From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 01/21]
Date: 29 Jul 92 06:56:43 GMT
Club Penumbra was mega-suckage in Frederick Marx's book. The
music there was fluff. Except when he played, that is. But his
contract only let him play twice a month, and then only in the "wee
hours" when the dance crowd had gone home. His crowd was mostly
composed of people who were performance artists themselves. He parked
his Rapier out front, approached the entrance, and nodded to the troll
bouncer at the door. "Howdy Grod."
"Heya Freddy. Not playin' tonight are ya? Thought you waz
ev'ry other Sunday?", the troll queried. Freddy thought he was pretty
smart for a troll.
"You're right, Grod. I'm over at Evil Irving's later tonight.
Gonna be there?"
The Troll grinned widely. "Nope! Me an' duh missus got
something planned. Heh heh!"
Freddy knew what he meant by the gleam in his eye. "Nudge
nudge! Say no more, say no more! Later Grod..." He gave him a
knowing wink and turned to the entrance. Freddy thought to himself,
"Grod is good people. Too bad those Humanis dweebs don't know that."
He stepped through the door into the chaos that was Penumbra...
That evening, the band was blaring out some extremely mindless
bit of trash and that had the masses gyrating every which way on the
dance floor. "What kinda drek is that?" Freddy asked aloud, not
really expecting an answer. He dug his way through the crowd and
found his way to the bar. "Barkeep: screwdriver." He handed over his
credstick and received the short glass of orange fluid. He downed it
and ordered another. This happened four times in rapid succession
before he realized it, whereupon he promptly rolled off his stool and
underneath the bar.
He sat there looking at legs of people dancing by. Freddy
always did have a pechant for looking a life at an odd angle. He did
a photo essay in college where he strapped a MicroCam to his shoe and
walked around campus. "Ant's-eye View", he titled it, and he received
an A+. It was a joke to him, but somehow it was hailed as brilliant.
That almost pushed him into switching his major to cinematography.
"Why the hell did I chose *computers*?" he asked himself. He didn't
know. He *could* have done almost anything, but he just happened to
fall into computers...
A *very* nice pair of legs walked up to the bar in front of
him. The owner's head bent down into his line of sight and smiled.
"Hey-ho, Freddy! Whatcha doin'?" The woman smiled genuinely.
Freddy half-smiled back. "Just watching life go by, Kelly..."
he mumbled at her. Kelly was a regular waitress at the Club. A while
back they were "together", but eventually Kelly drifted off in search
of other guys. Freddy was too introverted for her style, but she
still took care of him. "I'm over at Irving's tonight. Coming?"
She tapped her order-tablet with her pencil, thinking. "Well,
I'm through here at the top of the hour. I think I can make it. Same
time, I'm guessing?" She brushed her long green Chroma-Tinted hair
out of her eyes.
"Same bat-time, same bat-channel," he grinned. Freddy never
knew why he let Kelly go. She sure had great taste in music.
Besides, she was a hell of a lot of fun in bed! "See ya there. Oh,
and tell the guy out front that you're my babe, too. He always says I
have no class." He winked at her.
She giggled and winked back in kind. "Yeah, right Freddy.
Later daze. I gotta get back to work." She picked up her now loaded
serving tray and walked off towards the tables.
He was drifting off, looking into empty space, when another
set of legs approached him. These weren't nice looking though. An
aging man crouched down in front of him. "You a decker?"
Freddy looked at the man and flatly told him, "No, I'm a
musician." He pulled a black cord out of his jacket and plugged his
PR-128 into the MIDI-OUT port in his skull. He then thought up a
short techno-fugue to prove his point. The music he thought of came
out of the thinline speakers sewn into his overcoat. "See?"
The old man wasn't convinced. He took out a stuffed ferret's
paw and pointed it at him. "This thing says you is." The paw emitted
a dull blue glow. "And you're here for a meeting, right?"
Freddy squinted. "Am I? Awwww shit, I *am*..." The
screwdrivers hadn't done him a great service. He quickly stood
up...bumping his head on the bar, hard. The mage (Freddy guessed)
laughed, helped him up, and walked away into the crowd. "Thanks, eh?"
Freddy told him as he departed.
He then went to the bartender and whispered the code phrase.
("Wankel Rotary Engine!"). The bartender nodded and Freddy walked over
to an alcove. A minute later a hidden door opened and he stepped
through into the "back room".
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 02/21]
Date: 29 Jul 92 09:35:09 GMT
Freddy rubbed his aching head as his eyes adjusted to the
gloom. He spotted several people waiting and watching the others as
they filtered in. Finally, when all of the people seemed to have
arrived, an old lady (looking somewhere in her 50's) entered the room.
"I'm Mrs. Travis. I'm your employer. I believe introductions are in
order, so we'll just start with you - in the corner."
"Cryminee", Freddy muttered, "We're in bloody grade school."
A samurai near him silently chuckled. Freddy rubbed the bump on his
head again, thinking "I *really* don't need this..."
First up at bat was "X" ("Brilliant name," Freddy thought,
"Probably picked it from his ABC's book.."), a pretty heavily cybered
norm male. He appeared to be around 30 years old, around 6' tall, and
around 200 lbs. He has obviously cybered muscles and a few gadgets,
like a datajack and hand razors. He appeared calm, detatched, and
mysterious, just like the good action trids depicted all samurai.
Next was "Rawhide": more muscle, just like X, but minus the
jack. He seemed more cold, though, with a rather grim expression on
his face. Freddy turned away from him ("Man, he must hold the patent
on IcyStare(tm)! Shit that man is frigid...") to the next 'runner...
A voice in the back spoke up and Freddy glanced over to notice
a dwarf that was almost lost in Rawhide's shadow. He introduced
himself as Mortis. He was short and stocky ("Ain't they all, though?")
and also fairly heavily cybered: 3 datajacks, a row of chipjacks,
chromed cybereyes, and a vehicle rig. He was obviously the rigger of
the group ("Awww, now *that's* cute..." Freddy thought, "A rigger
named Mortis. I'll bet he's a *real* laugh at parties, fer sure...")
And then there was Freddy, who really wasn't in the mood for
this petty crap. He walked away from the wall into the center of the
room and half-grunted, "I'm Klone Crimson. Everyone leave me alone,
and we'll get along just fine". He turned away and went back to lean
against the wall muttering "Man this sucks..."
Standing next to him was an elf, who introduced himself as
"Rael". He wasn't a muscle-man, but there seemed to be a certain
grace to him. As he stepped back, Freddy heard someone mutter
"fuckin' dandelion eater". He couldn't see who it was, exactly, but
it really pissed him off. Well, the five screwdrivers helped too. He
stepped forward again...
"Hey pasty-boy, if I find out which one of you said that, I
might pawn off your testicles to this one orc shaman I know. Hell,
since you can't insult someone to their FACE, I doubt if you even HAVE
any balls!" Some of the shadows snickered, some growled. Crimson
could really care less. He walked back to the wall cursing "those
Humanis bastards..." He sat down on the floor during the rest of the
introductions, nursing his buzz. He mused, "Tough talk for a
decker/musician wannabe. Then again, it's the alchohol that's doing
most of the talking..."
Next was more muscle (a man calling himself "Howler", the only
name Freddy liked from the whole group), and last in line was "Grace".
She was tall with long red hair and blue eyes and seemed rather
distant. Freddy thought he recognized her from somewhere: he seemed
to remember something on the trid a year ago about a (chick) student
getting expelled for setting fire to the president of MIT&M
(Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Magic). Then again, he
*swore* he saw her once in some nudie magazine. Or maybe it was both?
Anyway, he'd have to ask later...
As the introductions were finished, Mrs. Travis got down right
to business. As it turned out, she and her husband were the owners of
Tacoma Bob's Fast Flicks, a pretty popular (and pretty successful)
chain of porn theaters. She went into great detail how they built
them up from nothing ten years ago to the 34 trid-theatres they owned
today. "But now, he's demoted me from vice-prez to shift manager,"
she grimaced, "and he doesn't think I know about *HER*," she scowled,
"*and* about the money he's been embezeling." She clenched her thin
hands into knotty fists. "So I want you to help me steal it back and
teach him a little lesson. So, how about it?"
Freddy summed up the whole thing as a little greed, a little
jealousy, and a *lot* of money. He swaggered forward and gave his
response. "Sorry, but I got a gig tonight. If ya really want me,
I'll be out at the bar. We'll talk terms later..." Freddy smiled to
himself as he made his way to the hidden door. He knew nobody in the
room could could punch a deck, let alone tie their own shoes. But he
was going to have some fun first...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 03/21]
Date: 29 Jul 92 15:07:50 GMT
As Klone Crimson walked from the "back room" he could hear
Mrs. Travis comment, "Such a shame to see young folk throw away their
lives like that." He knew that she intended for him to hear it, but
he wasn't biting. Stepping out of the room he commented (equally as
audibly), "What do you know about it, bitch?"
