From: kane@tiac.net
Subject: Posted for Jacques Chester (story1)
Date: 9 Jan 1996 04:24:45 GMT

This is a post for a newbie with news server probs. Hopefully the server I 
gave him the name of will help him out in the future, in the meantime, here
are three shorts that he asked me to bounce up. I haven't looked at them myself
so I don't wanna hear any gripin about 'em. Send it to Jacques 
(jchester@ozemail.com.au) ;)

Ayo choomba;

I've just read the a.c.c FAQ. I'm interested in
posting to a.c.c, but I need a mail->news/news->mail
gateway first as my newsgroup software is unco.

I've included a few smaples. The first was one of my
original CP stories. The second is slightly older. Both
are loosely based in the CP2020 universe.

The third is set in the Warhammer 40 000 ('hammer k)
universe. It is the story I am presently working on.
At first it was to be a script but I've decided to 
write a story first and a script second. 

I'm hoping that someone will help me out.

Could you post these on my behalf :) pleeeease :)

Enjoy!
-- 
\ \ \	
 \ \ \ 	
  \ \ \ Ripperjack - for the dough, choombatta!
	jchester@ozemail.com.au

NOTE- Ripperjack Enterprises is a figament of my
imagination. The views expressed herein are not
necessarily those of the ficticious orginization
I don't work for.


By: Jacques NM Chester
Copyright Jacques Chester, 1995.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to people =

alive or dead, situations, plans, events, and ideas
are purely coincidental and not intended on the part
of the Author.
The Author reserves all copyrights to this work. In no
way can this work be copied or transmitted without the
express, written consent of the Author.
Exception is made for limited electronic propagation
with authenticated, e-mailed permission.
Permission is given to read, save, copy to diskette
and edit file for re-propagation, with the condition
that the original document be acknowledged prominately.

Some material contained in this document is based on
publishing by the R. Talisorian games company, and
material published by numerous other companies and is
used without permission.
Some other material in here is the brain work of a
friend of mine; 'Vamps'. This is of course the fantasy
AR. Vamps has a well-thought through and interesting
universe that I intend to utilize in some of my
writng, but for now I'll just blend it into my CP.
This story uses 'standardized' settings to reduce
reader confusion over terms, places and characters.
Also, readers may feel free to use my characters
herein in their own games; and with permission and
prior consultation, their own stories. Vamps (Nathan
Poulter) gives permission to use his 'split planet' as
a setting for RPG's or stories. He requests that you
keep him up-to-date on what you do. Just email me.
All trademarks and copyright material are the sole
property of their owners. =


_______________________________________________________

		OPERATION WINTER HAMMER

[OPWINHAM]

Prologue.

Forget 1984.

Now is 2020, the dark future. Every day, the endless
struggle for corporate survival goes on, a war of
titans who will stop at nothing - blackmail, murder,
corruption - nothing - to secure their safety until
tomorrow and the day after and after that. They will
take no prisoners....
The corporate war is a part of life the common person
is totally unaware of. The average worker probably
works for one of the megacorps, the zaibatsu; the
unkillable monster that has become the most powerful
force in human affairs.
They influence and control the government at every
level, including the police, the administration and
the politicians. They are a force that no small player
can stand up to - or at least not overtly. One small,
insignificant unheard of company is also engaged in the
war - but it's weapons are not violence, death - they
are secrecy, subterfuge, patience. They are a parasite
and a predator, waiting to strike against those who
would destroy them forever. They are DARCO, and they
are playing they're hand for the last time. On the
edge.

Thought life was easy? welcome to the future, smart-boy.

Money equals energy equals life equals power. Our
employees see us as a means of survival. And because
their efforts bring us capital, we must think of them
as they might of us. The people are power, because
money is.

