>From: gaynor@agvax2.ag.ohio-state.edu (Jim Gaynor)
Subject: The Fall: Prologue [repost]
Date: 15 Jul 91 01:26:23 GMT

[Because it's been so long since I initially started this storyline,
 I'm reposting the "prologue". - Jim ]

* * *

"Blackjack,  nine lives,
 Short days, long nights
 Livin' on the edge	 	
 Not afraid to die
 Heart beat real strong
 But not for long
 Better watch your step
 Or you're gonna die."

* * *

Sony.  Flat black lettering on a background of polished chrome.
In Los Angeles, that was all that was needed.  No flash-and-blind
logos, no muscleboys at your shoulder.  If you wore the word,
nobody touched you.  Unless they were crazy.  Or suicidal.  Or
both.

The suit that sat across the table had the word, but he would
have commanded the situation without it.  The man smelled of
power like some women smelled of perfume.  Something subtle that
came in tiny bottles and ran more than the common wageslave made
in a lifetime.  And the man was not happy.  Lucky for Buzz, it
wasn't him that Mr. Johnson was unhappy with.  It was the poor
shlock in the picture, the lanky dark-haired guy with the angular
face.  The suit had slid the picture across the table along with
a datachip and a certified credstick.  The datachip was sitting
in Buzz's reader, spewing out data on the hit.  And the
credstick, well that was something to whistle at.

"This is a hit," Johnson said, "clear and simple.  What the
target did happened years ago - the data and the hardware aren't
worth the recovery now.  The target surfaced in Seattle about
three months ago.  We obtained a solid identification four days
ago.  You and your associates were contacted yesterday.  Hit the
target within four days, and you will receive another credstick
of the same amount."

Buzz smiled.  "Whaddaya want done?  Chummer ta go six under fast,
slow, or do we leave 'im bleedin'?"

"The target made acquisition of certain technologies for his own
gain," replied the suit.  "The target is to be deprived of the
use of those technologies by any means you see fit.  However, my
company does not desire the... crudity... of simple manslaughter.
Do I make myself clear?"

Gears clicked in the shadowrunner's mind, connections and jobs
flowing together.  He could accomplish a lot, and make a lot, in
one shot here.  "I got jes' the thing fer him," Buzz said.

"Very good."  Mr. Johnson stood up.  "You know the standard
routine for contact.  Do so when you return.  My sources will
inform me of your success."  The suit whirled and walked out of
the bar into the chauferred limo waiting at the entrance.  The
crowd parted before him, although he never once acknowledged the
presence of another being.

"...jes' the thing.  If this guy's got what the chip sez, it'll
be the perfect chance fer that drug Doc Went's been putzin' with.
Bet the old sop'd pay pretty fer some 'testing'," Buzz said to
himself as he swept the credstick and datareader into a pocket of
his lined coat.  The street samurai took one last look at the
picture before stuffing it in his pocket, commiting the angular
face and wavy brown hair to chip memory.

"Blackjack, you gonna die..."



---
Jim Gaynor - AgVAX System Manager - Academic Computing - Ohio State University
VMS:<gaynor@agvax2.ag.ohio-state.edu>  UNIX:<gaynor@magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu>
Disclaimer : All opinions expressed here are mine and only mine.  So there!
Witty Quote: "We're tiny, we're toony, we're just a little loony." -Tiny Toons


>From: gaynor@agvax2.ag.ohio-state.edu (Jim Gaynor)
Subject: The Fall: Chapter 1
Date: 15 Jul 91 01:27:59 GMT

The Fall.  Chapter 1.

[The night before the run on ARES]

* * *

"Where's Nekoko, Ratz?" Blackjack asked.

The musician had just walked into the Chatsubo to get ready for the
night ahead.  He wore his long coat, and carried the long duffel bag
that held his board and other equipment.  Ratz was putting an
early-evening sheen on the bar, his old mechanical arm whirring as he
pushed a dirty rag across the countertop.

