From: khanx@netcom.com (David J. Altman)
Subject: Retry Escort
Date: Fri, 8 Apr 1994 06:58:01 GMT


     It was two a.m. and I had already put down six hits of Chrome, three
Jack Daniels, and a pack of Sky cigs. The local turbochix had already
given up on me. I wasn't working the speed circuit . . . I was just an
escort.
     I felt his eyes on me without having to look. He was appraising me,
trying to figure out what my life was worth. He was definitely The Man.
A corper. He had the arrogant walk. After weighing me in his mind he walked
up and waited. No point in being coy. I acknowledged him with a nod. He was
 wearing roadgear. Black sytnleather covering armor plates, shades, .50
Desert Eagle in an underarm holster. Very rough looking.
   He sat down next to me and ordered a drink from the 'tender. Then he
lit up. "You're Stinger . . . I got a job for ya'"
I waited for the punchline.
"We want you to escort a five-tonner from Pheonix to L.A."
"When, what, how much ?" I asked.
"Forty-eight hours from now. Ten K."
I noticed he didn't answer the what part of my question. I took another
drink and frowned . . . It was an expected part of my performance.
"What ?!" I asked again, more firmly. If he told me I knew that his
employers were desperate.
"Fuel grade volitiles. Two tons. L.A. had an accident, they need an
emergency shipment, otherwise the city is without juice."
     Shit !  This was major. Fuel grade volitiles. No wonder no-one else
wanted the job.
"I want twenty K in triple A Chevron corp scrip and ten micrograms of
volitiles" That should set me up with cash and fuel for a few months.
I waited to see how he reacted.
"Pal, you gotta be joken. Your so off target, you just landed in SkyPalace"
he replied, adding an insencere smile to the lie.
"Fuck off then. You and I both know that every ganger, raider, anarch, and
meglomaniac within a thousand miles of here is going to be over this thing
like a flyhigh to chemstims. You want me to shave my ass so they can
shoot at it - and you want me to do it for friggin' ten K !" I was trying
to play it on the edge. I wanted, needed, the job. But I also realized
that everything I had just said was true. I was willing to take this
job because if I made it, I'd be in the big leagues. But no way was I
going to do it for standard compensation.
"The shipments a secret . ." I didn't wait for him to finish. I got up
to walk away.
"Alright, how 'bout fifteen K, ten micros ?" He wasn't looking desperate.
In fact, he was looking satisfied. After thinking a moment I realized
why -- he had appraised me correctly, he was giving me what he thought
he'd have to pay me. Fucker.
"I'll take it." Nothing more to really say. He smiled again, finished his
drink, and got up to leave.
"'ey!  Just one thing" I called to his back.
"Yeah what ?"
"Don't even think about sticking me with a decoy truck. That roller
better have volitiles on it . . . Or else I'll come back and kill
your ass. I don't mind going on suicide missions for the right
pay, but I'm not going to be a sucker for a corpr" I rumbled. I'd seen "Mad
Max" a hundred times. I felt him smile and keep walking. I finished my
drink and picked up the DataPak he had left on his barstool.
     I walked out of the "Steel Wheel" a few hours later, feeling like
shit - and not just because of my stim binge.



      She was there, matte black, looking like a viper about to strike.
"Gina" was a Dodge Skorpius 90z UltraEscort. Her curves were wicked.
Everything about her said deadly functionality. She was called the "Black
Mamba"  by the roadraiders. They hated and feared her, I loved and feared
her.
     After remotely switching off the security system, I got inside. The
cockpit was spherical and covered in displays, readouts, buttons, and the
humming thrum of her systems. Gina was always on. Turning her off would
be a pain. I'd have to reboot all her systems. Consequently, Gina had two
states: active and passive mode, but you never turned her off. The PhormaSeat
adjusted automatically. I decided to go active. A quick syscheck told me
all was max, so I hit the codes and switches and she came to life. Her motor
came to life with a jet-like roar. Then I turned on the HUD display. Info
quickly poured into my field of vision like wine, intoxicating me. I revved
the motor. It made me feel like a master of the universe. Gina was Power.
Once I felt The Flow, that magical feeling when you become part of the
car, I got going.
     East. Pheonix. Here I come assholes.
     I wasn't sure if I meant the roadraiders or the corps.