When he came back into the main of Penumbra he reached into
his jacket pocket and pulled out his Whisper2000000. Freddy jacked
the output into his personal audio system and put in the earphones:
[travis] <...I don't actually want anyone killed, but I need
him roughed up a bit. Since he lives in an arcology in Bellevue, the
extra muscle may be needed. I trust that you vatjobs all have brains,
too...>
He chuckled at the thought. "Yeah right..." But he did also
recognize that they all seemed to have *instinct*, which seemed to be
more important in this line of work. Freddy listened for more:
[travis] <...about 1.5 million nuyen over the past 3 years and
has it stashed away somewhere. I would be willing to give you, say
20% of the money if you could get it to me...>
Quick math (no chip neccessary): "1.5x10^6 availiable.
Multiply by .20 = 3x10^5. Divide by, um, 7 runners? That's about
42500 newones. Not really that great." Freddy's salary at
Maas-Neotek had dwarfed that figure. But the music biz hardly paid
this much...
[mortis] <...well, it's not my specialty, but I can deck if
that drunk out there can't, but riggin' is expensive, so it'll have to
be 30%...>
"Bwahahaha!!!" Freddy laughed out loud. "You little shit, in
*high school* I programmed tougher ICE than *you* could *ever* crack!
I swear, someone figures out how to use a spreadsheet and they tell
you they can *deck*. Cryminee...". He'd have to throttle the dwarf
if the point was brought up again.
[rael] <...I'll go if we can get Klone Crimson to do the
decking...>
"Man, the elf has some sense. I'm think I'm gonna like that
guy." The Whisper2000000 emitted some static. He cringed, wondering
if it was the unit itself, or the piezo/transmitter he left behind in
the "back room". If it was the mic, he couldn't do anything about it.
He checked the betteries in the W2x10^6. "Shit." Low. He pulled a
few spares out of his overcoat, replaced them, and tried to catch up
with the conversation:
[travis] <...teach her a lesson, too. I don't care what you do
to her, or with her for that matter, but mess her up really bad, so
noone'll even want to take a look at her again...>
"Yikes! She'll be sweat-meat to some of the muscle in there.
I hope Mz. Travis doesn't have a conscience: she might not be able to
live with it later..."
[travis] <...don't kill her, though...yet. And because I
don't want to be implicated, make it look like a jealous gang
boyfriend did it. I'm sure you can do enough damage and vandalism to
make it look like it was a street gang...>
"Cryminee, *one* of those razor-guys could accomplish that,
hands down. This really doesn't sound like the job for me, though..."
[x] <...embezeling isn't so rare these days. I've seen more
than money change hands in the past. Of course, I would be offended
if someone was stealing from me also...>
Two hands grabbed Freddy's shoulders from behind. He spun
around ready for action, but... "Cryminee, Kelly! Don't do that!"
She laughed at his startled expression. She knew he was jumpy most of
the time and loved to give him an occasional scare.
"No luck in the back room, Freddy? I saw you listening on the
weasel-phone..." Her eyes were sincere and concerned. Those eyes.
Freddy loved those eyes.
"Well, those screwdrivers almost did me in, but I think they
want me. Only one other guy back there can run the Matrix, but he
probably got his deck from FisherPrice!" They both laughed.
He listened to the W2x10^6 again, but it was dead. "Someone
probably geeked the bug", he told her. Freddy shrugged, "Oh well,
it's waiting time. Can you set me up with some coffee?"
"Sure Freddy, if it's not too *strong* a drink for you." She
winked and he smiled back.
"Thanks babe. I'm glad you still put up with me." He looked
at his shoes, ashamed of his past attitude towards Kelly. If he had
it to do over again...
"You know, I'm glad I still do, too..." She took his hand and
held it for a moment. Then she walked away to get the coffee...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 04/21]
Date: 30 Jul 92 05:58:47 GMT
Crimson watched Kelly walk off and sighed. He walked over to
a table near the wall and plopped himself down. Turning on his PR-128
again he thought up some busy 5/4 minor pentatonics in a sawtooth
waveform. Under this he added an analog sounding sustained synth
bass. He leaned back in his chair and kept the bass even while
improvising the petatonics.
Soon Kelly came back with her famous 'blacker than black'
coffee. "Here ya go. Drink up."
He gulped down a swallow of the light-absorbing liquid.
"Mmmmm... just like the grad lounge used to make." He swore he could
feel it breaking through his buzz. "How much blacker could it be?
None-black!"
She smiled at him and listened to his music. "Add some
drums," she suggested. He did that, using electric kit sounds.
"That's nice. And some flutes. I like flutes."
Freddy chuckled. "I know, I know..." He thought up some
three part flute harmonies to comp with. He smiled and finished the
rest of his coffee. "Thanks a lot Kelly, you saved me again." He
stood up from the table and stretched. "I gotta go back to the pad
and get my gear before I go to Evil Irving's. See you there, eh?"
"Right-o, Freddy. I'm off in 20 minutes, so I'll be there.
Ciao." She gave a short wave and walked off to finish her night's
business.
Freddy grinned, watching Kelly's ass disappear into the crowd.
He laughed and proceded to clean himself up a bit. After
straightening up his jacket and securing his electronic gadgets he
made his way to the door. But before he got there he felt a hand on
his shoulder again. He started to say, "Kelly, I really gotta...",
but was cut off when the hand strongly spinned him around. The music
he was thinking hiccupped for a second, but it immediately became
steady again. It wasn't Kelly that he had ended up facing...
"Crimson, com'on man, this has to be *the* best offer any of
us has ever received. Don't just walk out on it." It was the man who
went by the name 'Howler'. The samurai continued, seeing his words
were having no effect: "Look, we need you to make this operation
work!" Howler fell silent, staring into Crimson's eyes, waiting,
expectantly, for a response.
Crimson couldn't give him one. He seemed to be frozen by
looking into Howler's eyes. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Most likely
it was his better judgement. He mumbled, "But I have a gig
tonight..." and gave his music a little boost in volume as a
demonstration of intent.
Howler smirked and brought forth his fist. He opened it up
and produced a small piece of metal and plastic. It was Freddy's bug
from the "back room". Crimson swallowed hard, perhaps a bit too
visibly for a so-called 'professional'. Howler went on, "Let's just
go back in there, get the details, and start having some serious fun."
He straightened Freddy's collar, which he wrikled when he grabbed him.
He then walked towards the back room again, calling back over his
shoulder, "Besides, this crap they're passing off as music bites!"
Freddy laughed: this piece of muscle certainly had a brain!
Howler knew *exactly* which buttons to push. He shook his head and
took off after the samurai...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 05/21]
Date: 30 Jul 92 11:54:51 GMT
Howler had entered the secret entrance before Freddy got
there. He nodded to the bartender and waited a bit, trying not to
appear too anxious. The panel slid open and he stepped inside. He
received a few sideways glances from the runners and wondered how much
his little tirade had affected his "standing" in the group. Somehow,
he didn't seem to care very much, though.
Everybody was still there listening in the dim light as Mrs.
Travis continued to present information on the proposed run. She
glared over in Crimson's direction and proceeded to tell what she
knew: "He lives in a house in Bellevue. More specifically, in Yarrow
Point. The security there is OK, but not the best. I don't really
know much about the security systems..."
Freddy wondered about their maritial situation. "Didn't they
*live* together? Shouldn't she *know* this stuff?" He was starting
to smell something and it sure did stink. He listened some more:
"...he's always worried about that, but I do know that it's
run by Knight Errant security." She paused for effect.
Crimson smirked. He thought to himself, "So, I'm gonna get to
play with Ares Macrotechnology? Hey, maybe this won't be as boring as
I thought." He sat down on the floor and folded his arms over his
knees. The old woman continued:
"I saw the biker bitch myself once. He claimed she was a long
lost cousin. Like I believed that! Anyway, I noticed a tatto on her
arm and checked it out. Found out it's from some gang calling
themselves the Trog Crushers in Auburn..."
Freddy wasn't up on his street knowledge, since he came from
the corporate world, but the Trog Crushers sure sounded like a group
of Kluxers to him. Too bad he probably wouldn't get a chance to meet
with some of those guys. "Lucky for the Crushers, though..." He
wondered about the racial biases of the others in the group. He'd
probably find out soon with both an elf and a dwarf in their midst.
Mrs. Travis came to the end of the outrageous tapestry she was
weaving. "So, if there are no more questions, I'll just let you boys
get to work..." Crimson decided if he was going to puke tonight, it
would be on her shoes ("Bitch.").
Freddy stood and asked the entire group, "Hey, can we do this
either really fast tonight or maybe tomorrow? I got a gig later,
dammit." Everyone ignored him, of course...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 06/21]
Date: 30 Jul 92 15:08:13 GMT
Freddy paced nervously. He didn't have any of the cool
bravado that the others had. Then again, the mega-caffeine coffee
didn't calm his nerves either.
Grace spoke up about her end of the deal: "I have a few spells
that may come in handy, like invisibility. But, I can only cast it on
a few people... And of course, we'll need Crimson to deck into Ares
Microspooge and get some security info."
