Subject: A Whispered Tale
Date: 3 May 1994 14:46:30 GMT


Here a new creation from the Vault. Dutifully downloaded by yours
truly, the infrequent visitor Nightshade to the mem-banks of the
chatsubo's entertainment computer.
	More parts to follow. Total story:
		Eazy Morning
		Eazy Afternoon
		Eazy Night
		Eazy Death



Eazy Morning.


     I stumbled out of the alley, just as the dark began to give
way to the pale grey light of morning. The sky was overcast, and
it was drizzling annoyingly. I fumbled on my enviroprot goggles,
and looked around. The familiar trash and burned out cars greeted
me in silence. I began to shamble away as fast as I could. Had to
get somewhere safe. Fast. I did not feel the pain yet, still too
pumped up with adrenaline, and too much in shock, but it would
come soon enough. My left arm hung to my side limply, and my
right side was bleeding profusely.
     Sure surprised those bastards. Sure they scragged me, but I
geeked all three of them. I touched my Uzi, safely hidden inside
the confines of my plastic cloak, and it gave me a short burst of
secure feeling. Those had been T-Boy's men. He musta figured out
I held out on him. Well, no matter now. I pushed all thought out
of my head, and concentrated on moving forward. The shock was
receeding, and the pain became worse by the minute.
     Finally where I had to be. Another alley filled with trash
and destroyed cars and such. A profusion of discarded batteries
and outdated computer hardware. There was a reclamation shop
around here somewhere. They take out all the pieces that can be
reused, and sell them back to the corps at scrap value.
     I knocked on the large door. The dark green paint was
peeling off to reveal a layer of light blue, and that layer was
peeling off here and there to reveal a hot pink underneath that.
A little peephole opened up, from which a scowling face snarled
at me what I wanted. After telling Ogre I was hurt, he let me in.
Good. T-Boy had not yet spread the word.
     "C'mon. Ye'r the first today. Dr. Markus will be wid ya
shortly. Ya know the way."
     I stepped inside as soon as the door swung open, and walked
the long straight hallway deep inside the building. The clinic
was actually in the back-house. I carefully stepped over and
around all the wounded lying in the hallway. Last nite's
casualties. It was always like this. I recognized some, but none
of T-Boys guys were there. My luck still held.
     Finally I entered the operation room. A marginally clean,
and definately very brightly lit dining hall. At least that was
what it once was. Thanks to me being the first today, the large
kitchen table in the centre was clean of fresh blood. The old
wood was stained completely black nonetheless. The floor was
littered with empty ampules and vials.
     With great effort I heaved myself onto the table, and began
to peel off my cloack. jacket and shirt. The shirt was completely
ruined, drenched with blood. The jacket didn't look too hot
either. While I was grunting and struggling, Dr. Markus and his
two assistants came in.
     "Hey, Eazy. You look awful. Let's see what I can do for you.
You have cash? The usual preferred customers fee."
     I looked at his grotesquely smiling face, and nodded. From a
back pocket, I grabbed a wad of plastified cred-notes. I flipped
them, counting out the doctor's fee, and held it out. One of the
assistants, a pretty redhead called Shirly, snatched it from me,
and stuffed it down her shirt.
     Dr. Markus was already bustling around with his drugs and
surgeon's toys. It took them about half an hour to make me into
the semplance of a human being once more. The arm was set, and my
side fixed with stitches and some skin slap-patches. He had shot
me full with painkillers, and handed me several more, to apply
when the pain returned. He also gave me a new shirt, and ordered
me to get some rest and not move for a week or so. I nodded, and
went on my way. The door thudded loudly close behind me. At least
I'll live. Had to find a way out. See who else is in it against
me. Who my friends were, who could help me get away. That sorta
stuff.
     Again, I shambled off, this time with less of a limp. Off to
Rick's Cafe. My habitual hangout. Should be some people there I
could trust. Maybe. The walk took me almost an hour. An hour of
paranoia, and looking over my shoulder. By now, T-Boy would know
his hit-men failed, and be after me himself. Maybe he even
checked out Dr. Markus' place.