     Reflected neon light rolled over Gina's curves like colored
mercury rivulets. It was bitter cold, gusts blew with a howl. I rolled
into Pheonix with my chrono reading 42:39:10 . . . Thats how much time
I had before my life changed. I steered Gina toward the southwest part
of Pheonix. I was heading to "Blood Row". Blood Row was a zero level zone.
No cops, no laws, according to the law it was not evened zoned for
development. Several years ago the roaders got together enough cred to
bribe the city comptroller, ever since then Blood Row has been "The
Place" for roaders and other shadowy types.
     I passed several bars, with their garish neon signs. A few buildings
were dark. Usually these dark buildings had no windows and looked like
they were made out of solid granite. These were the mod shops. These places
were the shrines of roaders. Any mod, to any vehicle, any time -- given
enough untraceable creds.
     I took a sharp left at a narrow, dark alley. After a few blocks I
see it. The club looks like a dingy strip place on the outside. Only
thing that betrays its true essence is the neon 'vette sign and the
rides in the lot. Everyone of which had the barracuda elegance of a
combat vehicle.
     I parked Gina, went to the club - whose name only the patrons knew
because it wasn't advertized on the outside. I wasn't worried about Gina,
trying to vandalize or steal a car out of "The Speed Daemon's" lot was
about the stupidest thing anyone could do.
     The place was the same as when I was last here, flashing laser
lights, hip-hop music, VR booths flashing away, lotta roaders sporting
their jackets with combat patches. Occasionally you'd see a professional
autoduelist arrogantly wearing his kill patches on his left sleeve,
and Association rank patch on the right.
     I went up to the bar and ordered another Jack Daniels from Devil
Dan, asked him where Jester was while I was at it. He pointed to a
booth on the other side of the club.
     I walked up and clapped Jester on the back. He gave me a smile,
then a big bear hug. Jester was the old man of roaders. He started
as an Escort, then moved in Speed Circuit Autoduel. Three time Autoduel
Champion and quintuple ace. 25 kills -- amazing that after 15 years
it would be so low.
     I sat down and we started chatting. I realized just then that I
had purposefully come here to seek his help. My job just smelled to
ratty to be true. Jester knew everything and everybody - maybe he could
help me out.
     I was just about to broach the subject when Cara Yoshiro showed
up to lounge on Jester's lap. She was half Jester's age, an Nippon-American.
She was slinky as a viper, looks of a model, cunning as a fox. I hated her.



     Cara was using Jester as all young beauties used older, more
powerful men. She fairly fussed over him - like a daughter. She had him
wound real tight.
     I hated her. I hated her because she took the express route to
the speed circuit - three years on the roads then BAM! She hitches
up with Jester, goes right to speed circuit. I hated her because after
her first year in the Association she was a double tourney champ, and
an ace to boot. That really galled me. Five kills, most of them
totally unecessary. The kills were missile shots she took from the
lead, just for blood.
     But mostly I hated her for what she was, an ex-Hunter. She worked
as the roader equivalent of a contract hitman. While guys like me
were stuck guarding ten ton rollers, she was waiting down the road in
ambush. She made her living killing Escorts. We had to stay with
the cargo, while she zoomed in and out for the kill. The bitch was good
at it too. She was good at spilling blood. I couldn't understand
how Jester could stand her. He was thinking with the wrong head.
"Hi, whaz going on ?" She asked in her bright innocent manner.
"Nothin' much. Same old roader stuff for me. Got a new job" I tried
to be nonchalant.
"Oh yah, thats cool. We don't see you enough 'round here. Good to
have you back for awhile"
"Thanks. Whats going on with you ?" I wasn't sure I wanted to hear her
answer. I knew she was doing well in Association standings.
"Same ole same ole. Jester has been prepping me for my next race.
Mostly I'm devoting time to my new car"
"New car . . . Tell me what you got" I really was interested. Cara's
old car, "The Dark Summons", was a scary monster. Escorts knew that
car's silhouette from nightmares. Its was edge-tech. I wondered what
she was going to do for an encore.
"Sorry, its a secret. Even Jester doesn't know. Right honey?" This last
was directed at Jester with a petulant smile.
"Cara, could you give Jester and me some time ?" I asked.
     She nodded, and then glided away.
"Well ?!" Jester rumbled at me. He wanted to know what I was really here
for.
     I told him the whole story. Every little detail. He mulled it over
like chewing tobbacco. After a while he said that I was right to come
to him. This job was a cracker passing itself off as a sweetdeal.
"What can we do? I need info ultrafast. You got a source ?" I asked.
"As a matter of fact, I got someone who can definitely do the dig.
I'll contact him right now. He'll give us a price and a time. If we
give him the go, we'll know everything there is to know about this
job" Jester responded.
     I gave Jester the nod. He went off to the combooth. I noticed
that Cara had just beaten her fifth opponent at VR Autoduel and walked
over to talk to Jester. After a few words she left the club.
     Jester came back several minutes later. In the mean time, the
flashing, strobing lights, the pounding music had all combined to
hype me up. The danger upcoming added an edge. Whatever was happening,
it was certainly bigtime.
     Jester gave me a look and asked if I had a place to crash. I shook
my head in the negative. He took out his house remote and gave it to me.
I gave him a thumbs down, but he pressed the remote into my hand. I
took it finally.
     I started to walk out, I felt his hand on my shoulder.
He said "Son, you gotta take it easy for a spell."
The son part he meant literally. Jester was my dad. I can never
really bring myself to think of him that way. How can you call someone
dad when they contributed to your childhood deliquency from afar ?
I said "Thanks dad."  Nothing else to say.


