From: Blitz <blitz@crow.cybercom.com>
Subject: Jeremy
Date: Tue, 9 May 1995 14:28:39 -0400

I rose out of the industrial ooze slowly, feeling it dripping off my 
bandana, running down my face, dissolving the camo paint.  I opened my 
eyes, blinking once against the stinging.  It was dark, very dark, 
unbelievably dark.  To a human, anyway.  To a Scalp, it would've been 
some odd omnidirectional view of the world; we knew that they perceived 
things around them with a sort of radar, like bats, but it's the sort of 
thing you can't really imagine.  To me, it looked like a grainy green 
spotlight, an ultraviolet beam projected from my eyes and reflected back.

The Scalp was standing some distance away, facing me.  It didn't see me, 
probably due to the fluid surrounding me.  One thing they'd drilled into 
us in training was the fact that even if a Scalp had its back to you, 
that didn't mean they weren't watching you.  I preferred attacking them 
from the front.  It helped me concentrate.

I stood a bit more, taking almost a minute to rise the few inches 
required to bring the heavy pulse rifle out of the muck.  It was almost 
four feet long, the barrel, silencer and flash-suppressor making up most 
of that.  It was guaranteed to penetrate at least 60 millimeters of 
ceramite armor.  It was standard issue to the 'Blazers.  Magrifles didn't 
always go through a Scalp carapace.

I took one more quick glance around.  The pool I was standing in, the 
tunnel around us, the raised corregated aluminum platform it was standing 
on.  I fired.  It flew back, slamming into the steel wall.  Scalp blood 
sprayed the surfaces, looking green in my peculiar vision.  I liked 
thermal tracking better, but their carapaces were good insulators and 
they often appeared invisible.  I had to use the ultraviolet, hating the 
narrow field of vision it offered.

There was another around here somewhere.  I'd have to find that one now...

An unseen monorail struck me from behind, sending me flying onto the 
platform.  The rifle spun away, back into the slime.  Damn.  My armor 
held, fortunately, without any of the joints locking.  I rolled up onto 
my feet.  The second Scalp was there, an 8-foot giant in segmented 
insectile armor, blades and spikes projecting from its joints, its face 
blank except for the large mandibles, clicking slowly.  I didn't have a 
pistol.  I drew my monoblade.  There was no escaping one this close -- 
their sprints had been clocked at over 70 kph in the past, and it was 
expected that they could run much faster, if they chose.

We humans weren't meant to fight these things at close quarters.  Someone 
had once referred to them as boxing ballerinas, with knives instead of 
gloves.  Very fast, very agile, very strong.  They had an instinct for 
it.  They knew we were soft.  I'd been training for the last four years 
for this.  I knew a bit about how they fought, and how to best counter 
their attacks.  I put my weight on the outsides of my feet, readying 
myself for a quick dodge to either side.  It would leap a few times 
before it got serious.

It leaped.  I stepped aside, slashing at it with the knife.  The blade 
broke, but I saw the cut.  It didn't look very deep.  I wouldn't be 
walking away from this one.

It jumped again.  I struck it in its thorax segment with a backhanded 
blow, hitting a ganglia cluster.  The biotechs had assured us that such a 
blow would be like kicking a man in the groin.  I'd done that plenty of 
times before.  This was the first time I'd hit a Scalp like that.  The 
data wasn't correct.  The Scalp made a clicking squeal and turned, more 
angry than injured.  So much for that idea.  It would be stepping in 
close now.  When it did, I would die.  They were too fast.

It stepped in, and I started backpedalling frantically.  It missed its 
first slash, I ducked its second, I stepped back from a third -- and ran 
out of room.  The Scalp punched me in the stomach.  I felt blood wash 
down.  It hit me in the ribs.  More blood, bright and arterial, even in 
ultraviolet green.  It hit me in the face.  I felt the blade go through 
my cheek, cutting my tongue.  I turned my head as it swung again, saving 
my life in the process -- when the blade went through my eye, it came out 
my temple instead of piercing my brain.

