From: hutch@ibeam.intel.com (Steve Hutchison)
Subject: DJ 1:  Northern Overexposure
Date: Tue, 4 Jan 1994 08:37:19 GMT

[ADMIN]  This story is copyright 1993 by Stephen Hutchison.
Permission is granted for distribution on via standard Usenet/altnet
channels and for archival for personal use; all other rights, including
reposting rights, are reserved to me.  Characters appearing herein are
part of an ongoing GURPS campaign and are the property of their creators,
used here by permission.


Part 1 -- Northern Overexposure

"Mirrorshades and silver eyes are cool but they really f*ck up
your poker game."


Th' Barn is a big ugly troll-infested warehouse that used t' be
a Rave Pit back before Raves went the way of Disco.  Sat empty
for a couple dozen years, collectin' water damage, but prime
rotten real estate, 'specially in th' "tasteful" section down
th' tracks past th' King Dome ruins, it just don't sit idle
more'n twenty years before someone else tries t' open it up.

The Barn serves what'cha call yer  upsize clientele.  See, once
you've gone goblin it's hard enough finding clothes t' fit an'
chairs that don't break when ya sit down hard.  An' when you're
a troll or worse, an' ya mass more'n 880 kilos, ya tend t' sit
down hard.

Besides those damn ceiling fans in the fern bars kinda get in
the way, knock y' upside the head, y'know?

So I went down t' The Barn like I do on a bad day.  Took the
Kawa KZ3K with me, just t' piss off MacPherson -- Lone Star an'
me just don't get along, specially since I, uh, kinda took Mac's
bike.  Mac still thinks I was cheatin' him with th' dice, y'see,
but he's the only geek I know what's got worse luck 'n I do at
gamblin.  Bike's still got a workin' LS passcode an' Windy keeps
it active, just t' keep his hand in.  Sides, Mac's not s'posed
t' have that passcode on his civvy bike.  So he can't report it,
heh.  An' I get t' go where I want to.

I parked just inside th' garage.  Trollboy there runnin' th'
trollbooth 'bout wet 'em when I got off th' bike.  He gettin'
use ta bein' one a th' biggest things in town, but two-dot-five
meters tall ain't four meters tall an' I outmass Big Murf by
'bout half again, an' Big Murf is close to a six-hunnert kilos.

So I took off th' helmet an' let him get a good look at th' big
green lizard-scales an' spread m'wings out full, an' Trollboy
gets all grovellin' so I cut him off -- tol' him t' just open
th' damn door.

"Yessir, Mr. Dragon, sir," he starts t' say, but I cut him off short
again, snap m'teeth at 'im an tellim t' cut the crap an call me DJ.

I _ain't_ no effin' dragon.  Dammit.

So I go in an' get a three-liter mug wit' my very own best cider,
an' a cage-full a' squirrels, an' sit down on th' bench next t'
ol' Frank.

Frank N Stein, I guess it means.  Cyborg, full body replacement
job, from back in th' groundwars.  He's got some human meat in
there somewhere but hell if I know where it is.  Hindbrain
maybe.  The rest is all supercooled neural net with a 2C cell,
the damn thing lasts maybe a year or two, then it has't be
changed.  Jus' one little tiny bug -- th' damn memory don't got
a backup battery an' Frank loses his mind, has t' be reprogged
up from a four year old.  Y'can tell when his battery is gonna
pop too, cause he gets real flakey, starts gettin' a God complex.
Not safe t' be aroun' a combat borg wit' that kinda shit.

So anyway, Windy comes up too.  Windy, aka Wendigo, rich brat
decker kid who just does it because he likes the thrills.
Dork.  One a these days he's gonna lick the wrong ICE.  Like he
did t'day.  See, Mirth come in with th' paper, an' we was goin'
through lookin' for somethin' t' do, an Frank was readin' th'
cartoons an' makin' holograms out'a em, an' we all spots this
same advert runnin', fifth week in a row.  Been showin' th' same
tagline, "Investigators Needed, Team, Please contact Mr. Sam
Sheffield, CyberTronix Corp, an' a Capitol Hill phone number an'
a price about two digits longer than it was last week.

So what th' hell.  We patch Wendigo inta th' datajack in th'
table -- this place is ugly but the owner's not stupid, he keeps
th' amenities runnin' -- an' Windy's all blankface off inta th'
cyberspace, mutterin' on about how cool he is.  Tracks down
CTxCo in th' stocks, 'sa wholly-funded startup three years old
from good ol' Tokyo ShinDai Bank.  Holding company.  So he finds
the prospectus an' they's doin' genetic research, biotech, buncha
blue-sky shit that Windy says they don't really talk about in th'
public record.  He's tellin' us alla this cause he likes t' show
off.  Talkin' an' deckin' at once.  Chews gum too.

So he goes after the phone number from th' advert, it's an
inside-phone at CyberTronix, an' this Sheffield pouza is some
kinda local corp security geek.  Then brain-boy gets th' idea to
track down Sheffield's boss, an' before Mirth or me can' say
"No, dumbshit," he's thrashin' on th' floor, smoke comin' outa
his damn etherjack.  So Mirth, he fixes things.  Oh yeah,
Mirth.  He's a dwort.  A dwarf, I mean.  Guy din't even notice
it when he mutied -- jus' said somethin' lame about magic bein'
easier for th' Awakened, bullshit.  Dworts ain't elfs.

Oh yeah.  I ain't tolja 'bout th' ninja.  We got this ninja
geek, can't talk, some ponze cut his throat fer talkin' back t'
his clan chief or somethin', but he hangs around an' helps out.
I get him t' gimme a few a th' squirrels outa th' cage, on
account that my hands is too big t' fit.  Tasty little buggers.
Yeah, I know, eatin' live animals, hell, I useta think it was
kinda disgustin' too, but it came with the scales an' the tail
an' the teeth.  You try bein' me for a day an' see what YOU
think about it.  'Sides, there's too many a th' damn things
around th' city anyway.  Mirth gets his jollies makin' my lunch
look like frickin' snakes -- I hate snakes.

Anyhoo.  Windy wuz lyin' there smokin' out his datahole.  So
Mirth does some kinda zot an' fixes up Windy, who's lookin'
confused.  I tell 'im it's a good think I din't hafta do CPR on
'im, he gives me a really dirty look an' threatens t' wreck my
credit rating, so I threaten t' eat his head, an' he leaves me
alone.  We get along, really, he jus' likes t' pose.

So I get out my rats fer Mirth t' fix.  Mirth is a repair god.
He can even fix Frank.  My number three rat has been actin' up,
th' left leg mechanism was freezin' in place, an' Mirth adjusts
it.  Damn, I wish I still had fingers that worked like fingers.
Anyway, I test out th' rat, turn on my rig in th' wings -- no,
these ain't real, where you ever see metal wings growin' outa a
flesh person, chummer?  No, I ain't no dragon, I said.  You wan'
this report 'r not?  Fine.

Anyway, I turn on th' rat an' send 'im out front, an' I spot
this majorly cookin' limo, black with a full uplink instead a'
just th' usual TV an' packet-radio.  Th' rat freezes up for a
secon' so I can't tell what happen' t' the Johnsons that got
outa th' car, so I set th' rat to band two an' he comes back in,
an' jus' then I spot these two suits walkin' up t' th' bar.
Jake sells 'em a couple mai-tai's (oh yeah) an' they looks our
way an' says somethin' like "That's him."

So I leave Rat #2 on the table, an' go off to th' little troll's
room, outa th' line a' fire.  Wendigo spots 'em, loses it
completely, starts edgin' off inta th' dark corners, an' they
look at each other real concerned.  I'm watchin' all this via
Rat #2 an' his beady red eyes, so I tell the little squeaker t'
ready his AP round.  See, my rats all got a mouth-mounted short
barrel '45 good for two shots, cause I'm way too clumsy with
these big ol' paws t' shoot a gun straight.  But I do fine if
I'm runnin' a rig.