Crimson muttered "Microspooge" to himself and snickered. He
knew a bit of their low-level ICE (nothing that powerful) from basic
Matrix Defense Design classes. It was classic protection: quite
elegant and effective. Nothing like the "Badgers" he designed at
Maas. Those critters would sneak up from behind and rip the shit out
of you. Still, it would be interesting, and he'd send a report back
to Maas-Neotek for their records in turn for a small commission *and*
an extension of his "sanity-leave". Of course if they thought he
wasn't coming back, Freddy probably wouldn't still be living: he knew
too much.
Mortis volunteered to use a spotter drone to scout. "I have a
personal beef with them Trog-Crushers. Some of my best friends are
Awakened..."
Then X started rattling off quasi-strategy and pseudo-tactics.
"Certainly has his drek together..." Crimson thought. X smelled like
corp-meat, but Freddy wasn't sure which one. He also wondered if he
was still on the payroll.
Xavier then asked him, "You think you could locate the cash in
his database? I'm sure it'll all look similar in the matrix. But then
that's not my song..."
Freddy shruged non-committally. He didn't want to look or act
too confident. Employers were usually happier when you gave them more
than you promised, anyway. He obviously looked at his chronometer and
tapped his foot.
His attention drifted off when the conversation turned to
razor-talk. He sighed and straightened up his jacket a bit and paced
the perimeter of the room. Finally it seemed that everyone was in
agreement: they'd meet the next night for ribs at Gracie's, at X's
suggestion. Freddy left without speaking to anyone.
He exited the back room and looked around. There were more
dancers than before, but it seemed that Kelly had already left. He
made his way to the front door, giving a short farewell to Grod on the
way out.
As he made his way to his Rapier he noticed he was being
followed. It was Howler, and a bit behind him was Rawhide. Freddy
stepped on his bike and started it up. He gunned the motor a few
times and then proceeded to make a few "donuts" on the parking lot
surface to appease any curious onlookers.
Howler swaggered up with Rawhide to the rear. Freddy told
them frankly, "I gotta go home to get my gear for the gig. If you
want to, I'll be at Evil Irving's later, but I think it would be wise
professionally if you didn't see where I lived..."
He then gave a lazy wave and took off out of the parking lot,
popping a wheelie just to show off. He looked back to see if he was
being followed. If he was, he always had a pre-fab tail-ditch up his
sleeve...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 07/21]
Date: 31 Jul 92 05:38:21 GMT
Freddy seemed to be in a haze as he stepped on the stage for
the night's gig. He shook his head to try to lose the feeling, but it
stuck with him. "Must be the rush of success" he mused.
He walked into the spotlight and the crowd went wild. The
chicks were screaming their lungs out for him, and it felt great to
Freddy. He turned around to look at his backing band: two
keyboardists were to either side of the stage, the DJ ("a DJ?!?!?")
was directly behind him, and his lead guitarist was limbering up his
fingers. The band nodded that they were ready.
Freddy turned around to face the crowd again. This cued the
dancers to enter from both sides ("Wait a sec, do I have
*dancers*!?!?"). The arena was packed to capacity plus a little more.
It was more people than he'd seen in his life, he thought.
He had an odd feeling and asked the guitarist about it. "Hey,
where's my Chapman Stick? I think I lost it somewhere..."
The rocker made a funny face. "What's a Chapman Stick? You
just sing and play acoustic guitar. Heh."
Freddy shrugged. "Oh. Do I?" He wiped his sweaty palms on
his spandex ("But I don't *wear* spandex!!!") and grabbed the
microphone.
"GOOD EVENING SEATTLE!!!" he yelled. The crowd screamed in
response. A simple 4/4 drum pattern started. Freddy smiled and
continued: "We got a little song we'd like to start off with. It's
got a good beat and it's easy to dance to..."
* * * * * * * *
Freddy woke up screaming, covered in a cold sweat. "Bloody
hell!" he cursed and wiped his forehead with the tail of his flannel
shirt. Apparently, he had fallen asleep on his couch after coming back
home to get his gear. He'd had the nightmare before, and it usually
came after he drank too much. He wondered why he never learned
better.
He stood up and walked into the bathroom. After washing off
his face with warm water he looked into the mirror. "Man, I look like
shit." He felt like it too. He sighed and looked at his chronometer.
"Crymineeee!!!" He was late for his gig. Very late...
* * * * * * * *
Freddy staggered into Evil Irving's, gear in hand, and went
backstage. He whipped his Chapman Stick out of its case and applied
the belt hook. He then jacked his Roland PR-128 into his head and
plugged the stereo outs from both the Stick and the tone module into
his wireless unit.
He walked to the side-stage entrance and nodded to the sound
man. "Howzit goin', Eddie-Baby?".
"Geeez, Freddy, you gotta stop showing up late!", Eddie
growled. "You're lucky your friends covered for you. They had me
introduce them as the opening band when you didn't show up."
Freddy breathed a sigh of relief. He moved to where he could
see the whole stage. Out there was a group of people who he had
played with in the past: Hector Death on drums, Stoner on tenor sax
(with a pitchrider mic), Lerxst on guitar synth, and Hair-Bear on
five-string fretless bass. They were chugging out some rocked-up
arrangements of jazz standards. There was a lot of soloing just to
fill time. He caught Stoner's attention and arranged the switch.
The band recapped the head of the song twice and then coda'ed
out. There was a smattering of applause from the audience. Stoner
stepped up and took the house mic. "Thank ya, ladies and gents.
That's it for us. Stay tuned for our good friend, and tonight's main
attraction, Frederick Marx..." He put the mic back in the stand and
the band filtered off to his side of the stage.
"Thanks guys," Freddy offered sincerely. "I owe you *all*
one." He really didn't have many friends, but those he did have would
do just about anything for him.
Lerxst answered, "No prob, eh? Just have the waitress buy us
a round on you!" The group laughed.
"It's as good as done guys. See you after the first set." He
waved and started to walk on stage, but stopped. "Hey! Why don't you
play the first set with me? I haven't played with a group in *ages*."
That didn't count his nightmares, of course!
Nobody could think of a reason not to, so they all walked out
on to the stage. A smattering of applause greeted them. He walked up
to the house mic and peered out into the darkness. He couldn't make
out any faces, so he had no idea if Kelly (or the two samurai) were
there. He'd have to ask the next day, or run into her (them) between
sets.
"Howdy folks. I think the boyz here did such a good job here
that I'd let them tag along for the next set." The audience clapped
in agreement. Freddy walked away from the mic and asked. "Everyone
know Lerxst's _Under_the_Electric_Sun_?" Nods all around. "Okay
then, let's kick it!"
The band roared into action. It took them only one chorus for
them to synch-up. It was a night that all in attendance would
remember. In fact, a particular CD bootleg would later just happened
to help that along as well...
* * * * * * * *
Freddy folded out the couch and plopped down on it. He didn't
see Kelly (or the samurai) between sets. He hoped she didn't leave
when he didn't show up on time. Freddy was really hoping to get into
her good books (and her bed!) again.
As it turned out, the band played all four sets together and
decided they would have to play as a group again. It made sense,
since they all went to see each other's gigs anyway. They might as
well quintuple the action they were getting. Besides, it was a hell
of a lot more fun than doing solo acts.
He laid back on the sofa-bed and closed his eyes. Tomorrow
would certainly be a big day for him. And Ares Macrotechnology
wouldn't have it too easy themselves...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 08/21]
Date: 31 Jul 92 09:59:20 GMT
Freddy's obligatory headache woke him up the next morning. It
laughed at him, "Wake up, you hungover bastard! Bwahahahaha!!!" He
rolled over and sat up in the sofa-bed. "Man, *why* do I do it?
Maas-Neotek was sooo mega-cushy. I gotta talk to DiRusso about going
back..." But he lived to play his music: that was his goal in life.
He stood up and lumbered into the bathroom.
One night's sleep didn't help Freddy much: he still looked
like shit and felt just as tired. "Man oh man oh man" he groaned,
looking over his sorry reflection in the mirror. He took a quick warm
shower but skipped the shave today. He felt the stubble on his chin
and figured it would help him gauge the passage of time over the next
few days.
He went back to the "kitchen" (or rather the corner of the
main room with the cooking equipment) and fixed breakfast (or rather
lunch, as it was a bit past 1:00 pm already). A bowl of "Sugar-Coated
Sweetie Gloppies" worked in this capacity, aided by a half-litre of
Dr. Pepper. "Nothing like inordinate quantities of sugar to get you
going in the morning," he always said in his defense.
After breakfast he folded up the sofa-bed and staightened up
the musical equipment that he didn't put away the night before.
Satisfied with the condition of the room, he walked over and sat at
his desktop workstation.
"Hey hey, Tippy Turtle, time to do your work..." he muttered
as he powered up the terminal. Fingers fly on the keyboard, and soon
the Century 22 Real Estate logo was displayed. He turned off the
novice switch and went straight into expert-mode.