   - A. Reynolds

"May Axator bestow upon you the courage to succeed, and
the strength and endurance to win. In the name of the
council of eternals, al-de-basheen." Muttered Sciomnis.
"Al-de-basheen."
I can already smell it, he thought. Already the smell
of blood assails my nostrils. Why must the warriors
always fight when I am near? I have no wish to witness
the wastage of life. Why did I chose to be a cleric?
He sighed, turning as he did so to face the place where
the fight would happen. He began the chant of
protection, willing Mandrid, the god of healing to
make any wounds superficial. He had already placed a
blessing upon their heads in the name of Axator, god of
war, and all was ready.
He sized up the combatants with one pass of his eyes. =

His band were in search of a holy artefact lost in the
age of strife, the amulet of Fokner. Fokner had
discovered the secret at the core of time, and his
amulet was crafted to give the wearer the ability to
freeze and even reverse time, to a limited extent. And
it also allowed the wearer to demand audience with the
council of eternals by right, not privilege. And that
was why they needed it.
Their opposition was a band of riff-raff that would =

not last long against the might of his band. Again he
sighed.Such waste, such waste. Why did I ever believe
that I should have joined this quest? To see such as
now begins, to witness slaughter? Am I one who would be
in party with the Harbinger of Death? It begins. =

The band's spellcaster conjured a pillar of fire, and
began to advance it upon the riff-raff's position ...
and they didn't flinch. A blast of water dispersed the
pillar, and a howl as such that this plane would not
know of its natural surroundings rose from behind and
above the riff-raff, where a wizard of the school of
demonism, inscribed with the runes of the pit lord and
the demon or fire began invoking the first of his
mainstays. He began to cry blood onto the ground, and a
fissure opened where the tear-drops fell. An
overwhelming stench took everyone, And the spellcaster
tried to break the summons, but failed.
"Mandrid have mercy!" the spellcaster cried, as the
pit lord rose upon his wings - each as wide as the
length of a street, and fingernails the size of
shovels. The grinning mouth dwarfed the tiny eyes, and
the spellcaster began to weave the enchantment of
hell blaze, standing his ground as he had to. The
warriors ran forward at the demon which laughed,
swatting them aside - dead - as he advanced upon the
spellcaster, seeking to stop the hell blaze from being
successfully cast. Abruptly, a giant, fully fifty feet
high and twenty feet broad began to materialise,
summoned by their own wizard, who's runes marked him to
be an elementalist, similar to a spellcaster. =

The demon, enraged that it was to be confronted by an
equal power,  turned upon it's summoner and killed him;
returning to his resting place in the bowels of the
pit. The giant vanished, the wizard choosing not to
continue the summons. Gone were many of the best
warriors money could buy.
Unfortunately, so was the one they had been seeking,
the one with the beacon stone.

"Wow." he said.
"Wow." he said again, trying to comprehend just how
inadequate the word seemed, even though it was the only
word of which he could think.
He pulled out the plugs leading from his deck to his
wrists, losing the illusion of the matrix. Reality
burst rudely into his awareness, sweeping away the
after-images of the game he had just been playing. The
adrenaline still coursed through his veins and
arteries, boosting his reactions and upping his heart
rate. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead,
running into his eyes, stinging them, and to his mouth
where he could taste the salt in perspiration. His
chest heaved as he gasped for oxygen, enriching his
blood, his body prepared for a potential fight-flight
situation.
All because of a computer generated reality. An
Alternate Reality (AR) where he could live out a
second life with people something like him, seeking
escape from the everyday grind. He could almost
discern that overwhelming stench, that odour of decay.
Again and again he thought: I felt like I almost died.
So close! It was still amazing how his body and mind
could be tricked by a, a, machine! a little,
unassuming, black box, a box so simple, yet
complicated, a meeting place of plastic and silicon,
worth little more than a handful of credit chips, a
few hundred euro. Shaking his head at this reflection,
he stood up unsteadily, feeling the cool of air on his
sweat drenched back. He tottered uncertainly to the
kitchen down the corridor, his muscles twitching from
the adrenaline rush. His body, satisfied that whatever
threat had triggered its endocrinal response was gone,
triggered another one, secreting endorphin from his
brain. Endorphin are stronger than the morphine family,
and their purpose is the same: painkilling. And like
morphine, endorphin also lead to a state of euphoria,
an after pain 'high' unnoticed but experienced by many.
Consequently, he smiled at everyone he passed on the
way to the kitchen. Still feeling the effects of
chemical turmoil within him, he opted not to drink any
stimulants or depressants. He smiled, grabbed the water
jug and began the 'I hope there's a clean cup here
somewhere because I don't want to clear up after
someone else' search for a glass, found one, and poured
himself a drink. The after effects of the adrenaline
were just enough to make him spill a few drops of water
on the laminated bench top, but he wasn't to concerned.
After all, water evaporates. Now beginning to feel the
low end of his high, he went back to his office at the
end of the hall in the third section of the second
level in the DARCO head office.