"Not here," Ratz replied with characteristic helpfulness.

Blackjack grinned.  "I can see that.  Any idea where she's at?"  The
smile was lighthearted, but there was a sense of desperation in the
question asked.

The old bartender looked up at Blackjack and squinted.  Boy, don't do
it.  She's a good girl, but she ain't gonna be here more than she has
to.  If she lives long enough after all the to-do with ARES.  Go talk
to one of Lonny's girls, Blackjack.  Go to Cleo's and talk to that
girl you left there.  Do anything else.  You only gonna get grief this
way.

"She ain't here.  That's the only idea I have," Ratz said.  "I look
like her father?"

The grin on Blackjack's face crumbled and fell, revealing the
emotionless look that was usually reserved only for the streets.

"No, I guess you aren't."  Blackjack looked around at the empty bar.
"Look, I have some biz to take care of.  I'll be back later tonight -
you figger I can set up Floyd and Danny and let 'em play on 'til I get
back?"

Ratz shrugged.  "Sure.  Nobody'll walk out with the stuff, and the
canned music's better than silence.  Though if Crystal comes in, I got
no qualms 'bout letting her use the stuff."

"That's fine," Blackjack said, unlimbering the duffel bag from his
shoulder,  "Danny and Floyd like playing with her anyways, they tell
me," he commented as he began to set the equipment up.

"You been talking with those AI's again?"

"Hey, a guy's gotta talk to somebody."

Blackjack set up his equipment, the speaker module and chip housing
wiring into the interfaced keyboard that he set up on the usual back
table.  The borrowed holoprojector wired into the whole mess, and
Black took out the chips that housed the idiot-savant AIs that were
Danny and Floyd.  Plugging them into the chip housing, Blackjack
powered the system up and watched as status messages showed that the
self-tests were satisfactory, that all connections were good, that the
AI programs were loading.

The holoprojector hummed, and a shimmering began in the air.  A set of
hands appeared, wrapping themselves around a guitar that solidified
from the air.  Form flowed from the hands, along a pair of arms, into
shoulders that ran into the rest of the holographic representation of
Danny.  In a corner, drums began to appear one by one, assembling a
drumset that eventually finished with Floyd sitting, nested, in the
center of the them.

"You comin' in, boss?" Danny asked Blackjack as the holo idly plucked
at guitar strings.

"No, I got biz 'crosstown.  I'll come back and play later tonight,"
Blackjack replied.

The AI almost sighed.  "Then we're playin' it solo till you come
back?"

"Yeah, that's the way it looks," Blackjack said, "Take input from
Ratz, and go ahead and work with Crystal if she comes in."

"Allright, boss."  A few drumbeats sounded as Floyd began tapping on
the drums.

Blackjack nodded and looked over at Ratz.  "There you go.  See ya
later tonight, Ratz."

Ratz grunted and nodded in Blackjack's direction as the musician
walked out the steel front door.

---
Jim Gaynor - AgVAX System Manager - Academic Computing - Ohio State University
VMS:<gaynor@agvax2.ag.ohio-state.edu>  UNIX:<gaynor@magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu>
Disclaimer : All opinions expressed here are mine and only mine.  So there!
Witty Quote: "We're tiny, we're toony, we're just a little loony." -Tiny Toons

>From: gaynor@agvax2.ag.ohio-state.edu (Jim Gaynor)
Subject: The Fall: Chapter 2
Date: 22 Jul 91 18:35:34 GMT


The Fall.  Chapter 2

* * *

The streets were dirty, gritty.  It was a cliche that every
screamsheet writer used, but it was still the truth.  The street trash
wandered in the alleys, feral things looking with red eyes out of
darkened corners.  In an Awakened world, you never knew if those eyes
were a rat, some chiphead junkie, or a critter that was looking at you
and labelling you "lunch."  Wierd world.