Anyway, th' rat opens his mouth an' freaks Mirth out -- forgot
he never saw that trick before -- an' then ol' Windy loses it,
shoots Johnson #2 in the leg.  Well, he goes down.  Then Johnson
#1 goes down, screamin' "DON'T KILL ME!" an' Windy freaks an'
all the chummers in th' place have their mega-death-big-guns all
out pointin' at the Johnsons, an' Windy goes screamin' out th'
front door.

So, hell, th' loo's up near th' front, so I bust the damn door
down, hey, it's built t' take a troll, but I ain't no troll
either.  It breaks.

I run out after Windy.  Well, he's out an' down' th' street, an'
the black limo's pulled up beside him an' some Johnson-san is
lookin' out at Windy, who's about two seconds from shootin' a
payin' customer.

So I turn on th' amps in th' wings an shout at 'im, "WINDIGO YOU
ASSHOLE, GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!"  -- an he freezes.

What?? Yes, these are speakers, what did you think, I flew with
the damn things?  Concert mag-lines, full audio fx, 600 channels
and 3 megawatts of sound, an' it's all mine.  Stunned th' sick
little puppy.  Took him an' Johnson-san about 10 seconds t' get
their hearing back, 'cause I aimed th' sound at 'em.  By th'
time I got t' them, Mirth an' Frank an' nobody-jitsu all got our
shit together an' start t' come up behind us.

Johnson-san introduced himself as Sheffield, an' Windy's eyes go
all big an' impressed.  He goes on about how Windy passed his
test, musta been getting through that ICE that he ran into, an'
that he wants t' talk about hirin' us.  I tell 'im 'bout Louie's
All Purpose Garage half-block north, an' we go up an" give Louie
a hundred nuyen for a half-hour privacy, an' Mirth an' Windy
bluster with Sheffield for a while, while I sit back tryin' t'
look bored.  I do that with th' ears, cause my face don't move
much any more, see?

So they're goin' on about some kinda run.  Sheffield says the
last three groups didn't come out, no contact whatsoever.  He
also says the job's in th' woods north of Vancouver-B, an' that
it's a combo search-and-verify, with maybe if we can pull it off
an extraction, seems that some Jones took three of their best
brain-trust off north.

Anyway, Sheffield tells us we can go t' their corp-center if we
accept this job.  I put out word, nothin' comes back about this
gig, an' Windy draws mostly a blank, but Sheffield mentioned 20K
nuyen apiece, an' bonusses.  So that afternoon we go off t' talk
t' Mr Sheffield the Texan.  He calls in Sheffield-san th' old
Korean gent, an' we get all this on paper.  My eyes are bleedin'
after readin' the damn papers too.  But Mirth an' Windy say that
there ain't nothin' too bad in th' contracts.

So we end up leavin' for Canadjia.  Bastards put us in a big ol'
UPS van 'cause they can't find a car that I fit in.  Hell, I
coulda taken my own van, but it's got bad plates.  Anyway, we
get t' Hong Kong North an' take a look around.  Bastiches gone
and brought my van up here somehow, put in a line-gun swedish
machine gun, which I hate b'cause how the hell do I shoot th'
damn thing when it only shoots straight line and forward?  What,
they think I'm gonna tailgate the Charlies?

So I got a vehicle I can drive, an' we go lookin' for info.  I
hear from the Rigger net that there's a whiteboy survivor from
one a these "no survivors reported back" runs, at Golden Temple
of Dreams up in NorthEast ChangTown.  That's a bhang house an'
smoker's heaven.  So we go there, an' Windy decides he has t' go
in an' find this survivor.  Hell, I'm so hungry by now that I
just sit in their side room -- they keep talkin' nice t' me,
hell if I know why -- an' I order up a half a dozen plates o'
roof-rabbit-stirfry.  These folks do DAMN good food, which ain't
a surprise t' me, but Mirth an' Frank are both amazed.  Frank
don't eat any, cause he's kinda don't got guts any more, but
Mirth packs it away.

I don't tell 'em what the meat is though.  So anyway, we wait an
hour or so, an' out from the back room comes my ol' riggin' 'n
drinkin' buddy Jacks -- an' he's lookin' _real_ BAD.  I give him
a holler, turn on a 24-cycle soother on th' wings, an' he comes
over an' lets me buy him some noodles.  Turns out that he's the
one was up on th' run.  Place is a castle, run by a Japanese
chonger wit' some kinda weird hoodoo.  They got all three tribes
local actin' like guards, an' three miles out, ALL a' Jacks' rigs
go dead, an' all the cyber goes on their Sammy, an' he panics an'
has t' hand-stick it outa there.  Diesel truck he's got, still
skippin' in an' out.  Anyway, they did somethin' to 'im, he's
actin' like he's brain-burnt.

Like Jerzy Kropotzin did when th' neo-meningitis hit 'im -- he
goes all spastic when he tries t' rig.  So I'm askin' Jacks all
the gory deets, an' he's givin' me some answers, an' I ask 'im
what happen't wit' his rigs, an' he goes inta spazm.  So I see
from the LEDs his jack is in a feedback loop an' I hit his reset
an' he starts screamin' like.  Th' owner shows, an' we apologize
for th' noise, an' I pay for Jacks' next two fixes, but th'
owner says I don' hafta -- he's taken pity on the poor poozer.
This makes Mirth go all philosophical.  Me, I ask t' use a
private room, an' I take th' satellite uplink rig that th'
CyberTronix security dude gave t' me, an' I patch through t'
Seattle an' report in.  An' Sheffield-san says "We need more
proof" so I remind him 'bout th' "find survivors" clause an' he
looks like I just force-fed him a green lemon an' posts that
particular bit o' bonus.  Big deal, 5K nuyen.  Cost 'em more'n
that t' screw up my van.

Well, I close th' line down, an' go down t' eat s'more, an'
Windy comes draggin' outa th' back room, stoked an' smashed, an'
havin' happy brown-juice dreams.  I give him th' hairy eyeball,
an' he goes inta some kinda gigglin' fit, an' as we're gettin
ready t' leave, th' owner comes up an' says "honorable dragon
sir, there was one other survivor, he lives with the Shalatch
people to the west of here."

So I thank him, blessin's on his house an' all that, an'
threaten t' punch Mirth's lights out if he ever tells anyone I
let someone call me a dragon an' get away with it.

Hell.  All there is west o' VancouverB is a buncha islands.  So
we do a little bit a' research, an' Mirth sobers up Windy, an'
we go down t' Friendly Hassan's an' Windy spends s'more a' his
dad's money t' fix us up f'r th' battle.  Buys me a tow-gun,
rigger linked, so I can steer th' damn wire-guided anti-tank
grenade, an' buys a ring-mount M60 an' a really purty M80
full-and-semi-auto t' replace th' guns that din't make it up
here with my van.

So we take the ferry over to Vicky Island.  Vicky City's still
got that damned wall, an' the Shalatch got the rest o' th'
place.  We get off an' they do NOT like my van.  They insist
that it has't' stay parked an' powered down.  Bastiches.  So we
all take a gun with us, an' they get a fockin' FLATBED truck,
damn their eyes, an' we go bouncin' up th' road north t' where
this goober says th' other guy is at.  I got no idea how much
Windy an' Mirth had t' pay for this, an' I don't care, cause we
plan t' bill it from CyberTronix as "expenses" as per contract
item 4.5 subsection A clause ii.

We goin' along for a while, an' I'm bored.  Windy starts raggin'
on me about somethin' an I decide t' bug th' hell outa him, turn
th' wings on an start a 14-cycle hum.  Has a real disturbin'
effect on th' mammals.  First time I tried it was before I got
large, an' it next t' made me wet m'pants.  Well, as usual, th'
world was out t' get me.