Inside the AR, Sciomnis sighed. *Four warriors* he
thought to himself. Four lives whose time on this plane
are up, to be claimed by the upper or lower planes.
Their mission is ended now. He reached for his codex
mort, his book of death, and began to recite. As he
did so, the elementalist wizard conjured a tongue of
fire which he passed to Sciomnis.
"As is the will of marsdamexta, Axator and the council
of eternals, your lives are forfeit to judgement and
return. May the judges of souls be merciful and permit
you expeditious judgement. As from the fire, earth, air
and water you were created, to the fire, earth, air and
water you shall return. In the name of the council of
eternals, Al-de-basheen."
"Al-de-basheen"
As he uttered these last words, flame spat from the
tongue and incinerated each of the corpses, reducing
them to little piles of ash on the ground. The
survivors took the ashes and cast into a nearby stream,
sending the souls of the dead on their journey to
judgement. *May the judges of souls be merciful*; He
thought to himself, shaking his head. *Truly, let them
be merciful. Al-de-Basheen.*

Chapter one.
*All that a man needs.* He thought. *An Alternate
Reality to enjoy. Simple things. Warriors, Wizards,
Clerics.* He looked idly around the inn. The air was
musty and smelt of ale stained wood, food and happy
times. Every aspect of the AR was well modelled and
detailed - he could even feel scratches left on the
table left by previous travellers. He picked up his
mug of warmed ale and took a small sip. *All that a
man needs. He mused. Warriors, Wizards, Clerics.....*
He took a swig of Ale. *.....and a good woman.* He
stood and walked to where the woman - said to be the
most beautiful in the world - Violet stood, and kissed
her hand. She giggled and blushed. He smiled. At least
the AR - modelled on the 1980's design game, 'Legend
Of the Red Dragon' - wasn't that correct.
In an AR, a man was still a man.

"What is it?" Smythe said, eyeing the thing that
Jonathan Reynolds was showing him. It was a bulky
object that looked something like a gun, except that
where the muzzle should be, there was a large cylinder
covering the front of the object.
"this is what is going to get us control of SenoTech.
It's an infrasonic generator."
"A *what*?"
"An infrasonic generator. It's a very powerful weapon,
capable of killing people and knocking down buildings,
without making any noticeable noise."
Smythe looked at him skeptically. In his years of
service as a weapons man for a variety of employees
(not always entirely legal ones), he had heard endless
tales of wonder-weapons. Ninety-nine percent of the
time, they were just that: Tales. The rest were usually
some expensive off-the-shelf model that had been souped
up. He considered what Reynolds had said. Capable of
killing people? Nothing to special about that, He mused
idly, thinking of his Magnum. Knocking down buildings?
Sounds like a hypercan. We make 'em, copies of NCPD
super-heavy C-SWAT standard issue gear. No one else
knows how to, though.
Useful, that.
"So, what you're saying is that this infra-thingy is a
bit like a hypercannon, only quieter?"
"Well, sort of. The difference is that this is much
less bulky, has a higher rate of fire, and it doesn't
kick back."
He knew what Reynolds meant by the words 'bulky',
'rate of fire' and 'kick back'.