     I got to the Cafe, the soft yellow neon sign glowing
friendly at me, with the promise of spirits and food. I sure
could use some of both. I got in, just as some suits were
leaving. Rick's was a meeting place. A place where both the
lowlife's as the high-fliers came.
     The place was filled with the hustle of the morning crowd,
here and there the disheveled shells of those who had forgotten
to go to sleep. I took a seat at the bar, and ordered the
breakfast special, and some cheap whisky to go with it. Fuck
coffee. Johnny Q raised his eyebrow, but did not question me
further. The whisky was in fromt of me, before I was comfortably
seated, the food would be a few, Johnny told me.
     I looked into the crowd around me fretfully, and clamped the
whisky glass as though I would die letting go. After a clunk of a
plate being set on the bar telling me my food was there, I turned
around, and attacked the plastic plate's contents with a relish.
It was the usual proto-shit, shot full of colorizers and taste
enhancers, but I was more than hungry enough not to notice.
     Almost casually I turned my attention to Johnny, and said.
     "So Q-man. Seen T-Boy around lately?"
     He looked at me quizzically.
     "Not since you and him were here last nite. Why. You lost
him or something?"
     Johnny laughed stupidly, as though he made a joke or
something. Good, I though to myself. For now all was safe here. I
finished the food, some two more whisky's, and stood up.
     "Yo Johnny. Okay if I use the backroom? Gotta take care of
some biz ya know. By the way. Soon as T-Boy gets here, come get
me. Don't tell him I'm here, just come get me. Okay?"
     "Sure thing Eazy."
     He said. He fumbled around under the bar, feeling around for
something. His face lit up on finding it, and he tossed me a key.
I wound my way to the back, and opened the door. Once inside, I
went for the comm-terminal. I punched in my user-number, and
dialed. The clean shaven face of a suit appeared. He waited for
me to say something.
     "Mr. Sarariman. Remember those soft chips you wanted? I have
a bunch for ya. Also, I have some other hot stuff. I know, I
know. You didn't ask for anything else, but I have it lying
around, and no customer yet. I thought, you being a good customer
and all that, I'll give you a first chance at it. What say you."
     I had to get money fast. I would need a lot of cred to have
someone help me get out of this plex. Had to get out fast. There
was no way I could hide from T-Boy forever. His influence was too
great around here.
     "Okay, Eazy. I'll have a look at them, usual time, usual
place? I'll have the two k-cred for the requested stuff, and
we'll discuss a price for the other stuff. Deal?"
     "Not possible. Usual place, twelve thirty afternoon."
     The man's face frowned. He seemed to think it over.
     "Okay. Deal."
     The connection closed. Good. That would give me some cred to
burn. I could hardly believe my luck, that he agreed to it so
easily. As I sat thinking who to approach for aid, and how to get
to another plex,Johnny Q burst into the room.
     "T-Boy and some of his razor-heads are here. They saying
nasty stuff about you. Says you ain't gonna live to see the next
sunrise. Says you scammed on him. He don't look to happy. Says
you killed three of his best men."
     Shit. Drek. Frag. Just dandy. I didn't even bother to answer
Johnny Q's questions. I just ran for the backdoor. I burst into a
filthy back street, and almost collided with a reeking heap of
trash that came spilling from an overturned dumpster. Rats and
other scavengers including two filthy humans, filthy by my
standards even, scattered. I looked left and right. Good. T-Boy
had not posted people here. He obviously hadn't thought I would
be foolish enough to visit known hangouts.
     I took off to the right, where the sight of actual traffic,
and the bustle of people on their way to work greeted me. Just as
I mingled with the crowd, looking back, I spotted the door in the
alley be thrown open, and T-Boy's razor brains run outside. Good.