    I physically threw myself out of bed. I needed the physical pain to wake
me up. After a bruising landing I recovered. I was working off the chems I
had been doing the last few weeks. I felt sick. Nauseous and
cottonmouthed, I walked to the bathroom. After taking AfterF/X and a
scaulding shower, I was ready to face the day -- night rather.
     The place had the vibrations of an unused warehouse. Neither Jester
nor Cara had been home since I crashed here. The place had the feel of
abandonment. I ate something. The datafaxes were laid out on top of the
NetPrint.
     I heard the soft rumble of Jester's vehicle pull up. He walked in
without a word, worried expression on his face.
"Sting', its time to go" he rumbled gravely.
"Yeah, I know."
     We strapped on our weapons and different brands of armor without
a word. Caution was an unspoken rule in a meet. You could never be
lax about security. After we finished the pre-meet check we headed outside.
"Jester, I'll drive. I need to reaquaint myself with the CitySpread, this
is as good a time as any"
     He gave me a curt nod. After settling into Gina, he gave me
directions - one street at a time. That was a precaution used among
first time dealers, I didn't know why he felt it necessary to use on
me.
     The city glided by. Flashing neon, arrogant megalith skyscrapers.
People roaming the streets like packs of predators. Everyone trying
to act cool. Predators always killed the panicked prey.
     Jester was lost in internal conflicts. He kept giving me a look,
as if he was weighing me. I wanted to ask him what was on his mind, but
the question died on my lips as soon as I spotted the Tail.


     Jester's attitude problems didn't concern me as much as the high
performance hunter on my tail. He was running full stealth mode - made
him nearly invisible. The car blended into the night like a whispering
shadow. Visually it was a blackhole. None of the other EM ranges picked
up anything either. The shell of the car was obviously cooled, and he
was running zero emissions mode. The thing that gave him away was passing
over a manhole that was belching steam. The steam momentarily outlined
the tail - it was enough.
"Jester, we got hunter in alignment. Real pro. Anybody you can tag ?" I
asked.
Jester took a close look. His brow furrowed. He shook his head.
"Negative. I don't know that hunter . . . or the mods. He is a pro.
What're you goin' do ?   Shake and Bake ?" he responded.
"Wish I had time for a taggerfragger, but it would draw The Enforcers.
I'm going to try to blade him"
     I flicked through Giana's gear with my wristshifter. I was in seventh
in a second. Gina accelerated smoothly and explosively. 80 to 225 in three
seconds. The tail stayed glued in alignment. His vehicle had the looks of
a stalking panther, and the speed of an eagle.
     I figured as much. He thought I was through. He was wrong. I flicked
a switch and my third and fourth turbos screetched to life, I brought my
OverCharger on simultaneously. I burst forward, space blooming between
the us. He was caught unaware. He tried to recover by jacking his own mods.
We sprang forward unevenly. He was vulnerable for a split second.
     I threw Gina into a "Floating 360". Gina turned on a dime, I sprayed
Gatling cannon fire in a wide rear arc. .80 caliber tracers pierced the
night, occasionally a group of my homebrew submunitions would impact
in explosive roses. The tail took several hits.
      He zigzagged evasively, sending BlazePaks at me. Too late. I was around
the corner, and another.
"Good screw Sting'. Good Floater. Next time let me drive" Jester rumbled
from beneath a grin.
I was annoyed. "Why ?  You think you could've done better ?" I said
sarcasticly.
"Naw. But you just destroyed my favorite spot in the world" he answered.
I tried to think of what shops I had hit.
"You mean Coyotes Mod shop ?"
"No, you blockhead --- Xstacy's VR PornPixPalace" Jester broke out
laughing, so did I.




