
the back of his neck, as if Chance were in serious trouble, or the people
at Full Disclosure were about to give him some very bad news. He was
silently thankful that he had taken the sleeping pill that Sean offered,
since it allowed him one full night without the nightmares of his losing
Chance to any one of a million different ghosts that were waiting there
behind his eyelids to snatch him away from Rolands grasp.
	When Arnaud appeared in life size, on the other side of the booth,
unshaven, looking tired and disheveled, Roland felt the relief in his
shoulders relaxing, to hear that they still didn't have any leads either.
Not finding a body, meant that Chance was possibly still alive.  Though
the odds of finding him that way seemed to be decreasing with each passing
moment, Roland couldn't exactly put his finger on why.
	Disconnecting and standing in the lobby, watching the early
morning crowd flow down the parkway that served as Main Street for the
station, opening their shops, getting ready for the days activities,
Roland had no idea where to begin looking. 'Out There' was all that would
come to him.
	Somewhere 'out there' Chance was on this space station.
Hopefully. So, instead of going back to the hotel room, and asking someone
like Sean who was more experienced with station life, Roland trusted his
gut intuition that told him these people conducted life no differently
than any place else on Earth. They just did it on different turf was all.
If that were true, then he knew something would come to him soon enough
just by being out among them.
	Roland had walked probably a couple of miles down around the
upward stretching curve of the wheel that was the station, when he sat
down on a park bench to rest a moment. A sign above an ashtray, that said
he was in a designated smoking area, quickly made up his mind as to his
next move. Looking around as he lit a cigarette, he noticed he was in what
appeared to be a park, in a residential section.
	Evidently one of the higher rent districts, since the people here
enjoyed full gravity from the centripetal force of the stations rotation.
Instinct told him that the cheaper hotels and apartments would be located
closer to the hub, where the gravity was considerably less, and bones
would deteriorate faster from the lack of being used.
	He hadn't sat long, enjoying smoking his cigarette, in the spacers
version of the great outdoors, when a short fat woman came out of one
apartment building he was facing, cursing loudly to her two male
companions, obviously Earthlings from their height, about hiring hay-seed
incompetents. For some reason he couldn't identify, Roland knew this group
was somehow important to his search for Chance. Then, the more he thought
about it, shrugged it off as simply wishful thinking on his part.  They
couldn't possibly be related to Chance, or his situation in any way.  He
was just getting spooky, he decided.
	It was then, he reached the decision to track down station
security and see if they might be of some help to a fellow officer in
distress. If not them, then the local police, or Enforcers, or whatever
passed for a regional Marshall up here. Once he located the local
gendarme, it was simply a matter of asking the man what HE would do first.
The officer suggested he go to the police station, which he pointed out
friendly enough, and suggested that Roland do a DNA search on Chance.
Passports meant DNA identification. THAT thought would never have occurred
to Roland.
	Kansas City, and the people he encountered throughout his
investigations in Homicide, didn't usually require using the Fed's DNA
computer to check on identities. If the elusive "they" had brought Chance
up out of the gravity well, they would have had to present him, in person,
to the office of passports for them to take a DNA sample. Even if they
were using false identification, the DNA patterns in the computers would
still make a match up.
	Rolands heart lightened as he walked along the little boulevard
towards the police station. He was getting closer to his goal. Chance was
within reach.
	He felt Sean in his mind then, calling him on the comlink channel
in his biochip, that was usually reserved only for Tucker and himself
while at work. It had never occurred to him to ask Sean if he too was
wired for a biochip.
	"Where are you at Roland?" Sean asked easily.
	"Hey Rolly." Came the sound of Tucker as he eased into his mind as
well.
	Roland keyed the subvocal switch open in his mind and returned the
communication on the same frequency they were on.
	"I'm headed to the local police station to do a DNA search on
Chance." Roland answered simply. "What are you two up to?"
	"Good idea." Sean commented.
	"We're headed to breakfast." Tucker answered.
	"Maybe I'll join you later." Roland agreed, realizing he hadn't
paused to eat, or to even have his customary morning coffee. "I'm not sure
how long this will take, but I have a feeling I'll have to return for the
search results, considering the size of the DNA databanks they are having
to search."
	"Ok bud." Sean answered. "We're in the hotel cafe, whenever you're
done. We'll wait for you here."
	"Later Gaters." Roland answered and keyed off the circuit, somewhat
surprised that the three of them should still be linked, up here, out of
the cellular network that blanketed Kansas City, and then realized the
station itself had it's own cellular network. In order to be a part of the
ComWeb, it would HAVE to. Seans access to police networks meant that
either he was once a cop, or he was in a military of some kind, at some
time. Police frequencies often became military frequencies during times of
martial law.
	Stepping into the station was more like walking into a shop on a
street back home than walking into a police station. Everything seemed to
be in miniature. Including their crime problem. When he opened the door,
to find only two officers in the tiny one room police station, Roland had
visions of Sheriff Andy Taylor and Barney Phife running things around
there. He was surprised to find them technologically well versed in their
machines and very politely let him know what exactly they could and could
not do for him.
	His problem, it was explained to him, required three separate
searches. One of the stations current files, one of Air Traffic Controls
files of passengers who had passed through there, as a layover point, on
their way to destination points unknown, and the third, of the files in
the ColdFire Taipei International, which they COULD access, for a small
fee, which they agreed to waive for a fellow officer.
	Roland's happiness soared as he turned the terminal towards
himself and began answering the questions put to him by the computer,
which amounted to little more than anything and everything he could tell
them about (The subject to be searched for?) Chance Marchenko. Date of
birth, PIN, Location of Birth, etc.
	It was going to be a long day..

  Bob Wilson - 1993
 Kansas City
Missouri

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