.nf
Request? [type ? for menu]
> Homes for Sale
- Your desired location? [type ? for menu]
> Bellvue
- Your desired arcology? [type ? for menu]
> Yarrow Point Arcology
[processing]
Request? [type ? for menu]
> ?
Arcology submenu:
1. Floorplans
2. Utilities
3. Security
4. Arcology Features
5. Video Tour
6. Address Specifics
7. More Help
Request? [type ? for menu]
> Floorplans
.fi
A list of floorplans was displayed. "Hmmmm, not a wide
variety. Good." Freddy pulled up yet another window and accessed the
Video Yellow Pages utility. "Travis, travis...Bob...ahhh. Robert A.
Travis. Heh!" He killed the window and snickered at the initials:
RAT. 'Tacoma Bob' was definately one of the species! He selected
'Address Specifics' back in the Century 22 window and punched in the
proper address.
.nf
Specific Address? [type ? for list]
> 2112 Yarrow Point Arcology
|--------------------------------------------------
|Address: 2112 Yarrow Point Arcology
|Floorplan: Greco-Germanic 3
|Utilities: Gaetronics
|Security: Knight Errant
|Status: *** NOT FOR SALE ***
|--------------------------------------------------
Specific Address? [type ? for list]
> Previous Menu
Request? [type ? for menu]
> Floorplans
Request? [type ? for menu]
> ESC grep [floor] Greco-Germanic 3 | grep [arc]
Yarrow | grep [status] for sale
|--------------------------------------------------
|[subshell request completed]
| 1952 Yarrow Point Arcology
| 2536 Yarrow Point Arcology
|--------------------------------------------------
Request? [type ? for menu]
> Exit-All
Thank you, customer! Have a nice day!
** EOT **
.fi
"Bingo!", Freddy smiled. He switched back to the Yellow Pages
window and queried for Century 22's TeleVid appointment number. He
wrote this number on a notepad and walked over to his closet. He
picked out one of his corporate suits and put it on. He felt the
stubble on his face again. "Hell, it doesn't matter."
He walked over to his TeleVid station that he procured from an
(ahem) un-named source. Freddy then pulled up a chair and stood on
it. From there he reached up to the ceiling and extended the roll-up
projection screen, which he had chromakey treated. He dialed the
Century 22 number.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 09/21]
Date: 1 Aug 92 08:00:39 GMT
A smiling face appeared on the screen. "Good morning sir!
How may Century 22 Realty be of assistance to you?" The woman at the
receiving end of the comm-terminal was wearing a gold suit and a
"plastic smile", as Freddy called them.
Freddy put on an equally plastic smile. "Good day. I'm
interested in buying space in your Yarrow Point Arcology..."
The woman on the other end saw Freddy as if he was sitting in
an office lounge, with workers bustling around behind him. It was a
trick of light, video magic. "A wise selection, sir! Our Yarrow
Point Arcology offers every modern convenience that today's technology
has to offer." She tried to act even perkier, if that was possible.
He tried not to show his irritation at her trained
cheerfulness. "Yes, I know: I received your pamphlet and was
significantly impressed. If it's possible, I'd like to have a tour of
a residence, specifically..." He pulled a notepad out of his jacket
pocket and pretended to read: "...one of your Greco-German floorplan
models."
The woman smiled as she talked, "Congratulations, the
Greco-German floorplan offers the most economical use of space
available. It is both luxurious and functional and is quite easy to
decorate." She punched a keyboard. "We have open appointment times
at 3:00 pm, 3:30 pm, 5:00 pm, and 6:30 pm today. Would you like to
schedule for one of these times?"
Freddy nodded. "Yes I would. I believe the 6:30 time would
fit into my agenda quite well."
"Then 6:30 it is! We'll have a customer services
representative meet you at the information desk. Will that be all for
you today?"
Freddy put on the plastic smile again. "Yes it will. And
thanks for you time."
"My pleasure sir!" It probably was, too. "Have a nice day!"
"You too." Freddy turned off the TeleVid and rolled up the
screen. He scratched his chin. "Now, what to do next?" He had
successfully set up an opportunity for a scouting mission, but really
didn't think it out beyond that.
Obviously he couldn't do all the sneaky stuff by himself.
What made matters worse was the fact that all the silent types in
group would be blatantly obvious in an arcology by daylight. "Grace"
he muttered as it came to him. Grace was more "normal" looking than
any of them. But how the hell could he find her?
"Damn, it would be nice if I had a copy of the MagePages," he
thought. But it dawned on him that he knew someone that did. He
hopped back on the TeleVid. He punched a few buttons and a face
popped up.
"Hey Freddy, 'sup?" the face said. "Cute suit."
"Howdy Rache." Freddy sarcastically prentended to bring up
mucus when pronouncing the German name. "I got a business deal going
down here and I need some info. Could you look up a particular mage
for me?"
Rache eyed him cautiously. "Hey, why do you think they don't
distribute The Pages to the public? Wizards are private kinda
people..."
"Yeah yeah, I know that. Sheesh. I'm `running with this mage
but have only met her once so far. I need to get in contact with her
for an extra-cirricular run."
"Hmmmm..." Rache pondered. "How about giving me free
utilities for a month?" He smiled evilly.
"Cryminee, Rache!" Rache made an obviously slow move to the
"off" switch to force a response from Freddy. "OKAY Okay okay. Ya
got me. I'll work on it. Sheesh."
The mage grinned widely. "You're a pal, Fred."
"Yeah, especially when I'm in a bind. Okay, she runs under
the name "Grace", but I don't know if that's her real name..."
Rache walked away from the TeleVid and returned with an
immense tome. He opened it and skimmed the pages. "Well, I'm not
saying if it's her real name or not. Professional courtesy, ya know."
Freddy nodded. "Anyway, I found her contact number. Hey, whaddya
know: it's that chick from that MIT&M hooplah! Heh!"
"Yeah, that's her. Okay, how 'bout *you* call her up and tell
her to meet me at Club Penumbra at six, since you're such bloody
private types." Freddy gave a sarcastic smile.
Rache pointed a finger at the screen. "Hey, watch that lip,
boy," he joked back, "I could probably turn you into a toad through
this vid-screen."
"Yeah yeah yeah. Tell her to dress nice too, okay? Kinda
formal-like, and a bit on the racy side, eh?"
Rache laughed again. "Damn, do I always have to set you up
with the chicks or what? No problem. Remember those utilities,
though, okay?"
"Sure thing. Hasta la vista."
"Not if I 'vista' you first bud. Watch yer back." Rache cut
the connection.
Freddy stood up again and stretched. He walked over to a
kitchen cabinet and took out a stick of beef jerky. He chawed on it
as he sat back down at his workstation. He had plenty of time now to
check up on good old "Tacoma Bob"...and his wife.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 10/21]
Date: 2 Aug 92 11:26:58 GMT
Freddy arrived at Club Penumbra at 5:30 to be on the safe
side, and also to see if Kelly was working. He walked up to the bar
and asked the barkeep about her. "Is Kelly Knight doing the rounds
today?"
The man nodded. "Yup. She's helping out in the kitchen right
now." He looked around. "It's pretty slow right now. I'll go get
her for ya." He left the bar and went towards the kitchen.
"Thanks eh?" Freddy sat down on a stool and grabbed a bowl of
beer-nuts. After a minute someone tapped him on the shoulder. He
turned around and started to say, "Howdy Grace..."
Someone slugged him in the jaw, hard, knocking him off the
stool. It was Kelly. "You bastard! Can't you keep a simple
appointment? And who the *hell* is Grace?"
Freddy felt his jaw to see if it was still in place. "Yes to
question number one, a business associate to number two." He swore he
could taste blood. "Cryminee, ya don't have to use the brass knuck's
in either case..." He tried to get up, still holding his jaw, but
Kelly pushed him back down with her foot.
"You were late last night." She tapped her foot impatiently
and pocketed the brass knuckles.
Freddy gaffawed "There was just an opening band! I was
there..."
"Bullshit. Even *I* know that the opening band usually
doesn't play two sets. What do you take me for?"
He tried to get up again. This time she let him stand, and he
sat back on the stool. "Hey, I'm sorry. I got a little caught up in
things. It's not easy gigging every other night, `running, and still
doing little things for Maas on the side. I sat down for a second at
home and accidentally fell asleep." He shrugged. "I'm only human."
She snarled at him. "Yeah, and I'm a *person*, dammit, and
should be treated like one. You tend to forget that when you want
stuff from others." She turned around and started to walk away. "Now
I'm going to get back to work. I for one honor responsibility." She
disappeared into the kitchen.
Freddy picked up a napkin and dabbed his lip: indeed there was
blood. He rested he elbows on the bar and muttered "Now this
certainly won't cause suspicion with the Century 22 chaps, will
it...?" He tried to munch on some more beer-nuts but found he
couldn't chew without experiencing pain.
"I pegged you for a wuss-boy from the beginning, Klone-Man."
This time it actually was Grace. He turned around and looked at her.