Driver starts yellin' "Cut that fookin' noise out, y' wanna
bring THEM down on our heads?" an swearin' in Salish.  I learned
a few new words.  Anyway, we get t' the really bumpy bits an'
the radar on top a' the truck starts t' swing, an' focusses in
on somethin' airborne.  Frank, of course, starts yellin' somethin'
about "I didn't create you to fly and I will not permit it" an'
then we start goin' TOO FAST.  So I do a kiai an' punch a hole
inta th' truck bed, an' run m' tail down far enough so I can hold
on, an' Mirth grabs on like he was tryin' t' tackle me at football,
an' Windy gets in front a' me where he can aim th' TOW gun, an'
th' ninja-spook gets int' some kinda Lotus pose, an' Frank starts
up his own personal radar.

Oh, an' I try t' jack in wit' my own rig-remote in parallel, lend
th' driver a hand, but he has th' rig in single-user an' I can't
even snoop the radar set.  Idjit -- I coulda done the drive better
myself.  He near takes us off the road when I start t' jack.

Somethin' big an' black goes screamin' across above us, an' I
can't see a DAMN thing (I _will_ spring for that sonar unit after
this run gets over with -- IF it gets over with!)  Anyway, Frank
sights in on th' big flyin' thing an' lets loose with a tracer
an' armor piercin' burst on full auto, for about 20 seconds.
We hear this roar that sounds _way_ too familiar t' me, an' about
twenty seconds later (an' we are in fockin' trees an I can't
shoot th' TOW gun) somethin' shoots a jet o' napalm down on top
of us.  Well, I am VERY glad at that moment that I'm wearin' my
AP armor an' that I got these damn' scales.  An' watchin' alla
Wendigo's hair catch fire, I am also glad that I wore my helmet,
'cause I don't HAVE hair t' protect me.  Jus' scales.

So Mirth starts doin' some kinda magic shit an' throws this big
glowin' green rock at th' thing an' it goes right through it,
an' this big fockin' roar turns inta laughin' like, an' in th'
meanwhile Windy got his hair t' stop burnin' an' I'm afraid I
kinda lost it, 'cause I remember I shot off that damn tow-gun.
Trouble is, I din't rig through to it an' we're bouncin' all
over th' place an' hell if I don't kill me a tree.  But not th'
dragon an' not myself, for a change.  So it's comin' back an'
we bounce off t' th' concrete wall.

Windy goes flyin' off th' truck, we're doin' about 30, an' Frank
goes borderline again, shoutin' an' shootin'.  Mirth screams
somethin' about "BAIL OUT -- FIRE MAGIC"  an' so I let loose
with m'tail an' spread th' wings an jump hard.  Takes me 'bout
40 feet int' th' air, an' I half-glide an' half-plummet, an'
Mirth bounces loose when I land -- poor dwort should not oughta
stayed fastened quite so long.  Oh, an' th' ninja-mute does some
kinda cartwheel, lands on th' road.  I know this cause I saw him
by th' light of one big-ass fireball, blew th' truck clean offa
th' road, blew th' cab forward.  Driver was spam on toast.

THAT is why I don't say I'm a fockin' dragon.  Bastards are MEAN.

After all that, we get Windy, an' Mirth does a fast patch job on
him.  Frank is still goin' fine, but kinda damaged, an' all his
access panels are fused shut; he's happy though.  Starts playin'
cartoons.  He got a real good library on CDROM.

So we're takin' stock n' I discover I bent th' damn tow-gun
barrel holdin' on too hard when I landed.  So I straighten th'
barrel out, so I can put it in th' damn' holster, an' of course
I put a goddam warp in th' barrel so I don't dare fire th' damn
thing.  Of course.

So we start walkin' north.  'Bout six hours later, we run inta
some kinda patrol, an' they're askin' us what th' hell we want,
an' we explain what happen't with th' truck.

"What angered the Great One?" they say, and we all play dumb.
After a whole 'nother eight miles at a run, we get t' th'
village.  They feed us some kinda deer, give me a hindquarter,
th' kids get kinda impressed at th' teeth marks I leave in th'
bone.  I lie down, catch forty.

Guy what brought us in says we gotta talk t' Black Crow.  Fine,
so Black Crow is in a bloody Medicine Tent.  Damn door's five
feet off a' the ground, I have t' crawl in on m'knees.  There's
this old wrinkle dude like Black Elk Speaks, says he'll be th'
translator.  Black Crow got a head injury, only speaks Salish now.
Fine by me.  Black Crow useta be one damn impressive Sammy, from
what I see.  He looks like th' comic book indian in th' old flat
X-Men, Warpath, th' name was.  Bigger'n a house, but all implant
'n' muscle replacement, far as I could tell.  Eyes gone all dead
white.  He starts t' talk in this weird whispery voice, an' th'
old wrinkle dude starts t'talk in this big deep voice, tells us
that he was there on that trip.

An' he tells us that Jacks ran out on 'em, which I already knew,
an' that Jacks was a coward, which I always knew anyway.  Turns
out he seen th' three braintrust boys there in th' castle, he
only got out himself 'cause they thought he was dead.  Th' cyber
dampers shut him down.  Then their own team leader got zombied
'r somethin' an' hell, this Black Crow guy was a mass a' scars
an' shit.  An' the team leader did it.  Turns out th' local
folks at th' castle, their cyber worked just fine, thank you
ma'am, an' they mopped up th' floor with these folks, then the
guy who ran th' castle did a slave trip on their leader, made
him torture his own team t'death.  'Cept for Jacks, an' they got
him with some kinda spell.

So we did some strategic debriefin' an' found out that th' enemy
all had amulets, all wore uniforms, an' that the' brain trust
boys was all fat an' happy t' be there.  An then he told us how
CyberTronix refused t' take HIS word for it that they were there
on site -- and didn't pay him.  An' they prob'ly won't pay US.

Like I said, th' world hates me.


From: hutch@ibeam.intel.com (Steve Hutchison)
Subject: DJ 2:  Blood, Simple.
Date: Sun, 9 Jan 1994 08:40:10 GMT

[ADMIN]  This story is copyright 1993 by Stephen Hutchison.
Permission is granted for distribution on via standard
Usenet/altnet channels and for archival for personal use; all
other rights, including reposting rights, are reserved to me.
Characters appearing herein are part of an ongoing GURPS
campaign and are the property of their creators, used here by
permission.

Part 2 -- Blood, Simple.

"The trouble with chrome is that after a while it peels."

Like I said, th' world hates me.

We's stuck up in th' Shalatch homeland on Vancouver Island, damn
rain makin' me cold, an' this Black Crow dude jus' finish tellin
us th' skinny on our little gig for CyberTronix.  Damnfire.  Th'
whole gig gone sour, they got them some serious uglies fer guards,
they do th' slave trip on anyone they catch, an' they got it
rigged up so only _their_ cybergear works in th' target zone.

I'm sittin' in th' rain gettin' wet an' wonderin' if th' bastich
dragon's still waitin' out there t' trash us.  So up comes this
zit-infested teenager kid, looks 'bout 15, an' he ain't wet.  He
ain't touchin' th' ground neither.  Starts askin' me this big
dewy eyed spiel about what we be doin', what it's like livin' on
th' street, an' livin' th' shadows.  I try t' discourage th'
kid, tell him about th' gangers an' Lone Star an all th' misery
we gonna be facin' on this gig, an' th' kid looks solemn at me
an' says "Sure, I'll come."  Hell.  Not even' askin' what we be
payin'.  So I start t' discourage him when I notice somethin' --
all the local colorboys be _really_ polite to him, an' one of
'em calls him "revered elder".

So I take stock again.  Kid's pretty good shape 'cept for th'
minor case a' hormones, has not got a speck a' dirt on 'im, an'
like I said, he ain't touchin' th' ground.  An' his hair is
BROWN at th' roots instead a' that silvery-grey -- an' I'd thunk
he was jus' a part-elf.  So I ask 'im howcome he din't bleach
th' rest a' th' hair, an' he says it grew that color when he
made himself younger.