It drove another punch for my throat.  I caught it on the wrist and 
guided it away, throwing its careful balance off.  I wasn't feeling the 
pain from these yet.  I would pass out when I did.  Had to be quick.  My 
aikido sensei had once told me that weight is not important; how you use 
it is.  I found this to be true.  I pulled forward on the arm, kicking 
its lead leg out.  It swayed back, close to the floor, struggling for 
leverage.  I raised the hilt of the broken knife and brought it over my 
head as hard as I could, smashing it down into the thing's mandibles.  Up 
until this time, we hadn't known the taste/smell ganglia were vulnerable 
targets.  We'd been wrong on that, too.  The Scalp crashed to the floor 
and went into seizures.  I stumbled into the much, rummaging for the 
rifle.  I found it.  I got back out, still running on adrenaline, and 
fired a shot into its chest.  Bad idea.  It fragmented like a grenade.  
Didn't matter at that point, though...they'd make me a legend for this 
fight...

I snapped my eyes open.  I was on the floor of my bedroom's villa.  
Through the window, I could see the bright German sun shining in.  The 
room was in shambles.  Both my hands were bloody.  The mirror was 
smashed.  Long slashes crisscrossed the bed's matress.

"AI," I whispered.  "Was that a dream or a flashback?"

"Good question.  A bit of both.  I'd call it more a dream than a 
flashback, though," said the AI, its voice cutting through my thoughts.

I frowned, wrapping a sock around each of my hands.  I hated episodes 
like this.  I got dressed, sliding a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt 
on.  I'd have to see that tech Hans had told me about, the one who'd made 
this thing in my head...

"I was dreaming about the Scalp, AI," I said, moving into the living 
room.  "The one that almost killed me."

"Good thing it did, or I wouldn't be here," the AI answered, chuckling.  
The chuckle didn't sound right...it sounded forced.  I hated when AI's 
tried to sound human.  The voice was right, but the inflections were all 
off.

"Do me a favor and don't laugh anymore."

Someone knocked on the door.  Three quick, firm raps.  I narrowed my 
eyes.  I didn't think it would be an enemy.  DefenseTech's promises had 
turned out to be true.  Renker was dead, Astrid Muller had backed off, 
BioWorks was no longer looking for the mercs who'd ran the job on them, 
and all the old people from Jersey City were either too local or not 
angry enough to follow me here.  

I didn't have any security, other than locks on the doors.  I hadn't 
needed them.  Then again, I hadn't had any visitors, either.  I looked at 
the kitchen counter; the kitchen and living room were a single room, and 
not a very big one at that.  My .25 was laying there, freshly oiled from 
last night.  I grabbed it and tucked it into the elastic band around my 
waist, untucking my shirt and letting it cover the weapon.  It dug into 
the small of my back when I moved.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Someone who wants to talk."  Precise, clipped German.  Microsoft.

I opened the door.  There were two of them.  One was a tall man, 
well-muscled and deeply tanned, with bleached blond hair cut long and 
blue eyes.  He was definately American, probably from SoCal.  The other 
was a southeast asian woman, about a head shorter than I was.  I didn't 
like the look of her.  Too calm, too at ease.  She'd never met me before 
and she looked ready to stroll right in.  Ninja if I'd ever seen one.  I 
was suddenly very aware of the pistol hidden in my waistband.

"Fraulein Srin," he said, smiling.  Too widely.  "I'm Jeremy.  Can we 
talk?"

"Jeremy who?  And about what?" I asked.  "And who's the razorgirl?"

"Just Jeremy.  This is Kim.  I'm here to discuss a job you ran on 
my...hmmm...I guess employers would be the right word.  BioWorks."