Freddy gaped and almost forgot about Kelly and his jaw
completely. "Hey! Nice outfit." He tried not to drool, but with his
bum jaw and all...
Grace expected as much. "Shut up, you weasel, and let's go.
I figured that you wanted to do some high-class recon work at the
arcology. That's the only reason why I'm wearing this get-up."
Put his hands up. "Fine fine! I won't mention a word about
it. Now can we go? The appointment is for 6:30..."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 11/21]
Date: 3 Aug 92 07:37:34 GMT
Crimson arrived outside of the arcology before Grace did,
since his bike was particularly mobile at this time of night. Grace
arrived later in a van, which Freddy thought looked rather trashy
compared to a slick bike like he had. Grace stepped out of the van
and he walked up to greet her.
"Howzit goin', eh?" he asked while peeking into the van's open
door. Mortis was driving. "Heya Mortis!"
Mortis nodded, closed the door, and drove off.
Grace spoke up. "What comes next, brainiac?"
Freddy shrugged. "I dunno, I'm kinda winging it. Anyway,
we'll be posing as husband and wife..."
She laughed in his face and turned extremely cold. "In your
*dreams* Klone-Man! Is that all you men ever think about? Your petty
fantasies?"
"Hey, it's a cover, alright? It'll work, trust me. We're not
doing anything *too* deep. Just having a looksee..."
"Yeah," she continued, "plus you want me take a little astral
walk on the side. Did you ever think of what might happen if I met
someone on the other side? They *do* have astral security, ya know."
Freddy looked a bit nervous. "But not here, right? Why would
they go through the trouble?"
"They probably don't, but you never thought about it, did you?
You see, this is what happens when when nerds like you plan field
operations." She rolled her eyes. "Why did I even come?"
He took a stab at the answer: "Maybe...you were going crazy
just sitting and waiting?" He looked at her, waiting for a response.
Grace sighed. "That's probably the case. Oh well, let's get
this over with. Is there anything else we have to cover before we do
this?"
Freddy thought it over. "Well, not about the job, but I would
like to ask a personal question..."
She exhaled deeply. "Hell, go ahead. But I'm sure that one
of us is going to regret it. Shoot." She was sure he was going to
inquire about her MIT&M days.
"Kool! Okay..." The question had been on his mind since he
first saw her. "...I know I've seen you somewhere before. Did it
happen to be in Playboy?"
She slugged him in the gut, hard, before he could move.
"You're such a wuss-boy. What kind of man reads Playboy?" She walked
off towards the arcology entrance.
Crimson rolled on the ground, gasping for breath. He found
his way to his knees and an managed the lung power to call after her:
"But you never answered my question!" She didn't look back.
* * * * * * *
Crimson half-limped up to the information desk where Grace and
another woman were waiting. He looked like death warmed over as a
result of his previous night's experiences, his swollen and bloody
lip, and his newly bruised ribs.
Grace did some cheesy acting and ran up to him. "Honey, what
on *earth* happened to you?!?!" The other woman followed her to him.
He coughed (no acting involved) and groaned out, "I ran into
some punks on the way over here." He looked at their tour guide and
said, "Speaking of which, remind me to ask about your security later."
He coughed again.
The woman stuttered, "Y-yes...yes I will." She looked a bit
nervous. "Anyway, I'm Pat Fayhe. We're happy that you could make it,
Mr..." She looked at him expectantly.
Freddy glanced at Grace for a second. She nodded. He
replied, "...Marx. Frederick Marx." He shook hands with her in
greeting.
Pat smiled. "Okay! Now I have it here that you're interested
in our Greco-Germanic floorplan. Any other requests?"
Grace made the suggestion: "Well, we'd like a place with a
view, but not too high. How about around the 20th floor?"
The tour guide nodded, "How about the 21st floor then?"
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 12/21]
Date: 3 Aug 92 15:08:35 GMT
Freddy and Grace had managed to weasel some elementary info
from Pat on the lower levels. When they checked out the flat on the
21st floor they didn't turn up anything special. They were hoping to
find access hatches to the 18th-20th levels, where Tacoma Bob's Fast
Flicks set up shop, but they had no such luck.
When they got back downstairs to the arcology lobby, near the
information booth, Freddy brought up the topic again, "How is security
here, anyway?"
Pat recited the information: "Security is very 'tight' and the
best money can buy. You won't have any problems while you're in the
arcology or within a quarter mile outside it."
Grace tried to dig a little deeper. "Hmmm...well, what *kind*
of security does that entail?"
The realtor didn't seem to willing to go into the specifics.
"Well, I don't know much about it, but they tell me that it's a
combination of electronic security and live security. And we have the
track record to prove that it works!"
Freddy nodded to avoid seeming disappointed. "That's great.
Too bad you can't provide security for the *rest* of Seatle..." He
nursed his rib to make to point.
She frowned sympathetically. "Yes, yes, isn't it just awful
what people do today? It's simply barbaric!"
He tried to turn the security discussion to the electronic
side. "How about computer security? I work in computers and know
that outsiders can get into a security matrix and cause problems.
What safegaurds do you have against that?" Freddy almost flinched: he
thought that question might have gone too far.
Pat didn't show any suspicion if she had any. "Well, we've
subcontracted the best matrix security company that money can buy:
Fuchi. Fuchi is one of the best."
"If not *the* best, as I understand it." Freddy nodded in
agreement. He wasn't lying: Fuchi was one kick-ass outfit. "That's
good." Now *that* was lie: it wasn't good from his point of view.
Grace made her move. "If you two would excuse me, I'd like to
use the restroom before we go."
Freddy looked at his chronometer. "Sure, but don't take too
long. I made reservations for 7:30."
"See you in a bit." Grace gave a half-smile and walked across
the lobby towards the restrooms.
Freddy stalled for a big longer while Grace did her job.
"Well, what sort of transportation facilities are availiable here?"
Pat continued issuing the standard speel. "I'm glad you
asked! Well, first of all, the dome that you saw on top of the
arcology is a heliport for the residents..."
He tapped his foot, waiting for Grace to come back.
* * * * * * *
Grace left Klone Crimson talking to Pat in the lobby, and
headed to the restroom. Once inside, she whistled, saying "damn, do
these rich chicks have it good..."
After checking out the bathroom to make sure noone was inside,
she headed for one of the stalls and sat down, burying her face in her
hands.
After a moment of concentration, she felt the familiar
tingling sensation as she went astral, then the disembodied sensation
as her consciousness roamed the bathroom. The bathroom took on a very
sterile and blank appearance in astral space, a sharp contrast to the
heavily decorations that had been there and the warm feeling the room
had presented in the mundane plane. "I knew the plants were fake..."
After a few moments of looking around, she headed out the
door, finding Crimson and Pat deep in conversation. Grace noted the
two dead spots on Crimson's head, evidence of the 2 jacks, but
otherwise he looked pretty healthy. Pat, on the other hand, had black
pits for eyes and dark, cancerous ears. She obviously had some pretty
extensive headware... Reminded her of Mortis...
As she looked around the lobby, she noticed the same inorganic
sterility that she had seen in the bathroom. Hidden in the corner, she
noticed a form that could only be a troll. "Must be the bouncer..."
His form was crisscrossed with dark patches and numerous dead areas,
obviously dermally plated and wired heavily. Grace's astral form
shuddered as she watched him. "Damn vatjob. Why the hell do they do
that to their own bodies..."
"Well, time to go check out Mr. Travis."
As Grace headed for the elevator, the doors opened, showing a
shimmering curtain of astral force. "Fuck! It's got a barrier!"
Grace flew to the elevator and gently pushed on the barrier.
The barrier turned out to be pretty insubstantal and with a little
concentration she pushed her way through. "Well, now you've done it.
Have to work fast now."
Pushing through the thin ceiling of the elevator was pretty
easy, but she was definitely not prepared for what was on the other
side. As she emerged she was assaulted by a very hostile spirit and
thrown back into the elevator...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 13/21]
Date: 4 Aug 92 05:25:27 GMT
Meanwhile, Crimson was getting very impatient listening to the
commercial he was getting from Pat. Every time he asked about
security, or some other useful information, she steered the
conversation back to some other "safe" topic. "Man this is getting
really annoying," Freddy thought.
After about ten minutes, there was a rumbling sound in the
elevator. The plastic smile froze into Pat's features as she said,
"No need to worry, Mr. Martin...err, Maruschek... Frederick!" She was
obviously quite flustered. "That's just the maintenance crew giving
it a daily inspection. You'll find this one of the safest and most
enjoyable places in the city..."
Five minutes later there was an almost inhuman moan that came
from inside the bathroom, causing everyone in the lobby to turn their
head. A young woman emerged from a door near the front desk and ran
to the restroom, stopping as Grace opened the door suddenly and walked
into the lobby. "Are you okay, miss?" she offered.
At this Grace grimaced and whispered something to the woman,
who whispered something back and headed through the door she came
from. Grace walked up to Crimson and Pat, glaring at Crimson for a
moment (kind of a "don't ask" look) before saying "Honey, I told you
we should have gone to the other arcology. The plumming here is just
too substandard..."