They don't know which way I went, and soon I'll lose myself in
the traffic anyway. Had to stay around and alive till twelve
--
____  ____  Whisper, not only the president of D. S. I., but also a member.
\ -||||- /  "Jesus saves... and takes only half damage...................."
D.\\S.//I.  "Life is a bitch......And she's got a critical case of PMS...."
    \/      The Whisper Of The Net (whisper@wpi.edu) a.k.a. -=# Neuron #=-





Eazy Afternoon

     I was nerveous. Usually I would have some of T-Boy's gangers
backing me up in case the meet went wrong. If the sarariman
decided to geek me and just take the merchandise, there was
little I could do about it. I looked at my chredichron. 12:25 it
blinked at me from its coloured LCD display when I touched the
time-function button. The pain had begun to intrude upon my
thoughts again. I grabbed one of Dr. Markus' shots, and injected
myeslf. Almost immediately the pain began to recede again. Good,
it would be bad if I was cramping from pain during the meet.
     I heard the grinding noise of a car's tires plowing through
gravel. I got up from my hiding spot behind the large steel
pipes, and walked up to the car, as it came to a stop in the
middle of the deserted factory yard. The door on the driver side
opened, and the guy stepped out. A large clear plastic coat
enveloped his expensive suit, to protect it from the perpetual
drizzle. He walked to the door of the back side, opened the door,
and pulled a small portable computer out of it. The device was
also protected by a clear plastic tarp.
     I walked over. The sarariman positioned the computer on top
of the car's roof, and held out his left hand to me.
     "Give me the stuff, and I'll have a look."
     I handed him the soft-chips, and he slotted them in, one at
a time. First the ones we had agreed to, the  he took a look at
the other stuff. He shook his head.
     "I really can't use the other stuff. Sell it to someone
else. I'll give you the agreed upon two k-creds. Nice doing
business with you, ser Eazy."
     I was devestated. Two k-creds wasn't going to be enough. The
sarariman took out his wallet, and counted out twenty blue bills.
I peeked at his wallet, and caught my breath. I spotted several
red bills. This guy was loaded. I got greedy. While the guy was
counting, I slowly put my hand inside my cloack, and grasped the
handle of my Uzi. I looked around furtively. No one. Good.
     The guys held out the bills to me, and looked
uncomprehendingly at the resolved expression on my face.
Comprehension dawned when my hand appeared in the open, firmly
clasped around the Uzi, the finger on the trigger. The sarariman
had enough time to open his mouth in horror. The shots rang in my
ears, and the man went down, fountains of red liquid sprouting
from his back as bullets ripped through his fragile body. With a
soft thud, and splash, his body hit the ground.
     I quickly searched him, and took all his valuables. I
stuffed the computer back into the car, and got in it myself.
Good. Now I also had a set of wheels. Over ten K-cred in money,
and a lot of expensive goodies. The computer was a definate
bonus. All this was temporary of course. Soon as the guy was
found, or when the sarariman did not get home to his wife and
kids, the cops would go looking for the car. I should have till
tonite though. I had to get some new sources. Some new contacts.
All my old ones would be turned or guarded by now.
     Where could I get them tho. Then I remembered a name. A bar
that was supposed to be an excellent place for establishing the
kind of contacts that I needed. The Chat-Sumo or something like
that. Weird sounding name. I stopped the car somewhere safe.
Right on the sidewalk of a bustling shopping street. I leaned
over the seat, and punched on the computer. I connected to the
public data-net, and put in a search. Bars, restaurants or
nightclubs with names sounding like Chat-Sumo. The screen blinked
'please wait, searching' at me for a minute or so, and suddenly
the screen changed. It showed a name, a picture, and some general
info.
     Closest match: Chatsubo. Bar. The picture was scanned from a
newspaper. The accompanying commentary 'The Chatsubo bar, the
scene of yet another fatal shooting. page 12.' Sounded like the
right place to me. I downloaded the address into the car's
navigator, and turned off the computer after a last look at the
picture of the bar. It showed an ugly guy, with a horribly
ancient looking prosthesis for an arm, grinning madly from behind
the bar proper. Nice.