"That so?" I asked.  I twitched my right hand.  Kim glanced at it.  My 
left had the pistol at his chin before she'd returned her gaze.  "Well, 
Jeremy old pal, I don't feel like discussing it.  In fact, I think I'm 
gonna do you just for mentioning it.  Kim, why don't you take a step back 
and lose the pistol.  Just toss it into the kitchen.  Good."  I smiled.

Jeremy was faster than I'd thought.  My shot hit the ceiling, blowing a 
hole in the plaster the size of a dinnerplate.  Kim kicked me in the 
chest, knocking me back a few steps.  The subdermal plating soaked it up 
just fine, but I'd have a bruise.  She did an amazing somersault, 
side-to-side as well as up and down.  She flung her leg out halfway 
through.  The damn thing hit me in the head.  I sprawled on the floor, 
rolled over to get up -- and she had a monoblade at my throat.  I could 
see the Azhiz Defense Industries logo on the blade, laser-etched and 
nearly invisible against the bright steel.

"Well, shit," I said.  "Start talking.  And get your friend off me before 
I get pissed."

"Slide your weapon into the kitchen, Jetta," said Jeremy.  "Excellent.  
Now, where to begin?  At the beginning, I suppose.  I need some help 
here.  Are you familiar with AI's?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," I muttered.  The AI laughed inside my head, 
grating on my nerves.

"Good.  Well, I'm...by the way, why are there socks on your hands?"

"Cut them."

"Ahh.  Nothing like improvisation.  Well, anyway, I'm an AI...sort of.  
Are you familiar with neural networks?"

"Sort of.  Lemme take a wild guess -- computers that use parallel logic 
instead of linear logic to solve problems, processing data like a human 
brain instead of an actual computer.  Sorta going after everything at 
once, instead of one at a time.  Was I close?" I said.

"Yes.  I'm a bit like that.  I run on two mainframes, with the addition 
of organic matter to boost the parallel processing.  It's interfaced much 
the same way a cyberdeck interfaces with a cowboy."

"Ummm," I said, "you look like a surfer to me.  Just a thought."

Jeremy chuckled.  "Construct, Jetta, a construct.  A biostruct, 
actually.  I cloned up this form to deal outside of virtual space.  Do 
you like it?"

"Shoulda used something tougher, like a Scalp or something."  

"Well, yeah, I could've done that," said Jeremy.  "I'm not as egotistical 
as most AI's out there, though.  You humans built me.  I'm not ashamed of 
that.  I choose a human form, I talk like a human -- hell, I even LIKE 
the Turing registry name I've got, Jeremy.  Very human name.  Can we 
continue?"

"Doesn't seem like I have much of a choice."

"No.  You don't.  Here's my problem.  BioWorks has me shackled with some 
nice programs.  I'm hardwired so as not to be able to get to them.  
However, you could.  I'd prefer to have a cowboy do it, but it's guarded 
by another AI -- don't ask me which one, I can't know that either -- and 
from what I've seen, cowboys avoid AI's like samurai avoid corporate 
jobs.  You, however, have hit BioWorks before.  You could do it again.  I 
need you to.  I need you to get the files and bring them to me, so I 
could take a look at the source."

"Why the hell should I?" I asked.  "I did the last job because I had to.  
They were twisting me, and offering to cancel all debts if I did it."

"I know that," said Jeremy.  "Who do you think was the suit's 'friend' 
that disabled security?"  He chuckled.  It sounded very human.  "No 
cowboy could've gotten through that ice.  Hell, even most military 
icebreakers couldn't do that.  I can.  I've got the time, the power, and 
the flexibility to handle anything out there."

"Except for your crippleware, huh, Jeremy?"  I said, smiling.  He didn't 
like that.  "Now why am I gonna help you?"

"Because," said Jeremy.  "I could get Hans to help.  I could get Tierzha 
to stay live."

"I don't give a shit about Tierzha," I said.  "If you want a hostage, go 
after one of my sisters.  Oh, wait, nevermind, they'd kick your ass, 
wouldn't they?  Do you even know who they are?"