A stain started to appear in the carpet near the restroom door
and noises of overflowing water could be heard, prompting Pat to start
saying, "Well..."
Grace cut her off and says "Fred, let's get out of here..."
Grace started to walk out, followed quickly by Crimson, who in
turn was followed very closely by Pat, who was desperately trying to
salvage her sale. As Grace reached the door, the dejected Pat made one
last try, saying "Do you want to make another appointment?" Getting
no response, she harumped and turned back to another Century 22 tour
guide and said "Of all the nerve! Imagine them cheating me out of *my*
commission!"
* * * * * * *
Outside, Grace told Crimson "Mortis should be here any minute
to take me to Gracies, so I'll meet you there."
Freddy looked around nervously, just in time to notice three
orks pull up on Vikings and dismount. The apparent leader stepped
forward in front of the others. "Hey! Whassa cute babe like you
doin' wit a loser like dat? Beat it, deck-head!"
"Cryminee..." Freddy really didn't need this. He stepped in
front of Grace (all the while wondering where the hell this chivalry
shit was coming from) and stood his ground. When the ork finally
reached them, he executed a not-half-bad spinning roundhouse kick,
whereupon the ork promptly grabbed his leg in mid-swing and planted
his face into the ground, hard. The ork laughed, "And stay dere, ya
breeder!"
A moment later Freddy heard a wooshing sound, followed by a
scream from the ork. He opened his eyes to see a hand lying on the
street right in front of his face. The ork was jumping around holding
the stump of his wrist. Grace told him in a cold voice, "You'd better
leave while you still have one left."
The other orks yelled "holy shit!" in unison and gunned their
bikes, driving off and leaving their buddy to thrash around by
himself. About 20 seconds later, Mortis drove up, knocking the
remaining ork's Viking over. He stuck his head out the window and
yelled, "Sorry, bud, but you shouldn't park in a no-parking zone like
that..." The ork finally come to his senses, picked up his hand, and
ran away as fast as he could.
Grace put away her monofilament whip and bent down in front of
Freddy, cradling his head. "Are you all right?" she asked.
Crimson opened his eyes again and smirked, "But you never did
answer my question..." Grace dropped his head on the cement, hard,
eliciting a pitiful groan from him.
She walked over to the van and called back, "I'll see you at
Gracies, Klone-man."
As Mortis and Grace drove off, Freddy couldn't help thinking
that this just wasn't his day...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 14/21]
Date: 4 Aug 92 18:05:24 GMT
Crimson stumbled into Gracie's, tripping up the front steps.
He recited some lyrics to himself: "I wish I never woke up this
morning/Life was easy when it was boring..." He wiped his nose with
his sleeve. His suit was already a disaster, so why save the sleeve?
"Damn, I wish I'd quit bleeding already." He looked like a disaster
paramedic who didn't have time to change clothes. He just happened to
be the disaster, as well.
He nodded to the troll guard at the door, who in turn cracked
a little smile at Freddy's condition. Freddy really wasn't in the
mood to complain, though. "Got reservations for some 'X' fellow or
something like that?"
The troll looked at the book. "Yeah. He's expecting you,
apparently. Just don't cause any trouble."
Freddy explained "Look, I don't *cause* trouble, I just seem
to *attract* it..." The guard snickered and pointed to one of the
doorways. Crimson walked through it into the main room of the
resturaunt.
A waitress was waiting there. "What party are you with, sir?"
"'X', or something like that. He wasn't specific." He tried
to spot some of the `runners but couldn't find any.
She looked over his appearance and was quite disgusted with
it, but let it slide, since the reservation was valid. "Follow me,
sir."
Freddy was led to a dark corner of the restaraunt where X was
sitting alone in a booth. The ex-company man raised an eyebrow at the
his sorry condition. Freddy sat down and the waitress asked if he'd
like to order.
"Just a screwdriver for now, please." He received a sidways
glance from X. Freddy shrugged back at him. He added to his order
"Oh, and could you bring me some extra-strength analgesic?" The
waitress nodded and walked to another booth.
"I'll bet you got a look at Y-Point...." X prompted to Freddy
after the waitress left. "Anything I should know about?"
"Yeah, I got a look. I also got a broken nose, a dislocated
jaw, some bruised ribs, a cracked skull, a ruined suit, and one hell
of a headache. If you don't mind, I'd like to get comfortably numb
and wait for everyone to show up before I talk any more about it.
Besides, Grace was with me. She knows more than I do about it,
anyway..."
X raised his hands to show he would let it drop for now. Soon
the waitress returned with his drink and drugs and walked away again.
He popped the little, yellow, different capsules into his mouth and
washed it down with the screwdriver. He grabbed a chunk of ice out of
the now empty glass and pressed it against his nose with a napkin.
Leaning back in the booth he waited for Grace and the rest to arrive.
He was still wondering what the hell happened at the arcology...
* * * * * * *
When the others finally arrived, were seated, and had ordered,
Freddy finally asked Grace, "So why don't you tell all the folks here,
including myself, what in the bloody hell happened on our little foray
to the arcology?"
Grace's eyes darted around conspiratorialy before speaking.
"The place was protected by elementals. They only had one mage on
duty. He had a barrier in the elevator and when I broke through it,
he sent an elemental to get me. I geeked that one and went on to the
20th floor. As I was leaving, he sent a water elemental through the
plumbing to get me, but I took it over and sent it to kill him
instead. Simple, eh? This way they'll think he tried to summon too
powerful a spirit and it turned on him..."
Grace continued: "Well, there are several guards on each
level, mostly human, some orks and trolls, most heavily cybered.
There were strong astral barriers around the residences and I didn't
want to bring 30 corporate attack mages down one me, so I didn't
actually enter Mr. Travis' rooms. I was pressed for time, with
elementals hounding me, so I didn't really get anything else..."
Xavier hummed and spoke up, "All right, if their security is
*that* tight, then we may want another way in becides the front
door. Any suggestions?"
Howler perked up and swiftly pulled some folded maps out of
his jacket pocket. "They're not the best quality in the world, but
they should be more than enough to get us in." He cleared his throat
and began his analysis. "A half mile should be well outside there
secure zone, but then again, these maps don't show hardly any security
specifics. We have sveral choices as to the entrance route we take,
depending on the situation, it may actually be wise for us take
differing routes in..."
X replied, "Interesting idea Howler, and nice prints. My only
problem with splitting up is that if some of us run into organized
resistance and need Grace or Crimson to pull a plug then we're hanging
by a thread. Like you said, you can't put security on the prints. But
if we all go in together, we risk brodcasting our presance in a big
way..."
There was a long, thoughtful pause...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 15/21]
Date: 5 Aug 92 05:59:02 GMT
Crimson reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a few
folded pages of dot-matrix hardcopy. He wiped his nose again and
found the blood had coagulated so that it now had the colour and
consistency of Gracie's rib sauce.
He spoke up when given the appropriate cue. "Since I've been
recently soured on field operations, I suppose I'll do the job I'm
supposed to be doing." He looked around and got the reaction he
anticipated: relief. "Anyway, here's some dirt I dug up on Mr. Travis
earlier today."
He cleared his throat and began in VideoBio style. "Robert
Albert Travis, 56, is basically scum personified, according to the
local tabloids and gossip nets. He was born poor, but handles (read:
"manipulates") people extremely well. He charmed Mrs. Travis and
persuaded her that a chain of porn theaters would be a real money
maker. They were, and still are, but Travis, in classic robber-baron
style has wrested control of the porn empire from his loving wife. He
has many vices, including beatiful women, art collecting (read:
"stealing"), fine wine, and fast cars."
Freddy stopped to catch his breath, which he was having
trouble keeping with his bruised ribs and blood-clogged nose. He
continued, "Given, all that is pretty basic, but it may give us a few
ideas. Anyway, I had a little extra time on my hands and decided to
check up on our favourite employer, old mother Travis. Heh, I really
found her dirt a little more interesting, too!" He paused to breathe
again and to let the comment sink in.
"Louise Travis, formerly Loise Bungalo, is 54 and comes from a
wealthy family. She actually owns, errr, make that owned, *all* of
the porn theaters, along with a large stock portfolio. Until 4 months
ago she lived in the Yarrow Point Arcology with Mr. Travis, but then
Mr. Travis had her committed to the Bellvue sanitarium, against the
recommendations of her doctors, who thought she was fine. After 3
months, she was released with a clean bill of health. Apparently the
doctors couldn't find anything wrong with her. She now lives in the
Barrows because she has no money: Mr. Travis took everything away from
her, and he did it quite legally, too. She now appears to be obsessed
with getting revenge on her husband. Probably too obsessed, as it's
reported that her physical health is going down hill. Maybe her
mental health is being strained too: I'd put her a little, maybe a
lot, on the kooky side."
He coughed and brought up some blood. "Great," he thought,
and glared at Grace. She glared back at him, clearly communicating
the message: "You asked for it." He turned away from her icy stare
and continued.