     I fought the urge to just drive around, relishing in the
sheer pleasure of driving in a real car, and not one of the fixed
up, burned out 'warcarts' that T-Boy used to patrol his turf. My
life was in danger here. No time for frivolities. I looked at the
instructions from the navigator. That was good. The bar was
located in a completely different part of the plex. At least two
hours driving through all this traffic. T-Boy would never find
me.
     While I was in the shopping district anyways, I should
really get myself some decent clothes. Would be handy in dealing
with the patrons of the Chatsubo. From what I understood, it was
a place for real heavy hitters. No weenies or simple streetscum.
I would have to look like I belonged. Hey, ten thousand creds go
a long way.
     I sat back in the car, resplendant in a neo-nouveau-fashion
suit. I winced when thinking of the cost again. Fifteen hundred
creds. Well, once I got those contacts, the sale of the car,
computer and other goodies would more than make up for it. I had
also gotten myself a haircut and a shave. I breathed deeply.
Things looked rosy. If all went well at the Chatsubo that is.
     I jazzed up the car, and looked at the screen from the
--
____  ____  Whisper, not only the president of D. S. I., but also a member.
\ -||||- /  "Jesus saves... and takes only half damage...................."
D.\\S.//I.  "Life is a bitch......And she's got a critical case of PMS...."
    \/      The Whisper Of The Net (whisper@wpi.edu) a.k.a. -=# Neuron #=-



Eazy Night

     I exited the car, parked in front of the Chatsubo, high on
another painkilling shot. This was it. Had to find a fixer here.
Now or never. I quickly crossed the pavement, kicking an empty
beerbottle aside. I opened the heavy metal door, and hurried
inside. Heads turned, to look at the newcomer. I recognized the
behavior. People who frequently ran afoul of the law or shady
individuals, checking to make sure no threat to them walked in.
Disinterested faces turned away. I was obviously discounted as a
threat to these people.
     I looked at the crowd with awe. Chrome shone away in great
quantity. From DNI jacks to cyberware. Wow. That is expensive
stuff. Not so much the gear itself. Though I would never be able
to afford even that. Rather the upkeep. Human flesh and machine
were not meant to bond. So they didn't. Not really. Frequent
trips to bodyshops and dark clinics, good, expensive dark
clinics, were needed to ensure the cyberware was not rejected,
and to correct surgically the downbreak of the flesh forced to
interact with the mechanics. Usually only corporate special
forces were fitted out with extensive cyberware. I doubted anyone
here was on corp payroll tho.
     Real deckers. I knew no one with such skill, and certainly
no one with the cred to burn on the expensive cyberdecks, and the
programs to navigate and survive the matrix. I was positively
overwhelmed, and almost in a state of shock. The grumbling, and
finally shouts from patrons, telling me to close the door, and
get either inside or leave, brought me back to reality. I hurried
inside, and was confronted by the figure from the paper-picture,
when I sat down at one of the bar's few empty seats.
     I looked fascinated at the pink, disgusting prosthetic arm,
and finally looked the guy in the face.
     "Hi, my name is Eazy. I'd like a whisky, and some info
please."
     At my mentining my name, the guy laughed chafingly, and
answered in a horrible russian accent.
     "My name is Ratz. And I heard the term 'eazy' here only as
referring to one of Lonny's girls."
     I looked at him uncomprehendingly, and when the whisky
appeared, spoke up again.
     "I am new here to town. I need some one who can get me
things, and who can relieve me of other things. A dealer if you
will. I am told that this is a place where I might find such a
person. Could you direct me to one?"
     Ratz looked at me strangely, and I realized, that just
wearing a suit was not going to camouflage me being from the
area. My speech was decidedly Seattle Ghetto. Oh well. Too late
to think of that now. I produced a blue hundred cred bill, and
shoved it across the bar towards the imposing figure of Ratz.