Right.  OK.  Big juju.  Th' rest a' th' gang says "Sure, let 'im
come along, we need th' firepower."  'Specially Windy says
that.  Well, th' juju guy says he c'd port th' group down there,
then takes a look at me an' says, "of course, if you don't mind
if I throw you without looking, otherwise I have to get the
whole village to help."

Oh yeah, an' th' silent-boy street ninja?  Well he gone and busted
a rib into a lung while we was fightin' th' dragon las' night an'
he got patched by one a th' locals, an' he's stayin' t' work off
his karmic debt.  Wotta dink.

So we walk down t' Vicky City again.  Damn long walk too.  My
feet are sore an' I smell like a wet lizard but th' elk haunch
from th' mornin' ain't all worked off yet so I'm doin' fine.
Then we get t' the parkin' lot where th' Shalatch made me leave
my van.

"Oh, Great One came by, played with your van, left after a while."

Shit.  Th' bastich dragon gone turned m' baby upside-down like a
turtle an' pulled out every fr'kin cable, line, wire, an' hose
that he c'd reach.  Th' capacitor on th' anti-theft discharged,
I hope he enjoyed that, an' th' three anti-theft claymores gone
off too.  Maybe he got hit, I hope.  Motherless son of a newt.

Well, Mirth manages t' do most a' th' repairs, an' Frank 'n' me
c'n turn the van over fine, so that part ain't hard.  But I run
a rig-check an' even though it checks out, I'm not happy.  The
way things been goin' lately, I _know_ somethin' gotta be wrong.

Shalatch guard tells me th' bes' mechanic in town is this goober
down eight blocks an' over left two.  Fine.  So while we be
loadin' up an' gettin' goin', I make uplink fer Windigo an' he
goes off inta net-land, comes back about ten ticks later sayin'
that th' mechanic got a clean credit record, that he always uses
certified credsticks only, an' that his record stops clean 'bout
two years ago, when he moved here from north BC.  Th' last time
he was investigated th' rent-a-cop got too close t' somethin'
an' got his ass sent off t' Atlanta G. A. -- exported outa th'
damn country.  Well, Windy forgot t' tell us some important shit
this time, like about th' local cops bein' Mounties but contracted
by RenRakKu -- t'only crowd I know that I trust LESS than LoneStar.
An we like this dude's creddies, so we hop on down.  Damn van is
purrin' like a kitten' an' not a hint a' trouble.  I hate it.

Th' mechanic poozer is this quiet-lookin', kinda bland dude wit'
this _big_ garage, an' th' place is clean enough t' eat off th'
floor -- weird.  I tell him t' story 'bout th' van, he's happy
t' do th' work, wants t' know 'bout howcome it got damaged, so I
tell 'im it were a juvenile delinquent, an' he mutters 'bout
some helluva jd, an' I mutter back somethin' bout how size jes'
makes some of 'em worse'n others.  He gets a laugh offa this an'
sez he can make sure all systems fully operational, no weak
spots, no holes in hoses, no suprizes, overnight.  It'll cost me
500 nuyen -- hell.

He says he'll take barter, points at Frank who's sleepin', says
he'll take th' junker fer the spare parts, an' Frank turns on
one red eye an' says "No way" -- th' fella seems kinda s'prized
that Frank is still workin' an' he offers t' do repairs on him
too, has th' tools t' do it.  So he an' I haggle a bit, an' I
don't got anythin' he wants, he ain't inta speed-thrash, ain't
inta symphonic, ain't inta old fashion rock-n-roll -- just wants
that Seelie shit.  Hell, I don't even _own_ a copy a' that
stuff, an' th' closest I got is a old Enya digital an' that's
one he had.  So Windy sez he knows a good bank, best exchange
rate in town.

Mechanic goes an' starts talkin' t' Frank, an' they work out
some kinda deal, an' Wendigo asks t' best hotel in town where he
can get and I quote, "Bed, breakfast, and a WOOOOman!"

Ponzer geek kid.  Mechanic don't blink, jes' says "Victoria
Arms, best hotel in town, oldest surviving hotel on the island."
Now, don't go jumpin' th' gun on me, we could too have a quiet
night.  It could happen.

We gets there, it's like four blocks away, leavin' Frank t' get
his rods reamed, an' my baby t' get her patches patched.

Desk clerk looks down 'is nose at us, 'cept for me an' he tries
t' do it but he knows it don't look right him cranin' his neck
like that.  So he says in this snotty voice, "Hotel Policy does
not permit the use of magic on the premises," an' th' Shalatch
guy, forgot t' tell y' his name is Tog, like th' stuff y' put on
pizzas.  Anyway, he gets this pouty expression an' settles down
t' th' ground, an' th' desk guy, guess he's the night manager
from his badge, gets this sorta relieved look on his face, an'
tells me I gotta stay on th' ground floor, or up on th' roof in
th' old pigeon loft.  Well, I tell 'im that if they charge me t'
stay in a pigeon loft, I damn sure gonna play speedthrash at
concert volume all night long, thanks, so he says "Ground floor
it is," an' I give 'im a credstick an' he sniffs an' gives me a
key.  So I go in, get dried off, put on a clean tee-shirt, an'
decide t' keep wearin' th' overcoat, jus' t' dry it out.

Th' maitre d' at th' restaurant sends me t' th' Troll section,
but I tell 'im' I'm fine, I'll sit on m' tail, jus' bring me
some food.

Well, he tells me that'll be 4.50 a kilo.  I ask him howcome
their spaghetti special is 4.50 a kilo, an' he blinks an' swallows
an' says that he thought I would be eatin' raw meat.  I smile at
'im an' tell 'im t' bring th' spaghetti, cause I already had half
a elk an' I'm not all that hungry -- bareface lie, a'course, cause
I only had the quarter-haunch an' I'm gettin' pretty carbo-starved.
Well, _my_ meal comes t' thirty nuyen with a pre-written-in tip,
an' so I go t' th' fireplace lounge t' take the last wet offa m' coat.

'Bout this time, Windy checks in on th' radio, since I'm th'
base station.  Mirth an' Tog are all happy tradin' spells, an'
Windy seems t' have come to an agreement wit' th', uh, lovely
"seamstress" that came t' his room.  So we're all doin' fine.

Now this is where things get fun.  Hey, I said we _could_ have a
quiet night, I din't say we _did_ have one.  Th' first thin'
happens, is this funny lookin' dude comes in, while I'm cleanin'
m' teeth.  You'd think he never saw anyone stick a rat in they
mouth b'fore, an' when he saw th' thing carryin' a toothbrush,
he really had a half a cow.  Musta never seen rigger-remotes
before, eh?  So I get a cloth offa th' table an wipe off m'rat,
when this dude comes back again.  Now, you think I'm funny-lookin',
well, this pouzar looks t' be about th' most horse-faced man
y'ever wanna see.  He makes it worse wit' th' mohawk an' the
black-n-white stripe tattoos, guy looks kinda like th' offspring
of a zebra an' a punker, but he's got this kinda quiet, polite
voice, moves real graceful.

He's down wit' this Johnson looks t' be in his late fifties,
wearin' a loud bathrobe an' carryin' a bucket a' ice.  Johnson
wants th' manager t' do somethin' cause zebra-stripes was
listenin' at his room.  Well, Stripes says he was doin' that
cause he heard people in his own room an' he was tryin' t'
calibrate, an' th' manager says he's gonna see about this.

They take off f'r th' stairs an' I decide t' follow, see what's
th' action.  An' I turn on m' dampers, so as not t' go Boom Boom
Boom down th' hallway, well, th' old Johnson looks back, an'
sees me an' starts jabberin' at th' manager.  Manager sees me,
says "Sir, this stairwell isn't safe for freight, please return
to the ground floor."

Bastich.  So I start back down, goin' slow so not t' hurt their
damn flimsy stairs, an' how th' hell they ever handled havin'
more'n ten people on th' stairwell I dunno, but without th'
dampers, I can hear th' floor creakin' pretty bad.  'Bout this
time, I hear the manager say "Here, now, you can't come up ..."
an' then I hear a sound I do NOT like hearing.