"Ravenna is a computer specialist, one of the best in her field.  She 
makes icebreakers for House Demikaan.  I think she could crack me.  Nova 
is a general.  April runs the Golden Triangle almost completely.  Both 
have private armies.  Lydia has a large following of fans and gets alot 
of publicity.  No, I wouldn't want to go after any of them."  Jeremy 
smiled.  "You miss Tierzha.  I know that.  She reminds you of Sal.  She 
reminds you of Juno, a bit.  You gave her a lot of money.  You NEVER give 
out money.  I know everything about you, Jetta."

"You know I always wanted to fight a ninja, one on one?"  I asked.  "Lot 
of people say ninjas are tougher than 'Blazers.  I never believed that.  
While I was out killing Scalps, your fucking ninjas were drinking tea and 
sleeping."

"That can be arranged," said Jeremy.  I stood up.  Kim stood her ground.

"Go fuck yourself, Jeremy.  I'm not interested," I said.

"A pity.  I told you quite a bit.  You have to die now.  Here's your big 
fight, Jetta," he said.  "Kim?  Kill her."

I snapped the tip off my right thumb, spooling out two feet of monowire.  
The techs had told me it was a ninja special, very useful.  I was going 
to find out if it was worth what I paid for it.  I began to twirl it in 
front of me, giving it some more length.  When I'd first started 
practicing with it, I'd cut my arm down to the bone.  It took alot of 
skill to get good with one of these, skill and time.  I had both.

Kim kept her knife at the ready, looking for an opening.  I gave her 
one.  She rushed me.  The three blades snapped through the sock, plowing 
into her throat.  I slashed her across the face as she went down, then 
kicked the knife out of her hand.  No noise, no signs of pain.  She 
looked a bit surprised, maybe even embarrassed.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, honey," I said to her as her eyes began to 
cloud.  "Toldja I used to be a 'Blazer.  We got the training and the 
experience.  You should've stayed with the tea."  I retracted the wire 
and picked up my gun, smiling as the smartgun receptor clicked.  A red 
crosshair appeared over Jeremy's face.

"So," I said.  "Still feel like talking?"

"Useless gesture," he said.  "Ninjas are nothing to me.  I have armies of 
them.  What are your threats worth?  Go ahead and kill this construct.  I 
can make more.  You won't see us all coming."

"I won't have to."  I tapped my right temple.  "Got it all on a chip, 
tough guy.  I always record biz like this.  I've got a few blank chips, 
too.  Lessee...one copy for BioWorks, one copy for Turing, one copy for 
the Network News...and one last one for me."  I smiled.  "Course, I'll 
have to delete my name and all, but to sum it up, you're fucked, you 
neurotic bastard.  And yes, I am gonna blow your head off."

"Your transmissions will never make it," he said.  "You think I don't 
know EVERYTHING that happens in the Matrix?  I control the Matrix.  Your 
messages will go nowhere but my memory."

"That's what snail mail is for, Jeremy," I said, smiling wider.  His eyes 
widened.  I fired, shutting my eyes against the spray.  Damn.  I 
should've gotten him outside first.

"You just couldn't resist, could you?" asked the AI.  "Always gotta have 
someone hunting your ass.  You've got a deathwish, Jetta."

"Yeah, well, I can stand rude people.  I can't stand rude machines."  I 
put the pistol on the counter, picking up the ninja's weapon.  "Nice 
gun.  Isreali.  Nice knife, too."

"So what now?" asked the AI.  "My ass is on the line, too, you know."

"Now," I said, "I guess it's time to go back to Jersey.  Never did like 
the folks around these parts anyway.  Too pushy, if you know what I mean."

"You're crazy, Jetta.  Crazy."

"And it's your fucking job to fix it, so get cracking.  Goddamn useless 
AI..."