     Ratz shrugged, took the bill, and pointed towards a table
where a blond haired woman sat, accompanied by two heavily
cybered guys.
     "Thatz Donna Maj. She deals in almost anything. Talk to
her."
     I picked up my courage from the floor, and strode over to
her table. I pointed at the fourth, empty chair.
     "This chair free? Mind if I sit down?"
     The lady shrugged, and as she brushed back her long hair, I
spied three DNI jacks glowing in the bar's light, behind her left
ear. The cybered guys definately scared me, but I forced myself
to speak once more. I sat down, took a deep breath.
     "I have a slight problem, and was told you might be able to
help me."
     I explained my situation as much as I deemed necessary, and
put forth my needs, and what I had to offer. She agreed to
arrange a new ID, a seat on the next flight out to the New Jersey
Megaplex, a week's worth of housing in a New York hotel, and most
important of all, some names of contacts to find work there. In
return she would take the car, and all the goodies I had in it,
as well as seven and a half K-creds cash. I gave her the keys to
the car, and she sent out one of her bodyguards to check out the
contents of the car. He came back and nodded briefly.
     "Meet me at the airport, terminal A12. I'll take the creds
now, you drive there with the car and the stuff, and hand me the
keys there."
     At that, I pulled out my money, and gave it to her, her
cyborg gave me back the car key, and the three left. I settled
down, and got another drink. I felt good. It was going to work.
T-Boy would never know where I went. I might be able to set up an
even better life there than I had had here. Yeah!
     I hadn't been paying attention to the door, and suddenly, a
shadow fell over me. A familiar voice said,
     "So there you are, little rat."
     I almost died form a heart attack. T-Boy! How the hell did
he find me! T-Boy sat down in front of me, two razor heads
remained standing on either side of me. I was shaking with fear
and shock. So close! So close! All for nothing.
     "Well, well. Good thing I checked the console log at Rick's.
Found the dead guy at your usual meeting place. Real nice of you
to geek your customer like that. Gives us a bad name, ya know.
Anywayz, it didn't take a genius ta figger out ya stole his car.
Ya didn't know the car had a tracking device now did ya. Ya also
ddin't know it was cake to get our dead friend's corp to agree to
locate the car for us, and have us extract the penalties for
killing one of their people."
     He looked at me smugly. There was so much that I needed to
learn to survive in this big shark's pool. Now I would never
know. He shook his head. And he pulled out his gun. I cringed,
but looked up stratled at the sounds around me. Chairs crashed,
and machineguns, pistols and rifles appeared among all the
customers, and people shouted 'GUN!'. Ratz loomed over the bar
with a menacing looking roomsweeper.
     "No shooting in the bar!"
     He thundered.
     "If ya have a problem, ya take it outside."
     T-Boy looked around him in shock, realizing he was no longer
on his own turf, and couldn't just do as he pleased. While T-Boy
tried to calm down a bar full of people who overmatched him each
and every one of them, I spotted the rear door, and took off like
a madman. T-Boy and his cronies cursed, but dared not make any
sudden movement with so many weapons pointed at them with the
wrong sides.
     For the so-manieth time today, I found myself in a dirty,
deserted alley, and I began to run away. Before I reached the end
I heard T-Boy and his followers burst into the alley. They
shouted and cursed, and ran after me. Shit. I ran on, but was not
quick enough to lose them. My side began to hurt again, under too
much strain.
     The alley I was now in opened up to a small park across a
street, with a few cars parked on the other side of the street.
Feeling the stitches give, I rushed to hide between a robust
looking car, and took out my Uzi. As soon as I heard sounds from
the alley, I fired a clip at the alley's mouth. I was rewarded by
a scream, suddenly cut off in a pitiful gurgle. But then I heard
the sound of more feet running. T-Boy had come with a whole gang
of his troops. Shit. I replaced the empty clip, preparing to kill
them all. The bastards.