"I couldn't get much out of the realty chick, and what I did
find will probably be covered in Howler's maps anyway. Just some
basic info on the layout." He rattled off the stats just like the
brochures did. "The arcology is a 30 story tall pyramid with a huge
dome on the top. The dome is a heliport for the residents. At least
that's as far as I could figure out. They may have some other
interesting toys up there as well. Anyway, Mr. Travis leases half of
the 18th, 19th, and 20th floors. His residence is on the 18th and
19th and his business address is listed as the 20th."
One more deep breath. "Again, this is all basic info. What
may be of interest, if we take Howler's suggestion of coming up from
the bottom, is that levels B1-5 are all parking garage, and levels 1-5
are shopping mall/recreational levels. If we come up from there at
the right time of day (or night), we may meet less resistance.
Besides, I don't think we could easily work our way down from the top
level, especially with the heliport there. That'll be covered with
guards. Besides, I don't think we have any air transport available.
But that's Mortis' department."
He folded up the paper and threw it into the candle holder to
get rid of it. The wet, stained paper disintegrated in a slow, smokey
burn. Freddy watched it for a minute and looked up again. "Well, any
bright ideas, kids?"
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 16/21]
Date: 5 Aug 92 15:16:36 GMT
Freddy sat sulking in his seat. The runners were getting
really fidgety, but none of them wanted to move first. On top of
that, everyone was ragging on him...just for having a bad day.
"That's justice for ya" he muttered.
So these weenies wanted to go in and blast their way up 14
floors just to get to Travis' office. What for? At least Rawhide
thought there was something wrong with this picture.
He drank the rest of his beverage in one gulp. It was
straight orange juice: somebody (probably X) had gotten the waitress
to replace the vodka with a bit of synthahol. Tasted about the same,
but of course it didn't have the kick. "Bastard." At least the
pain-killer was real and in fact quite potent.
Finally he got sick of the cacophany around him and made his
move. He really wanted to get out, but he was stuck in the middle of
the booth. So he took the only path he could: under the table. He
slid under and started to crawl out. Someone kicked him, hard, in the
ribs. It was apparently Rawhide, who shouted, "Get some coffee in the
poor bastard. And make it black!"
Freddy crawled out the rest of the way and stood up fairly far
from the table. "Figures, nobody noticed." He shook his head and
walked to the bathroom to get rid of the eight glasses of orange juice
he had imbibed earlier.
In the bathroom he got a glimpse of his face in the mirror.
He still looked like shit. "Man, we got to stop meeting like this."
He pulled a comb out of his pocket, straightened up his wavy black
hair, and walked out to the main room.
He looked back at the `runners' partly hidden table and
frowned. "Great, the job is slipping threw our fingers *and* I'm cold
sober. Amazing what can happen in only 24 hours." He couldn't see
anybody, but they were making more noise than the ork party did
earlier. He wished he had the Whisper2000000, just in case the
Moron-Patrol eventually figured out what to do (or how to tie their
shoes for that matter).
He walked out of Gracie's (apparently X had footed the bill,
as no one stopped him) and over to his bike. He revved it up and took
off into the night, not exactly knowing where he'd go. He heard
Auburn was a load of fun at this time of night, but he'd have to go
home for some gear first...
* * * * * * * *
"Home, home again/I like to be here when I can/When I come
home cold and tired/I like to warm my bones by the fire..." He
recited the lyrics practically every time he returned to the two room
hovel he called his own. He activated all six locks on the door and
then went over to the couch and layed down. "And what a day it
was..."
He grabbed the remote and turned on a trid-player (another,
ahem, "acquired" piece of eqipment) that had links to literally
hundreds of satellite networks. He flipped through the channels,
"trash... trash... trash... huh?" He stared, mouth agape, at the
picture on his screen.
It was a Zerpso soda commercial, which really wasn't that
interesting in itself. After all, they had saturated the market with
the slogan: "The soda that never winds down!" However in this ad, a
man on the street taste-test style shoot, he saw somebody he had
thoroughly researched not 10 hours ago sitting on a bench in the
background: Robert A. Travis.
Of course Travis was not a private man, and he had all the
time in the world to simply hang around the park. This was all quite
normal. However, the "woman" sitting with him was *not* Louise
Travis.
Freddy murmured "Bingo" and pressed the record button...
* * * * * * * *
He walked up the steps to Gracie's and nodded to the troll
bouncer at the door again. The troll stood and poked a finger in his
chest: "Hey, I remember you. You got different clothes on. And I
don't like them clothes neither!"
Crimson had changed his ruined grey suit and donned his field
gear: his long black lined coat with thinline speakers in the front,
his black high top sneakers, black jeans, and black wide-brimmed hat.
What the troll didn't like about the outfit was the stock of a
concealed shotgun that he detected. "You ain't goin' in wid dat!"
Freddy turned on him: "Hey, I got a job to do and you're in my
way. All I gotta do is fetch some people in there. Besides I have
all the permits neccessary..." He slowly pulled some credentials out
of his coat pocket and handed them to the troll.
The bouncer half-gasped. "Shoot. Yer legal, breeder, but I
want you outta there *fast*." He handed back the creds. "But just
remember: if ya cause any trouble, *I* got a permit to use *these*!"
He pounded his fists together for effect.
Freddy nodded and tipped his hat. "Thank you, sir. I'll make
it quick." He picked up the thick briefcase he'd set down when he got
his creds and went into the resturaunt.
He walked towards the booth at the back, but ran into X on the
way there, who seemed a bit surprised at Crimson's change of dress.
Freddy pulled some pictures out of his coat pocket and held them up.
"Wait'l you get a load of these..."
Xavier took the pictures and looked confused at first, but
then an imaginary light bulb would've appeared over his head if he was
a cartoon. "Well, lookee here..." He smiled. "Well it looks like
*something* went right for you today, didn't it Crimson?"
Freddy smiled to himself, genuinely surprised. "Yeah, I guess
your're right, eh? Heh!" Maybe the world didn't have it out for him
as bad as he thought...
X smiled back, knowing that the decker needed a boost in
confidence. "Well, I just settled the bill and we're ready to roll
out to the arcology. Lemme tell you what we've decided..." He filled
Freddy in on the details as they walked back to the table.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 17/21]
Date: 6 Aug 92 06:19:59 GMT
Everyone moved out of Gracie's together and split up. Before
leaving, Freddy looked at his watch. "Y-Point at 11. Got it." He
walked out to his bike and unlocked the seat and lifted it up. His
deck was still there. "Good." He closed and locked it again. "Wierd
how the legals are more suspicious of decks than guns..."
He sat on the bike, jacked the PR-128 interface into his head,
and plugged the audio jack into the Rapier's external speakers.
"Hmmm...what shall it be?" He started the Yamaha and began his
arrangement of Wagner's "Flight of the Valkyrie". Freddy muttered,
"Nice cruising music" and rode off on a roundabout route to the
Arcology.
He couldn't help thinking, though, that it felt all wrong:
they were rushing into it. Yeah, they had a plan, but it was weak:
just sneak in before the mall closes and hide. But how would they all
sneak in? Grace really didn't have all that much power for
invisibility spells all around. And what if they did get in: would
they be able to avoid detection until the mall closed? He thought
that Howler, and probably Rael, could find hiding places, but the
others probably couldn't.
And what the *hell* would they do *if* they got to Tacoma
Bob's offices? "Man, we're screwed. Me and, er, Howler could
probably pull this job off all by ourselves. Too many cooks spoil the
broth..."
* * * * * * * *
Freddy landed the Rapier directly on top of Morits' van. It
was a piece of cake for him to do with the help of the professionally
landscaped embankment the van was parked by. The dwarf jumped out of
the driver's side door and yelled "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?!?"
Crimson bent down towards him a little and put a finger over
his lips. "Shhhh. This is a stealth op, remember?" He grinned
evily, simply happy to get a bit of payback for all the abuse he
received earlier. He revved the engine again and popped a wheelie off
the roof, bounced off the hood, and landed on the ground. "Hey, that
van is pretty tough. Hardly *any* dents." He turned off the engine,
activated the kickstand, and pocketed the keys. Freddy bent down to
take a look at his shocks. "I think your van hurt my bike, Mortis!"
He turned around and saw that the dwarf clenching his fists,
looking a bit like Yosemitee Sam. Mortis growled "Why, I'll THROTTLE
you, deck-boy!"
Freddy smiled and echoed Mortis' words...in the dwarf's own
voice. {{{ Why, I'll THROTTLE you, deck-boy! Why, I'll THROTTLE you,
deck-boy! Why, I'll THROTTLE you, deck-boy!... }}} The sampled sound
came out of the speakers in his jacket. He laughed and played back
another sample he had made earlier: {{{ Get me security, right away
}}} It was Robert Travis' voice, lifted and pieced together from old
news programmes and commercials, but the dwarf didn't know it.