Panther personal assault cannon.  Belt-fed.  Damn thing is way
too heavy for anyone but a troll t' carry freehand.  Th' sound I
hear makes me wonder 'f th' manager is gonna be scraped off or
jus' blotted off th' wall.  I keep goin' down, but I still got
my rig-link t' Mickey Rat, so I take th' toothbrush out an' send
him up t' do some remote recon.  Meanwhile I be goin' down t'
th' landing.  Well, Mirth an' Tog come runnin' outa they room,
headin' for th' noise, an' I tell 'em it's a BAD idea.  Tog goes
off downward, an' Mirth says "Hell, lemme take a look."  So he
gets past me goin' up.

'Bout that time, Mickey Rat gets up top, an' th' one-second
video I get is this bug-ugly troll wit' a fr'kin gun barrel th'
size o' my head pointed straight at me, then I hear about 20
shots go off.  Hell, I din't even get t' trigger th' detonator.
I hear that, an' th' first thing I wanna do is make that bastich
pay for th' rat, them things don't come cheap.

Now all this is happenin', I hear th' radio link that Windy had
just closed goin' open again.  He says somethin' 'bout what th'
hell is goin' on, an' there's this real loud crashing noise, an'
I hear this tink-clatter-hiss, that I recon'ize as one a' his
patented super ninja wannabee smoke grenades.  Then I hear this
rippin' noise an' glass breakin' an' th' lovely lady what Windy
had in th' bed with 'im is screamin' at th' top o' her lungs,
an' I hear another one a' them nasty sounds, an' a sorta sick
splat, an' th' screamin' stops.  So I hear a sorta "whump" that
I also recon'ize is Windy doin' his last-recourse.  He always
sleeps with a M40 personal grenade launcher by his bed, right
next t' his deck, an' he seems t' have decided that he's gonna
die, he takin' Troll with him, 'cause there's a WHumP an' the
radio goes dead.

Well, th' troll uptop seems t' decided t' go see what kilt his
buddy, 'cause I hear this sound: ping, clack, rollrollrollroll,
an' I shout "RUN" an' start goin' down th' stairs one set a'
stairs at a time.  Th' next stretch a' this is gonna be what
they tol' me about.

Seems Mirth saw th' pineapple grenade hangin' in front a' his
face, an got goin' up as fast as his short little dwort legs'll
carry im.  He makes it t' top a' th' stairs, just as th' grenade
goes off, an' he gets a bit a' shrapnel in his ass, but der
Troll has gone off down th' hall, he's down where th' smoke
grenade is goin'.  Now, you'd think there'd be a smoke detector
goin' off right about now?  Well, I never heard one.  Mirth says
he ran t' th' first set a' rooms, an' cast his Stunner spell at
th' troll.   Idjit -- trolls is already stunned.  So Troll
notices him, sends a burst back down th' hall, Mirth ducks back
in through th' door a' th' room.  Busted 'er down, too, musta
been learnin' from my example.  Th' couple in th' room started
screamin' when Mirth landed in th' room, an' he says "shh" an'
cast a spell t' fix th' bleedin' he was doin'.  Oh yeah, he took
a bit a' th' burst -- glancing blow.

So Tog tells me he got out t' th' alley, an' there on th' fire
excape comin' outa Windy's room was this punk guy, carryin' th'
naked an' drippin' body of our favorite decker.  He got down
inta th' alley, an' about then, this Troll showed up at th'
window, an' starts shootin' down at Stripes.  As luck had it,
Windy was between Stripes an' th' bullets, so Windy started
bleedin' a bit faster, while Stripes he went staggerin' inta th'
kitchen.  So Tog is pissed off an' he pull't this big honkin'
lightnin' bolt outa th' air an' tossed it off at th' Troll, an'
th' Troll shrugged it off an' started shootin' at him.   Well,
Tog din't like this at all, but he got t' be a 70-year-old
teenager by knowin' his magic, an' when th' bullets got there,
he was somewhere off t' th' side, in a blink.  So they started
t' trade shots, while Mirth snuck up on th' Troll.  Well, th'
Troll took about as much notice a' Mirth's second Stunner spell
as he did th' first, 'cept that his gun jammed.  So he got
another zot while he was clearin' it, an' Mirth finally cranked
up his Finger-O-Napalm spell an' th' Troll got set on fire.

Now while all this was happenin' I get t' th' bottom a' th'
stairs.  Th' last six feet a' stairs was th' rottenest, an' I
make a hole, an' have t' climb outa there, but I get goin' t'
th' kitchen.

Now, goin' down these stairs, I noticed I only got Morris an'
Lucy left outa my original set a' five rats, an' I wanna keep
'em intact until I can get s'more made up, so I send th'
activate-signal t' the new used Bat that I got in VancouverB.
Well, I couldn't open th' door with it, an' I couldn't open th'
window, so I had 'im grab a ruler an' use it fer a lever, set
the MIDI sequencer t' have it jump up 'n' down on th' ruler for
a while so I c'n pay attention t' other stuff.   Bat does this,
an' I'm hopin' nobody sees it 'cause it's damn goofy lookin'.

Tog was sayin' he was goin' t' th' alley, so I head down t' th'
kitchen 'cause that is th' fastest way I remember t' get there.

An' there's this big stripey punk, carryin' th' mortal remains
a' my pal Windy, which th' cook says "Delivery in the back, --
oh, I see, put him in that sink there," an' so Stripes puts 'im
inta this greasy sink.  Man, that's gotta be unsanitary.
Stripes gets this sorta look an' says "Gotta get my stuff," an'
starts runnin' for th' door, which I'm in.  Well, I try t' stop
him, cause he's got this little bit of arterial bleeding goin'
on, outa those three big holes in his chest an' shoulders.  He
tries a judo-flip on me, pure reflex, an' I block it an' he does
a back kick that catches me in the place where I keep my gene
samples, y'know?  Well, natur'l armor 'r not, that's got me
pissed, so I clock him on top a' th' head, claws rolled up so's
not t' punch a hole in his skull, an' he drops.  Trouble is, he
drops dead.  So I start CPR, an' hope I don't accident'ly crush
th' pouzer, an' he starts up again, an' then Tog gets in, starts
doin' his healin' magic.

Now this would be th' time for th' boys in red t' show, an' they
do.  Three fine strappin' RCMP's show in th' back door, I'm
tryin' t' find a pulse or anythin' for Windy.  Well, officer
number one, a fine an' upstandin' bit a' pigmeat, says "Hey,
Charley, get th' cryo!" -- an' they scoop poor Windy int' this
cryotank.  Thing is, it don't say RCMP on it, it says RenRakKu
Corp.  I raise th' place where I used't' have eyebrows at this,
an' he says "Yes, sir, they have an experimental program here in
town, they might find him a suitable test subject."

Hellation and damnfire.  So meanwhile back at th' bat.  Squeaky
just got th' window open, so I send him out t' check out, an'
hell if he don't got both a workin' IR video, an' a sonar unit.
Course th' jets don't work an' th' flight computer was runnin'
completely outa my rig cause it was hosed, but what th' hell.
So I send th' thing t' check out Windy's room -- there's Mirth,
gettin' all a' Windy's mortal possessions, so I land th' bat on
his shoulder just as two more cops come inta th' room.  He's
'splainin' t' th' cops t'best a what he knows a' th' situation,
an' I open th' radio link t' Squeaky an' th' speaker works (but
it don't got volume control, so th' cops hear) an tell 'im that
Windy's cacked it, come down t' th' kitchen.