Back in 2020, C-SWAT had being having trouble bringing
down some of the newer cyberpsychos on the streets,
thanks to a new generation of sandwhiched armour
developed by Militech. They had decided to deal with
the problem of the cyberpsycho/C-SWAT fire-power ratio
by tipping it in their favour a long way. They
developed specs for a new generation of weapons, the
'Hyper weapons suite'. They also created a team to use
these new weapons, the Super-Heavy Squad.
The mainstay of the new 'C-SWAT/SHS' was the
hypercannon (known on the streets as the 'hypercan').
The hypercan's design philosophy was simple. Unlike
most street weapons, which relied on a high rate of
fire to increase the chances of hitting and damaging a
target multiple times - thus killing it;  the hypercan
went on the premise that it would take one big shot to
down a cyberpsycho instead of lots of little ones. To
make each round count, the gun would have to be deadly
accurate without relying on the skills of it's user. A
high rate of fire was not a priority.
The design reflected these principles. It's answer to
the first was to use compressed liquid hydrogen to fire
shells. Hydrogen would be vented into the barrel under
pressure, forcing the shell to start moving. Halfway up
the barrel, the hydrogen would be ignited, giving the
shell explosive propulsion. The result was two-fold:
The bullets could penetrate two inches of sandwhiched
armour and four of the normal kind; and there was
always a lot of noise, light, flame and concussed
bystanders holding their ears. The shells could be
either explosive or inciderary.
The rate of fire (ROF) was very low, simply because the
barrel would melt if ROF exceeded .5 rounds per second,
even though the barrel was kept cool by circulating
liquid hydrogen (itself a reason not to overheat the
gun) .
The answer to the second principle was a combination of
cybernetics that would make the average cyberpunk's
eyes bulge. Firstly, there were cyber eyes that could
see in the dark and through thick smoke and fog. Then
there was a targeting computer that could scan, track
and lock onto any valid targets. Data on vectoring and
azimuth to target were then fed to a special chip
controlling a cybernetic arm, directing the muzzle of
the gun with pinpoint accuracy. Finally, there was a
laser sight on the gun's nose to give feedback to the
first computer about where any shells would land. The
net result was that all it usually took to down a
rampaging cyberpsycho was a SHS member to look in the
general direction of his target. The firing circut
would do the rest: Search, track, discriminate against
invalid targets (bystanders), lock on, aim and fire.
The cyberpsycho would usually either explode with an
eruption of blood and gore or else burn out till all
that was left was some salvageable treasure for the SHS
member (and a few shreds of roast cyberpsycho).
The weapon had drawbacks though. Firstly, it required a
heavy investment in cybernetics to work. A linear frame
was essential, so were cyber arms, legs and eyes, as
well as some chip implants. The frames, arms and legs
were needed for strength, as a fully magazined gun
weighed up to two hundred kilos. The frames, arms and
legs were also needed to withstand the guns enormous
kickback and overpressure. A normal man firng the gun
would be thrown back ten feet and concussed. And the
eyes, arms and chips, of course, made up the firing
circuit. All in all, a man who went through the
'upgrade' process ran the risk of becoming one of the
monsters he was being prepared to fight.
Secondly, it tended to malfunction. After two shots, a
number of things generally began to go wrong.
Hypercannons were prone to jamming (possibly lethal),
hydrogen leakages (possibly lethal), electronic
countermeasures (possibly lethal) and exploding
without warning (almost always lethal) when mistreated.