--
____  ____  Whisper, not only the president of D. S. I., but also a member.
\ -||||- /  "Jesus saves... and takes only half damage...................."
D.\\S.//I.  "Life is a bitch......And she's got a critical case of PMS...."
    \/      The Whisper Of The Net (whisper@wpi.edu) a.k.a. -=# Neuron #=-




Eazy Death


     I cringed as more bullets slammed into the wrecked body of a
car or whistled overhead, and I thanked whatever luck looked over
me, that it was one of those ancient ones. You know, the ones
they made out of actual metal. A modern plastic car would have
been ripped to shreds by now.
     The sound of tearing cloth rang through the alley, and more
bullets peppered the poor old car. A silencer. I really hate
submachineguns. I looked at my own. It's black body rested
comfortably in my hands, but it was empty. Around me three more
empty clips lay scattered about. These bloody things shoot too
many bullets too fast.
     In dispair I looked up to the darkened sky. My face was
pelted by the now perpetual drizzle. Low clouds hung overhead,
their bellies aglow from the light put out by the city that
surrounds us. Now and then Lightning flickered, but the sounds of
thunder were drowned out by the hum and bustle of the city
itself, a mealstrom of twenty-four-seven activity and noise. As I
searched the polluted sky for answers, my eyes began to sting.
The acidic rainwater was seeping through the cracks in my cheap
goggles. Only more despair there.
     Life. So worthless nowadays. Things had begun to change
since the beginning of the twenty first century. With
improvements in medicine and technology, more people lived
longer, but there was less work to be done. Those good enough to
go to college, and be taken into the corporate folds, were the
lucky ones. Most others lived in the welfare islands. Supplied
just enough money by the governments to feed themselves, pay
their cable bills and support their habits.
     Those who could not live that life, were forced to work for
the black markets. The supply of illegal goods to those who could
pay for it. It had become an industry in and of itself. I was
part of that glorious industry. A middle man, who handled illegal
soft-chips. Last week I scammed a few for myself. Big mistake.
Now they were after me.
     I shook the veil of self pity away from me, and realized the
shooting had stopped for a long time now. Maybe they had given
up? With great pain and effort, I turned around, to glance over
the hood of the car. A sudden stab of blinding pain told me the
wound in my side had opened up again. I had been running ever
since they busted my shack this morning. I got away with only a
wound to the side, and a bullet that had shattered my left upper
arm as it went straight through me.
     The rain had intensified, and through the haze of suffering
and water, I could barely discern what was happening. I saw no
one. Then a soft voice came at me from the side. T-Boy had
circled the car while my mind had been drifting, and now had me
in his sights.
     "Throw away the gun Eazy."
     I slumped back against the car and looked first at him, then
at the empty weapon. Almost as an afterthought I let the Uzi slip
from my fingers. It thudded softly in the waterlogged dirt.
     "You know you shouldna have done that. You know that."
     I looked at him with empty eyes. I had done what I had done.
No matter what I said, the punishment would be the same.Through
his clear googles I could see his expression. It was a mix
between pity and envy. He raised his gun, and I knew a little red
dot would be showing right on my forehead. Instinctively I
cringed once more, awaiting the inevitable.
     "At least you get to leave this shithole."
     They were the last words I would ever hear. A loud bang rang
out, but my brain would no longer register it. My brain was too
busy getting itself splattered over the car behind me in a large
red shower of gunk. My body sank in upon itself, and came to rest
with splash on the dirty ground. T-Boy bent down, picking up the
discarded clips and weapon, and shouted out at his fellow
gangers.
     "Yo, guys. Let's get this body to the shop. See how much
cred we can get for his parts."
--
____  ____  Whisper, not only the president of D. S. I., but also a member.
\ -||||- /  "Jesus saves... and takes only half damage...................."
D.\\S.//I.  "Life is a bitch......And she's got a critical case of PMS...."
    \/      The Whisper Of The Net (whisper@wpi.edu) a.k.a. -=# Neuron #=-