     We stopped laughing. Ferret's place was destroyed. Ferret was Jester's
"Nose on the News". A sneaky bastard, but a damn good infoman. His little
apartment was trashed in the worst way. The place was a broken down slum
tenement. Clothes hung on a wire out the window. The walls were piss
colored. So was the smell. Somebody had gotten here before us. Nothing was
even recognizable, much less identifiable. The door was open. Rats were
already feasting on Ferret's mutilated body. Everything was broken and
spilled on the floor.
     We searched a few minutes, It was no use, the place had been tossed
professionally. Jester gave me a angry look. Then shook his head in sadness.
He and Ferret went way back. It must be hard loosing a friendship that
lasted twenty years.
     We left. I was muttering curses when Jester told me to head over to
the Green Room. The Green Room was where broken down loosers went to die.
It was filthy, smelly. and cheap. I didn't figure dad wanted a drink, so
I asked him.
"Hey Jester, whats going on ? Why are we heading to the Greenie ?"
"Ferret was the most sneaky, distrusting sneak in the world. He was also
an consumate pro. He never kept his data with him. He always hid it. Ferret
always put a copy of his paydata in a little shoe box, and then inside
a locker in the Green Rooms restrooms. If Ferret had anything, thats
where it is" replied Jester sullenly.
     We arrived at the Green Room a few minutes later. After getting past
the mutants at the bar, we entered the piss covered bathroom. There were
several rusty gymlockers along the wall. After dialing the combo, Jester
got the thing open. He pulled out the shoebox and opened it. Inside was
a manila envelope. It contained a cyberchip and paper file. I gave the file
a glance and whistled.
"Shit and Fuck !" I cursed.
"Here, let me see." After taking a look Jester shook his head.
"Gerard Salomey. I can't believe I got mixed up in this." I whispered.
     Gerard Salomey was a freelance intelligence consultant. He was Libyan
by birth. A real asshole. We was a top black ops guy - and apparently
he was working for PheonixStar Energy currently. He was hatching some
scheme. My name was mentioned prominently in the file.
"Come on. Lets get to a safe place" Jester muttered"We'll need time
to read this nd figure it out."
"Fine, we're outta here"
    We left the way we came. Past the drunk and out the door. Jester
pushed, the door swung forward, the ripping of an smg burst broke the
night silence. Jester was down. I pulled my Uzi 7 autopistol, rolled
out the door. The figure was all in a black synthleather body suit, its
black helmet visor glistening. Running back toward the his car - the one
tailing us earlier. I crouched. Fired. Hit him in the back. He fell. Stood
up, got off a burst at me. Pain. Fire in my thigh. Anger. I took aim for
the neck. Finger pulling the trigger. A hand pulled my weapon out of line.
"No don't !" Jester yelled.
The figure took of its broken helmet. Cara ! Bitch ! Kill you bitch !
I aimed again. Jester grabbed my bleeding thigh. Tears came to my eyes.
"Don't !" he said again as I toppled.
"She . .  Cara . . .Your sister . . ."Blood oozed out of Jester's mouth
as he spoke. Shock. Stunned. Cara get in car. Car drive away. My sister
gone.
I looked at Jester, burning rage twisting my features.
"Why ?" I asked"Why didn't you tell me ?"
Jester looked at me with glassy eyes.
"WHY ? GOD DAMMIT, TELL ME WHY YOU NEVER TOLD ME." I shook him. Hard.
"Thought . .you'd never . . forgive me . ." he gurgled. More blood
everywhere. MedFlash 'copter overhead. Medtechs. Rage. Sadness. Darkness.