Th' cops agree that this is a good idea, why th' hell one of 'em
din't stay t' take evidence, well, rent-a-cops, y'know?  So
meanwhile I turn around an' see that Tog is one helluva healer,
cause Stripes is doin' better.  Trouble is, Stripes had a small
hardware failure when I hit 'im in th' head, an' his image
generator gone offline.  He ain't no measly 2 meters -- sucker
is 2 and a quarter change, built like a racehorse, an' I mean
that literally, cause what looked like tattoos an' a horseface
is a zebra morph, straight outa th' RenRakKu soldier tanks.  He
wakes up, three cops around 'im, an' freezes.  Th' boss pig
mountie tells him they been lookin' fer him, he's been a bad
boy, an' he has t' go home.  Well, he says he ain't goin', cop
says he hasta, they built 'im an' he's RenRakKu Property, an' he
says Property wit' a capital P.  I'm standin' back, 'cause Tog
is gettin' pissed when he hears that word.  So Stripes is tryin'
t' tell these redcoats that he is gonna go, an' they is tellin'
him no, an' about th' third time Tog hears them say Property, he
lets th' chief pig have it with a slushball special -- ball a'
snow that spreads out an' freezes th' guy's head.  Well, Stripes
moves _fast_ then.  He snags th' chief-pig's .45 an' blows away
renta-mountie #2 and #3, Charlie an' Boyd I think they was
called.  Charlie's head is mostly gone, but Boyd might be alive,
an' then of course in comes Mirth with his two cops.  An'
they're drawin' weapons.

This be more than I wanna put up with, so I crank th' amps all
th' way up an _SHOUT_ at 'em -- FREEZE suckahs! an' th' one on
th' left screams an' blacks out.  Too bad th' one on th' right
was a speedthrash fan, 'cause he jus' shakes his head an' shrugs
it off.  Only one minor prob here -- Stripes got super-enhanced
hearing, an' he's out cold, an' Mirth is sittin' on th' floor
shakin' his head like I hit 'im with a poleaxe.  I hate when
that happens.  So Tog jus' winds up an slags th' other cop with
another slushball, an' he's out cold.  Heh.  So we strap 'em all
in wit' their own thumb cuffs, th' ones what's still alive, an'
get ready t' take off for th' rooms an' get our shit an' get
out.

'Bout this time another three redcoats come slammin' th' kitchen
door open, guns all pointed.  So I do a fifty-alarm-siren at
'em, an' one of 'em bashes his head an' passes out, an' o'course
down goes Stripes again, an I _think_ Mirth got th' second one,
but th' third one shot me, th' bastich.  I remember thinkin'
that it had t' be th' acoustics in th' room, cause he was in th'
same place as the first one, when I come to an' Tog is doin'
some kinda thing over me, an' th' bullet goes flyin out an' I
got this half-healed hole instead.

Well, we split.  I go down t' my room, grab m'helmet an' stuff,
an' Tog goes upstairs, gets his an' Mirth's stuff -- mostly
Mirth's, an' then trudges up th' stairs t' Stripeses room.  We,
on th' other hand, are goin' bookin' back t' th' Mechanic.
'Cept Mirth, dumb bugger, starts mutterin' about "leave no
hostages, take no prisoners, revenge," goes int' th' kitchen an'
drops a grenade inta th' Cryo -- an' then he's suprised when th'
damn' thing explodes an' he's covered in LNG.  He comes out
smokin' an' moanin, an' his hands an' face is frostbit like you
would _not_ believe.  We scoot our asses down' t' th' shop,
though.  There's this neat trick light comin' from under th'
drop gate an' th' windows are all blacked out, looks kinda like
a concert I, uh, saw once.  I tap on th' side door, an' Mechanic
comes an' opens it, takes one look at us an' says "Trouble with
RenRakKu?"  an I points t' Stripes an' say "They think he's
property," an' th' Mechanic gets this mad-on look, an' says
somethin' over his shoulder, an' the light show stops.  'Bout
this time, Tog appears outa thick air, seems he couldn't only
carry one a' Stripeses cases an' one a his duffels, th' rest was
way too heavy.  So he staggers in, an' we close th' door, an
there in th' garage is my van, up on a jack, an' half disassembled,
an' Frank, with a trickle charger on 'im, an' he's halfway
disassembled too.

So here we are.  Frank in pieces, my van in pieces, the hottest
piece of RenRakKu traffic on this side a' Puget Sound in our
laps, without a decker, an' with at least six cops that can make
us if we try t' leave town, an' th' worst thing is, with Wendigo
dead and gone t' soup, there ain't no way we can pay this doozer
-- 'cause I can't just walk into a bank an' say "Hey, convert
this credstick for me, please."

I tell y' the world _really_ hates me.


From: hutch@ibeam.intel.com (Steve Hutchison)
Subject: DJ 3:  Losin' Time
Date: Sat, 15 Jan 1994 06:18:38 GMT

[ADMIN]  This story is copyright 1993 by Stephen Hutchison.
Permission is granted for distribution on via standard
Usenet/altnet channels and for archival for personal use; all
other rights, including reposting rights, are reserved to me.
Characters appearing herein are part of an ongoing GURPS
campaign and are the property of their creators, used here by
permission.

Previously:  A team of only slightly unusual runners has been
hired by increasingly desperate CyberTronix to locate, retrieve,
or otherwise remove three errant researchers from a most unusual
fortress in the woods north of Vancouver BC.  They learn that
there were two survivors of the most recent of the ill-fated
expeditions.

One, a brain-burnt rigger who must have opium to replace the
endorphins which his own brain no longer makes, leaves a clue
that leads to another survivor in the Shalatch village north of
Victoria City.

Taking a side trip to the village, our team escapes an encounter
with a bored and malicious dragon, and meets with a Shalatch
cyber-warrior who was tortured and maimed by his own team leader,
who remains slave-chipped to obey the fortress rulers.  Escaping
only because he survived their gauntlet, the warrior has grown
embittered and warns them against CyberTronix.

Returning to Victoria City, our team discovers that the dragon
has damaged their van, and takes it to a mechanic recommended by
the Shalatch gate-guards.  The mechanic agrees to repair the van,
along with one of their group who was severely damaged by the
dragon in their earlier encounter.  The repairs will take too
long, so they go to a nearby hotel.  At the hotel, their attempt
to rest is interrupted as a genetically engineered zebra-commando,
who has escaped from RenRakKu corporation, strenuously objects
to the corporation's attempts to retrieve him.

One of the team is killed in the crossfire, and the RenRakKu
forces are demolished by the team in retaliation.  Unfortunately,
Victoria City uses Rent-a-Mounties provided by RenRakKu, and some
of them are also demolished.  Our team escapes back to the mechanic.

----

Part 3 -- Losin' Time

"The only thing worse than a dragon is a dragon that uses spells.
 The only thing worse than a dragon that uses spells is a cybered
 dragon that uses spells."

Well, maybe things is lookin' up a leetle tiny bit.

We get inside th' garage, 'n' mechanic asks how many RenRakKu
cops we offed.  Well, I tol' him two, 'cause I wasn't sure if
we'd done the third one, an' th' rest was just tied up.  He gets
this sick sorta grin an' says that be 2000 nuyen offa th' cost
a' repairs.  Cool, sez I, but we gotta hide.  You know any good
bolthole?

Well, it turns out he got a secret basement under th' grease
pit.  He raises up th' hydraulic lift 'n' then hits a button
somewhere, an' th' bottom drops outa th' oilpit.  Messy.  Alla
th' oil goes all over th' stairs that's unner th' bottom door.

Mechanic sez t' watch out f'r th' slick, an' shoos us all down
inta th' hidey-hole.  I sit me down t' get s'm rest an soon as I
get m'eyes closed, ol' Mirth an' Z-man starts in talkin' 'bout
all the sheiz piled up aroun' us.

So I peel m'eyes open, an' take a look aroun' at th' place.  S'a
pretty big warehouse room, full a' crates an' woven baskets an'
some pretty big ol' pots wit' skins stretched over th' tops an'
tied, like.  Weird, like th' chummers never heard a' plastic
peanuts, eh?  No metal anywhere.

