From: marauder@diku.dk (Stephan Dahl)
Subject: The Dragon Replies
Date: 13 Feb 92 15:09:30 GMT


The place had a fading look; it was still there, for sure, but somehow it
seemed less real. There was still life, of a sorts, but It came rarely, and
each time, in a more abstract sense. Other things impinged, and other
realities held its brief attentions. Still, It kept coming through, and the
old monitors still told It of life, in the Chatsubo and elsewhere, where
dreams took solid form.

>							Ratz fills a
>tall glass with a dark brown Bock and sets it in front of the shaking
>hands, "Well, Herr Dragon. ...

This time, Its attention was held, and it stayed.

As It digested the report from the lurker subsystem, Identity seeped back
from the locale; first the glaring-green screen and the archaic keyboard
suspended in nothing at all, then, in slow stages (for it had been a long
time), the blue and silver body, serpentine and scaly, ebony claws going
tippety-tap, wings fading to translucence, occasionally vanishing
completely. The Dragon smiled, long fangs showing, and minute arc
lightenings crawled from head to tail.

Feedback kicked in, and the locale, also, gained life. Nothing stirred, even
as everything changed. Books, before templates of paper shape, now glowed
potential information. Scrap notes, before meaningless squiggles, were now
loaded with subtle reminders. Nothing looked different, but to a being of
information, the place, in a sense, became charged.

When the feedback impulse reached the air-analogue, a whiff of fresh coffee
flowed from an adjoining room, accompanied by the last joyful gargles of the
coffeemaker. Presently a full mug appeared, as The Dragon reached for its
usual position, next to the keyboard.

A few commands, and the sickly-green hieroglyphics on the screen gave way to
a window, into the 'Chat.

>		... With an effort the black-suited man stills the shake
>in his hands and grabs the glass, draining it.  The light at the bar,
>slightly stronger than the difuse gloom at the tables, does not hide the
>glowing red dragon etched into smooth skin along the jawline.  He slams
>the glass down and looks at the bartender, who nods, pouring another beer,
>After draining the second he motions for a third.  Ratz pours, the servos
>in his old Russian prosthetic whine above the quiet din.

"Hmpf. A RED Dragon. I'm appalled," The Dragon sniffed disdainfully,
waking the 'Chat VR projection system from what seemed like long slumber.

>The Dragon pulls a sip from the third, "Too much," he says, shaking his
>head, "I tell you, Ratz, I think I've finally seen too much."

The Dragon, elsewhere, grinned. "He. Ya ain't seen nuthing yet," and
<switch>'ed, leaving only a choruscating cloud of bright-blue motes, hanging
by the screen and the keyboard.

---

As the newcomer reached for a tray of peanuts, he noticed the top one was
blue. Frowning, he

	WHAM <blinding wash of cobalt; bar monochrome; then black>

			almost fell off his chair. Righting himself, rubbing
his eyes, he heard Ratz chuckle, "Always a flashy entree, ja?," and another,
unidentified voice answering, "But of course; with what you pay for the
hardware, surely it would be a shame to let it go to waste, hmmm?"

Sight returned (not a flashbomb, then), the newcomer looked around
frantically. Very few of the customers even looked his way; must've been
some directional holo, but who...?

Then he spotted the Dragon, curving around two barstools to his right,
smiling a friendly smile that was all inch-long daggers, and almost fell off
the chair again.

"Good Day! So nice to see a newcomer to these shores (Ratz, beer for my
friend), and one with good grasp of stylish prose too! Welcome!" Clink of
glasses, as the newcomer raise his fresh beer, on befuddled reflex (where'd
the Dragon's glass come from??)

"Normally, I tend to observe from afar," the Dragon said, wiping froth from
a snout not well-suited to glasses, "but you see, in your case I had to make
an exception." Again the grin, and the man with the dragon tattoo edged
away, trying to spot an escape route. "I feared there could be a confusion
of identities, and this should be cleared out from the onset." Again the
grin, much wider this time (Grandma, why do you have such big teeth...?).

Seeing the newcomers eyes widen beyond the iris, the Dragon leaned back,
showing less teeth. "Of course I do not begrudge you YOUR identity either;
What is important is that the difference is apparent," He continued, now no
larger than a human being, "For after all, we are so very different, as we
must be, to swim our separate seas." The Dragon was rapidly shrinking now,
standing on the barstool, leaning on the counter. "I must return to my other
selves; they complain of starvation..." Now, He was sauntering across the
counter, towards the peanut tray, still growing smaller. "Do please look Me
up, if you wish, Ratz has an address; At least your tattoo proves your good
taste." Now, He was standing amidst the peanuts, and with a flash no greater
than that of a matchstick, disappeared, leaving behind nothing but the
slowly fading blue glow upon a single peanut.

The newcomer shook his head, then vowed never to touch the snacks in the
Chatsubo again.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cast:	The Dragon 	: The Dragon
	The Dragon	: Jerry Norris (jerryn@glnserv.UUCP)
	Ratz		: Our Shared Consciousness
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
This clarifying obscurationist ramble brought to you by:
					The Dragon
					aka marauder@freja.diku.dk
					aka Stephan Dahl
---------------------------------------------------------------------------