"So if it's so good, then how come no one's used this
technology before?"
"They have. When this technology was created, the
technician who activated the first generator was killed
instantly. An autopsy revealed that his internal organs
had been turned into jelly by the infrasound. The
second time the generator was tested, it was controlled
from a concrete bunker, and it smashed every window for
half a mile. The main problem with infrasound was that
while it is powerful, and it can be accurate, it tends
to affect everyone in the immediate range, no matter
what direction they are standing. Recently, the darco
labs created a way to focus the energy in a sort of
beam."
*Darco labs.* he thought. *Will I never hear the end of
the praise for those white coated wheenies? Still,
they make some damn good toys.*
"How?"
"I'm not at liberty to say."
Smythe grunted. *Secrecy, secrecy,secrecy - the thing
on everyone's mind in this crazy (but well paying)
company.*
"Would you like to see a demonstration?" asked Reynold.
"Sure."
They stood, and Reynolds took the generator/gun from
Smythe, and they made their way down to the basement
shooting range. Reynolds asked the attendant computer
to bring out a 'wet-bag' target.
He looked over the weapon, plugged it into his arm and
showed it to Smythe.
"The generator runs on compressed air, and uses
specially designed capsules. They're similar in design
to standard 9mm machine gun shells, so it's easy to
manufacture them discreetly and in quantity."
He swung the weapon up against his shoulder, his
cybernetic arm making minute adjustments to his aim,
based on information from his cyber eye. The firing
system was a standard hypercannon firing circuit,
reprogrammed for the generator's unique
characteristics. Reynolds was almost entirely metal,
having gone through a highly illegal in-house
'upgrade'.
Reynolds gently placed his finger into the trigger
guard and squeezed.
Smythe didn't hear anything, but the target burst, and
simulated blood and gore splattered on the floor.
Reynolds smiled, as the computer said:
"One hundred percent brain death. One hundred percent
heart death. Death state twelve. Instantaneous death.
Score: one hundred percent."
"Holy shit!"
Smythe's mouth drooped open: he had been practising for
twenty years, and he'd never came even close to that
kind of a kill. In one shot, Reynolds rendered the
target brain dead and heart dead, so dead that even the
legendary trauma team would be unable to resurrect the
target.
"You try." grinned Reynolds.
Smythe took and hefted the weapon, looking it over. He
found that there were two magazines, both loaded with
capsules. He replaced the magazine and deactivated the
safety. Most of the controls were similar or identical
to a hypercan, so he was fairly familiar. He decided
not to plug it in, in case the gun and the circuit were
in conflict. He raised the on to his shoulder and fired.
There was no kickback, no bright flash with blazes lit
everywhere. There wasn't a deafening roar. There was a
mild humming that he could feel in his entire body,
resonating from his shoulder.
Again, the target exploded, and the computer scored
him with a perfect skill.
"This," he said, rubbing his hands together, "this
weapon will clinch the final raid on their
headquarters. This is the thing that makes us sure of
SenoTech. Absolutely sure!"

He stood on the street curb, waiting for the aerocab to
arrive. It was cold. He rubbed his hands together,
continously cursing the cold and checking that he had
the cab fare.
The street was a crowded affair, people pushing him
from all sides beneath three-hundred story skyscrapers
that soared, reaching almost for the stars. He stood in
front of the corporate appartments he lived in, staring
at the reflections in the ice on the road. The
reflections told a story of the night life, neon signs
and giant holoboards lighting up the night sky. Cars
streamed past, their occupants rarely bothering to look
at the man on the side of the road. Overhead,
dirigibles wafted through the forest of buildings,
signs imploring him to buy this or do that; while lower
down the aerodynes weaved and ducked through the
valleys of stone and glass. One them began to drop in
altitude, slowing and gliding down to where he was
standing. He was annoyed because it wasn't his cab. The
vehicle came close enough for its whining engines to be
audible over the never ending waterfall of city noise.
It came to rest in front of him, the glass on the
windows reflecting his shocked face. The door hissed
and popped up on pnuemetic stilts.
"You didn't think I'd let you take a cab to dinner, did
you?" said that voice. =

"I mean, if we're going to be lovers, than let's do it
in style. I cancelled your cab."
He sat numbly inside, pulling the door closed. He
turned to see his host.
No matter how much he saw her, she was beautiful. He
sat, staring, noting, as if for the first time, the way
her brown hair curved to her neck, the way her brown
eyes drew him in. The way her nose led down to her
perfectly filled out lips. Her chin, leading his eyes
down....
"What are you staring at, Mike?" she said, smiling as
she moved the throttle forwards. He smiled back,
wishing he was good enough for her.
"I wish I was good enough for you." he said, wistfully.
"You're to good for me. But you need to stop staring."
she said.
"You've got to be less shy. Smile. Make the first move.
That sort of thing."
"But I just don't feel comfortable doing that and..."
"Must I do everything myself?" she said, reaching out
to his face.
"Just loosen up. I like you. A lot."
She pulled him in, and brushed his lips. He pulled
away, his eyes on the building into which they were
drifting.
"Break left!" he cried, as she let go his head and
banked hard left, pulling the AV-7 back into line. He
felt his heart thump, and she looked at his face and
laughed.
"First move, huh?" he gasped. "You want a first move?
You'll get one."
He reached across and pulled back on the stick, letting
the craft rise until they were far above the buildings.
He took her hand and kissed it. She smiled. He reached
and touched her face, wondering at her beauty. He
smiled, and caressed her hand.
"Stop it." she said. "we're almost there."