Mirth gets ta jawin' about how th' writin' on ev'rythin' is all
in Seelie.  Hell, I'da knowed that from talkin' ta Mechanic
earlier -- dwort wasn't list'nin', cause he _said_ he did a fair
trade in th' Seelie artifax.  So I try again ta get some Z's an'
Zebra dude starts mutterin' about music.  I pitch m'ear up an'
hell if there ain't a bit a' somethin' -- so I send Mickey Rat
up ta th' top a' th' steps (keepin' him offa th' oily bits) an'
turn on th' mike.  Yeah, I hear it too.  Some kinda pipes an'
drums, kinda like old Celtic stuff.  So I set m'deck ta start
recordin' th' stuff, an' tell it ta pop in a ten-gig WORM chip,
an' try ta go back ta sleep.

But Z-man's ears is all twitchin' an' he goes klomfin' off inta
th' corner -- did I mention this place has a dark corner?  Kinda
like some a' them touchy-bars, where th' Wizard wannabees an' th'
big sammies tries t' hide an' scope ev'ryone out?  Well, it does.
Z-man mutters some kinda felgercarb 'bout th' music comin' outta
th' dark bit, an' th' dwort an' Tog both goes over.  So I get m'
eyes peeled open agin, an' stomp on over, an' Z-man is talkin'
'bout some kinda little green dude in th' corner doin' some kinda
chant.  So Mirth jumps in, an' hell, we all follow 'im.

World goes inside out.  T'dark corner is alla sudden behind of
us, an' th' room we be in has two a' these weird li'l green
dudes sittin' on Mirth's shoulder jabberin' inta his ears real
fast.  I freeze -- m'cyber ain't workin'.  Th' little green
dudes seem t'me ta be leperchons, y'know?  Th' kind wit' th'
pots a' gold?  Well, I din't figure this ta be th' best kinda
place ta be, but Tog just goes inta castin' spells, sez later he
did a Mindsearch ta find out what th' green guys is all about.
Well, he jus' got noise, an' Z-Man an' I start ta close in, an'
th' Leps talk REAL fast, an' jump offa Mirth's shoulders.  He
jumps like he been stuck in th' keister by a cow-prod an' runs
yellin' inta th' dark corner agin.  Well, we follows, an' th'
room goes inside out agin, an' Mirth is runnin' up th' steps an'
slippin' all over th' oil.  Got it all over his face too.

An' m' Cyber is all back.  An' I'm pissed.  Cause th' timeclock
in Mickey Rat sez 0450:Thu19 an' th' one in m'deck (which is
built inta m'wings) sez 2259:Wed18 an' th' damn greenies done
suckered us Under Hill.  An' we be losin' another 10K offa th'
damn' bonus.  Hell.  So I reset m' dates an' shut down th' tape
an' we get about two hours a' shuteye afore th' Mechanic opens
up th' roof.  Well, once we get up, th' van looks t' be in real
fine shape.  Bootyful.  Th' whole thin' workin' fine, purrs like
a lion, an' th' weird echo I was feelin' is all gone.  Mechanic
sez we had a feedback loop hooked in, an' it woulda kicked in
first time I needed th' little bit a' extra.

So I thank him, an' Mirth pays him, an' he takes th' restraints
offa Frank.  Frank wakes up, he's jus' as crazy as he ever were,
Mechanic asks howcome he has such a stoopid kinda battery.  I
tell 'im "Military" an' he laughs an' curses 'em out.  Mechanic
sez th' battery might last a bit longer but he din't know fer sure.

Well, Z-Man ast's Mechanic if he c'n scan 'im fer bugs an' tags,
an' Mechanic gets out a f'in' willow-stick like fer dowsin', an'
he goes over th' stripey dude, an' comes out wit' th' warnin'
that Z does have a tag an' th' dudes at RenRakKu can most likely
track 'im given time an' th' right hardware.  Mechanic sez ' he
want t'know 'bout Z-man an' they trade life-stories, an' Mirth
goes over Z wit' his medscan an' tells 'im he's got too much
heavy metal inside 'im.  An' Frank gets all profound, listenin'
t' all this frooraw 'bout who's got what in they genes, an' sez
t' gene pool's gettin' too shallow fer him t' swim in, an' I laugh.

Anyway, after a few minutes, Mechanic gets nervy, asks us t' go
back down inta th' shielded room 'til it's safe t' come up.  So
we do this thing, an' I'm just gettin' ready fer a nap when th'
damn dark corner eats th' room an' all my cyber shuts down HARD
while I'm in middle a' riggin' Mickey, an' I go inta some kinda
thing where I'm smellin' wit' m'eyes, an' tastin' wit' m'ears,
n' seein' outa m'skin, but after a few, I kinda come back inta
focus, an' Frank is standin' there wit' all his readouts in th'
no-power.  Well, I try t' get Mirth t' restart 'im, but' then
th' dark corner goes squick agin, an' I'm all online an' so is
Frank.  Well, th' hide-me-door opens an' Mechanic tells us it's
night again, so we go up an' I get th' GMT from th' cellular,
an' th' damn thing kept us outa time f'r fourteen hours this
time, another fr'kin' chunk a nuyen off th' bonus.

An' Frank is talkin' nonsense about th' dream he was havin'
'bout bein' human an' havin' a libido again.  He really oughta
buy th' upgrade kit, y'know?  There's plenty a' chummers got a
chrome fetish.

We go over th' problem.  We gotta get offa this island, we gotta
get Z-Man off with, an' we wanna get t' th' Big Deal ASAP.  So
th' hell a' this is, th' RenRakKu RentAKops are all over th' city,
but th' Shalatch won't let 'em on th' rest a th' island, so we
gotta get th' van, wit' th' machine gun an' all, outa th' city.

Fine.  So while Mirth an' Tog is busy yammerin' 'bout spells an'
Z-Man is sackin' some much-needed Z's, an' Frank is talkin'
about how he din't permit horses to evolve that way (Y'all do
remember that Z-Man is a genesoup made outta Zebra an' Human
parts, right?) an' I'm gettin' pissed.  Then I get this idea.

So I uplink.  First I connect ta' Halcyon Underground in Seattle
'cause it's th' place where Wendigo, poor schmuck, had one a'
his secret accounts.  I use t' public-key trick he gave me t'
drop m'message in, "Wendigo deceased, revenge=RenRakKu" an' sit
back t' scan th' news offa th' AlterNet.  Well, th' public-key
keyhole he had hid away, vanishes.  An' a few minutes later,
this glowin' red heart wit' wings pops up, an' drops a message
in m'incomin' from his folks, sayin' "Thank you for informing us
of the demise of our son.  Please direct any remains to be sent
to the local crematorium with this account number." -- an' they
had a piddly little hundred-nuyen account t' pay f'r th' cooker
-- but then it goes on.  "Mr. J., our son spoke well of his
friends.  For your own comfort, please be aware that he did make
regular cerebrocortical backups and his account with the clone
banks were kept paid in full, and that we will be installing a
suitably edited backup, without the unfortunate restless and
nonconformist tendencies, in one of the full-body clones.  Do
not expect him to contact you.  The family wishes to thank you
for your help."  An' then th' message erased itself.

Shit.  Poor chummer never had a chance.  Well, hells, maybe he
c'n get past th' programming -- hope so.

Th' next thing I do, I connect t' Good Ol' Sheffield at Seattle
CyberTronix.

He's all Texan at me, ain't nobody sounds that much like a good
ol' boy these days 'less they fakin' it, y'know?  So he wants t'
know what's up, an' I tell 'im we got us a high-quality mage,
an' a bit a' info on th' target zone, an' that we need a decker
an' strategist 'cause Wendigo got killed by RenRakKu.

He looks kinda pissed, an' sez they c'n ship a new decker t' VBC
post haste, but I stop 'im an' say "We also need transport off
th' island, one a th' extra muscle we hired is on th' run from
RenRakKu an' they be layin' for us.  So he allows as he's got a
chopper t' send, an' they want us t' meet th' chopper at Vickers
Point, in 2.5 hour.