But as Blackjack walked, ignoring the junkies and wireheads and
beggars, the dirt and grit slowly began to diminish.  The street
people became fewer and fewer, and soon, weren't to be seen.  Slowly,
the alleys that Blackjack walked by were more often inhabited by
covered dumpsters than by piles of uncovered trash.  The people that
Blackjack shared the sidewalk with began to display corporate logos,
and had the look of people with jobs that kept them out of the
shadows.

Finally, Blackjack came to a building fronted in limestone, the
intricately carved front door flanked by statues of two nameless
Eygptian pharoahs.  Blue neon in stylized letters proclaimed the
building to be "Club Cleopatra's".  Blackjack opened the door and
stepped inside.

* * *

"Look, he might not even ask ya.  Ya got nothin' to lose.  But he's
goin' to be askin' 'round for a fixer, someone to do a buy for him.
My employer just wants 'im to go ta this in 'ticlular.  Gimme yer word
that you'll send 'im our way if he comes, and I'll get ya that meeting
with RCA-Geffen."

Buzz paused to let his words sink in to the woman sitting at the
dressing table.  He knew she was on the ropes.  The woman's name was
Malenka.  She frontlined the band that was playing at Cleo's.  Good
band, good sound.  Real wiz.  Should be doing bigtime.  But Malenka's
ex-bass player had dallied with the wife of an exec for the last label
that her band had recorded for.  The bass player had lost the last
joint of each finger for his stupidity.  Malenka and her group were
still lepers in the music biz.  An old friend had gotten her this
stint of time at Cleo's, and tomorrow night was the last gig, with no
new ones in sight.

The street samurai smiled.

Finally, Malenka turned around.  The expression on her dark face
balanced the now against an uncertain future.  She'd had a taste of
what was wiz, for just a while.  When someone's been in the ivory
tower, going down's the worst crash imaginable.

"O.K., I'll do it," she said, her voice both haunted and resentful,
"But I want a date and a name for the appointment first."

Reaching into his jacket, Buzz pulled out a card and slapped it down
on the dressing table.  It had the RCA-Geffen logo on it, and a phone
number and time were scrawled on the back.  Malenka snatched it up
like a gutter-child snatching food.

"There ya go, darlin'  Already done."  As Malenka read the card, Buzz
caught a handful of her long hair, pulling her head back roughly to
expose her throat.  9 centimeters of surgical steel slid out of Buzz's
other forearm, and Malenka stifled a cry as the razor-sharp cold metal
came to rest against her neck.

"But you rat, babe, you even think about tipping the hand," Buzz
whispered, "and you'll be doin' yer singin' with the angels.  Catch me?"

Malenka mumured assent, and Buzz let go of her hair as the spur slid
back into his forearm.

The singer was about to throw a retort at the street samurai,
something to save face and show bravado, when a knock came at the
door.  Before the person's knuckle's hit the door a second time, Buzz
was already at the other side of the small room, ready to exit from
the window that had been his entry.

"Yes?" Malenka asked as Buzz shook his head and frowned.

"Some guy here to see you, Malenka.  Thin, dark hair.,  Calls himself
Blackjack.  You want me to send him outta here?" responded the voice
on the other side.

Buzz grinned a vicious smile.

"No, tell him I'll be out in a minute, Reno.  Thanks." Malenka replied
to the door.  By the time she'd turned back to Buzz, the samurai was gone.

- - -

- The characters depicted here are copyright 1991 by Jim Gaynor
- You may use them and interact with them, but I request that you ask
  permission beforehand.  Thank you.

---
Jim Gaynor - AgVAX System Manager - Academic Computing - Ohio State University
VMS:<gaynor@agvax2.ag.ohio-state.edu>  UNIX:<gaynor@magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu>
Disclaimer : All opinions expressed here are mine and only mine.  So there!
Witty Quote: "We're tiny, we're toony, we're all a little loony." - Tiny Toons