Fine.  Well, it taks a bloody hour t' get loaded up an' ready,
an' a half hour t' bribe th' guard inta lettin us out.  4000
nuyen an' a 500 ny fake certified stick outa Wendigo's forgeries.
I tell th' guard t' be careful 'bout that one stick, it's a fake,
only use it on RenRakKu, an' he gets friendlier, an' tells me
t'best way t' get t' Vickers Point, an' where t' hide from El
Great One (damn flyin' scaly bastich cross between a newt an'
a iguana) an' th' next thin' I know, we are on th' road.  I get
OFF th' road damn fast an' get us goin' up th' old beach-road,
which is mostly beach now, an' I make pretty good time.

'Course, there's lotsa complaints outta th' passengers, but I
tol' em t' put the'r belts on.  Y' can't go 90KPH down a beach
with no bumps.  It was a real head rush.

So while we're on th' way, I ask Mirth t' start figurin' out if
th' sonar unit in th' used bat will link inta my own rig harness.
It's th' same model number as th' one I test-ran back in th' lab,
an' I think th' dwort can patch it in.

We get t' th' stand a' trees that marks th' hidin' place an' we
got maybe 25 minutes ta wait.  I pull inta th' mouth a' th' cave,
an' power down th' engine.  Alla th' others 'cept Frank an'
Mirth pile outa th' van, pissin' an' moanin' 'bout m' drivin'.
Hey, they din't hafta ride, coulda walked.  Coulda held on, too.
Oughta knew when Frank locked his lef' hand inta his usual hole
in th' roof struts that it gotta be a rough ride.

Wit' th' engine off 'n' th' others outa th' van, Mirth starts t'
open up m'wingbox an' get inta m'riggin' so he c'n install th'
sonar.  An' he sez it's th' right unit but th' output jacks
ain't th' same impedance an' he hasta patch a converter.  Fine,
sez I, you do that.  Well, Frank finishes his toons an' gets
outa th' van, an' when he opens th' door, we c'n hear th' sound
a' th' cave.

Hell, "Whisperin' Cave" -- they shoulda called it "Moanin' an'
Heavy Breathin' Cave" fer what I heard.  Anyway, outside Frank
an' Z-Man be makin' noise 'bout th' weird shit they seein' out
there, some kinda movin' an' voices.  I don't hear nothin' even
wit' Minnie Rat's mikes turned all th' way up.  Well, th' two a'
them out there gets t' freakin' out Tog an' he does some kinda
handwavin' an' gets a weird bugout look on 'is face an' vanishes.
'Bout that time Frank cuts loose with a round from th' mid-size
rocket-launcher he likes t' preten' is a handgun.  Now, Mirth
starts actin' wierder'n usual, talkin' t' thin air.  I'm gettin'
creeped out here, Frank an' now Z-man shootin' at nothin' an'
somethin' cold 'n' clammy an' really snakey touches me onna back.
So th' reflexes kick in from th' sewers an' I crank up 1000
watts o' 8-cycle -- an' Mirth an' th' Z-Man get outa range but
Z-Man is too busy shootin' t' think ta hold his bladder.  Th'
creepy keeps touchin' me an' somethin' starts t' whisper t'm'ear
"Don't Go Outside, You'll Die" an' I crank up th' volume t'
2000 watts an' 14 cycles -- Z-man freaks an' somethin' falls
off th' worktable -- forgot th' bloody vibration, dammit -- an'
then th' whole biz shuts down an' I realize that Mirth had
m'bloody access panel open an' all th' wires is comin' outa th'
damn pressfits cause a' th' damn vibration.

I gotta shift gears here, 'cause th' stuff that happen't t' Tog.
See, he bugged out when th' spell he was workin' came off all
inside-out.  He was tryin' t' find out if th' things he was seein'
an' hearin' was enemies, an' th' spell tol' him th' whole lot a'
us was out t' get 'im, along wit' th' things what lived in th'
cave, an' that th' only real friend he had on th' whole a' effin'
Vancouver effin' Island was flyin' around about a hundred eighty
meters straight up.  So he ported hisself out.  Then he gets t'
wonderin' as to why we all sudden turned against 'im, an he did
some other stuff, but he isn't sayin' what it was, got this
really gruff tone a' voice, like one a' them old-man Salish guys
that I know offa the streets back in Seattle, when they get all
choked up 'cause they're afraid they'd lose major face fer doin'
somethin' stupid.  Well, Tog is one a' them inside, so I ain't
gonna press him about it.  'Cept I would like ta know what makes
'im clam up when I ask about th' damn jellybeans.

Oh, th' jellybeans?  Well, I'm gettin ahead a' myself.  See, I'm
not really sure what's goin' on about this time 'cause th' stuff
outside in th' cave is still happenin', but I start lookin' fer
all th' stuff that 'sposed t' be on th' workbench an' th' parts
is all there 'cept fer the transducer what Mirth was about t'
try installin', an' that ain't anywhere.  But there is this big
pile a' jellybeans comin' outa a tobacco tin.  I figger they
b'long t' Z-Man an' stick m'head out an' ask what th' hell's
goin' on, an' will Mirth please get his sorry ass back in here
an' plug me back in.  He comes in an' starts puttin' stuff back,
an' th' radio comes on soon as I get connected, th' chopper is
'bout three mile offa th' coast.  Frank informs us that th'
dragon is out there, an' he's headin' for th' chopper.

Fr'kin' _merde_ th' buggerin' flyin' cross b'tween a newt an' a
gecko is headin' f'r _my_ way off this damn wet lump in th'
middle a' th' ocean.  Frank's tryin' t' tell us somethin' 'bout
noncorporeal etheric manifestations an' th' cold chills is still
crawlin' on m'back an' th' cave is still whisperin' 'bout "Don't
Go Out There" an' "You'll Die" -- _real_ useful.

So Mirth gets me buttoned down an' Frank an' Z-Man get they
weapons out an' as th' chopper starts comin' in, th' two a' them
start t' shoot at th' damn lizardbreath up there.  Th' thing is,
we was just on th' edge a' in-range, an' th' dragon just ignored
'em.  Funny thing, though, Mirth took a long slow bead on th'
beastie an' he swore he `felt' th' shot connect, y'know, that zen
kinda thing? 'cept that he staggers back an' th' arm a' his jacket
gots a .45 caliber bullet splatted all over th' plates an' he's
jumpin' an' cursin'.  Well, Mr. Flyin' Lizard gets outa our range
an' th' chopper opens up on 'im, an' it takes a good shot that I
know connected 'cause I saw th' tracer fire, an' then th' shell
exploded, but it was inside a' th' chopper when it went.  I
figure it out -- ran across a street mage once useta use that
spell, had t' take 'im out by hand.  Th' thing sends bullets,
baseballs, anythin' y' throw at th' target an' hit with, right
back at ya.  Nasty trick.

I tell 'em on th' radio, don't shoot at th' thing, it'll jus'
bounce yer bullets back atcha, an' Tog shows up, does somethin'
majorly nasty lookin' an' th' dragon breaks off, heads f'r th'
high sky.  Seems Tog peeled th' spell right offa him, an' he
ain't gonna play if he can't cheat.  So th' chopper crashes, an'
we're pullin' out th' survivor, th' guy is th' decker that
Sheffield got us.

So I call Sheffield, secure line, an' raise hell 'bout th'
idjits _knowin'_ there's a dragon here an' why th' hell din't
they take precautions, an' Sheffield gets all his back hair up
an' is sayin' I shoulda tol' 'em, which I _know_ was in th'
report that Wendigo sent 'em before we checked inta th' damn
hotel.  So  th' line closes down but then over th' radio we all
hear "I'll get you next time, larva" -- an' it's comin' from
straight up.

Damn but I hate dragons.  An' them damn jellybeans is still
reproducin' in th' back a' m' Van.  Forty kilos and counting...