Crimson put his hands into his coat pockets, widened his
stance a bit, and waited for something to happen. "So why in the
*hell* are *we* parked outside? Our telecommunication signal has to
bounce off the satellite up there all the same, no matter *where* we
are in the city." He pointed arbitrarily into the sky. "Kinda stupid
to walk right next to their lair, isn't it?"
Mortis looked at Crimson confidently and said, "Well,
deck-boy, you may be able to log in all the way across the city, but I
have to run the drones that are in the van to watch everyone. The gas
sure ain't free, and if they malfunction I wanna be there to get them.
And if the others get in trouble, a van that's parked all the way
across the city don't help much..."
Freddy nodded at the rigger's answer. "Heh. True enough. I
never would've thought of that. That's why you're the rigger and I'm
not: point taken." He gave a short bow. Mortis harumphed and jumped
back in the van.
Crimson stood between the Rapier and the van, alternately
looking up at the sky and gazing at the arcology. After a minute or
so Mortis poked his head back out the window and said, "You gonna
stand out there gawkin' all day, or are you gonna come in?"
He shrugged and replied "Why not." The decker extraordinaire
walked over to the side of the van and entered. He nodded to Grace,
who was going through a bag of some sort. Grace gave a small "hi" and
argued with Mortis for a bit, but Freddy wasn't paying attention.
He was carefully looking around the vehicle. "Oooohhh!" he
gawked, "Nice interior!" The inside of the van was as new as the
outside looked old. Tech jumped out at the viewer from every square
inch. He swore that the van *had* to be tardissian.
Mortis walked over to a carpeted chest/table opposite of the
sliding door lifted the lid. Out popped a decker's console, ready for
use. "Whenever the others get here, or whenever you're ready, you can
go ahead and use the console. You plug your deck in here..."
Freddy muttered "Thanks," and went back to his bike to get his
deck. He looked around a bit before getting it out from the seat
compartment. It seemed to be a pretty quiet night. But then again,
the most watchful eyes were invisible. He popped the seat, grabbed
his Fuchi Cyber-4, and jumped back in the van.
He sat down at the console and hooked in the cyberdeck. Then
he plugged the deck interface into his datajack. He took a deep
breath and stared at his hands. They were trembling. He tried to
forget about them.
Freddy called to Mortis, "Hell, I'm going in now. Gimme a
poke every now and then to check if my brain is fried or not." The
dwarf nodded, knowing his job. Frederick Marx, the man known to the
shadows as Klone Crimson, jacked in to the Matrix...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 18/21]
Date: 7 Aug 92 09:57:03 GMT
The badger is a burrowing carnivore with very long claws on
its forelegs. It is a beast of stealth, but it is also a fierce
predator. The badger can sneak up on its prey and slice its throat
with surprising speed and strength. Also, if necessary, it has the
ability and intelligence to hide from its own predators...
Freddy had developed the Badger as his personal cyberspace
construct when he was an undergraduate. Many people preferred to keep
a human form when travelling the Matrix (and perhaps augmenting
physical features as they would rather have them in their real
bodies), but he liked to maintain a more representative form.
The badger fit his personality and was quite a sight to run
across in the Matrix, with his feral grin, exagerated razor-like
claws, and deep crimson shading where there should have been white.
Freddy always enjoyed the artisitic side of Matrix programming:
designing icons and other constructs. He enjoyed the creative
visualization aspect of the job. The inspiration of the badger came
from some old prints of Bill Sienkewicz's "Demon Bear", which was
based on American Indian mythology (However, maybe mythology wasn't
the correct word in this age of magic). But the bear image was to
large for his uses: he scaled it down to a more stealthy form.
Klone Crimson, in his badger form, came into consciousness in
the Matrix. As he got his bearings, he found that he had been placed
a few "miles" (it was only representational distance in the Matrix)
away from the Yarrow Point Arcology. Since his signal had been
bounced off a satellite via Mortis' telecommunications equipment, he
had arrived at a satellite downlink center. He looked above the
square "building" that he came out of: a triple helix of primary
colors extended upwards into infinity (actually, this represented the
satellite transmission signal).
Freddy decided to go for stealth from this point, just to be
on the safe side. He 'dug into the ground' with his claws and started
tunneling, effectively entering 'unused' cyberspace. Since constructs
mainly consisted of external features, he was simply travelling in
black nullspace. Of course, he might accidentally run into a
"basement", a secret cache of information and data, this way. He'd
have to decide what to do if the situation came up: it could break the
operation, or it could translate into a substantial monetary gain. He
really didn't worry about it, since he rarely made such navigational
errors.
After travelling a short while (speed wasn't his concern,
stealth was) he finally arrived where he wanted to be. He "surfaced"
a bit to take a look around. The Arcology looked like a big cylinder
with a dome from cyberspace, similar to its "realspace" counterpart,
except instead of having various identifying marks this one was
totally jet black and opaque.
He looked for access channels and was extremely disheartened.
There was only one "entrance" at the base of the cylinder. It was
quite obvious that the Arcology's staff intended that any transactions
were to go through the appropriate security checks. Then again, this
wasn't a massive data storage house like at Seattle City Hall: that
place had many access ports simply because of the amount of people
that had to access the same information at the same time. It wouldn't
be in Yarrow Point's best interest to be that "open". It simply
wasn't neccessary.
The construct presented quite a formidable appearance from a
distance, so Freddy decided to examine it a bit closer.
Circumnavigating the Arcology at a safe distance, he found a pleasant
surprise on the other side: a few small "cracks" in the structure of
the construct. These were "back doors", which were probably created
by the SysAdmins (or maybe even Fuchi, since they held the Matrix
security subcontract) to allow easier, less "formal" access for
personnel that knew about them. This way they could "come and go" as
they pleased, eliminating the hassle of front door access.
Overall, Freddy noticed from the way everything was set up
that the local SysAdmin must have had lots of money to spend on
customized appearances for the matrix constructs. But then again, he
was probably not as competent as he was rich. Or at least it appeared
that way: letting back doors exist like that was extremely amateurish.
He knew that from his own days as Matrix security advisor as Maas.
He "submerged" again, covered his tracks, and jacked out...
| | | | | | | |
Freddy "woke up" in the van and found that more of the party
had arrived. He smiled and spoke up, "Good news, guys: I think I
found myself a way in. It should make your job a hell of a lot
easier..."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 19/21]
Date: 10 Aug 92 07:17:32 GMT
Freddy found himself near the back door to Yarrow Point's
construct when he jacked in and "surfaced" again. His Badger
construct prowled its way to the back door as he darkened the crimson
portions of his "fur", making himself almost entirely black, with two
glowing red points where his eyes were.
He got a radio message from his deck's comm-link. It was
Howler: [(< Crimson, what's the status of the security in this air
shaft, I'd really appreciate it if you could shut it down, thanks! >)]
Freddy picked up the pace and entered the back door. The
small entrance area was modelled after a bank vault door, complete
with an immense baroque combination lock. He snickered, "The wilson
who programmed this probably watches too much 'Price is Right'..."
The work was done by an incompetent, obviously. He scanned the area
and found that it wasn't connected to the main alarm system: it was
simply a "physical" deterrent. The Badger snickered again and slashed
the lock with his huge claws and it fell away. He then reached his
hand into the "innards" of the door and ripped out the rest of the
guts. Freddy then yanked on the "vault door" and it swung open. He
walked inside.
The next room was apparently a datastore. He really wasn't in
the mood to search the I/O logs, but he hadn't gotten a call from the
razor-gang for a while, so he decided to see if anything might present
itself. He found a bunch of transactions from Robert Travis to an
unknown party. "Hmmmm, this could be interesting, but..." He really
didn't have the time to chase down the connection, so he decided to
stash a copy of the records instead: he constructed a line of black
carpenter ants that marched a binary pattern of ant/no-ant back to the
satellite uplink via the path he "burrowed" there. Back in the van,
his fingers felt around and flipped the "RECORD" switch on his PR-128:
the I/O logs would be stored as nonsense music, sufficiently encoded
and hidden from prying eyes...
He delved deeper into the construct, but ran into some ICE on
the way through one "hallway". It was white ICE, a barrier construct
taking the shape of a semi-transparent glowing wall across his path.
He decided to "sleaze" his way past this one. He loaded the program
into working memory and the Badger changed to the form of a corporate
decker who he had gotten an image of while searching the I/O logs. He
now looked like a Fuchi-goob, complete with uniform suit and nametag
("Hi, my name is _Bernie_!"). This enabled him to walk directly
through the ICE, which parted and reclosed in a green shimmer.
Freddy immediately recognized the room he entered as the SPU.
"Ahhh, this is where I want to be..." He killed the decker image and
reverted to the Badger form. The room looked like a large octagonal
room with many digital readouts on the walls and a console on one side
to access subnodes to the SPU. He lumbered over to the console and
punched up a local map to the section of the construct he was in.
At the ends of the eight passageways off the SPU, there were
four datastores (including the one that connected to the "back door"),
one interface section (with I/O terminals that legal users entered
from), and three nodes that simply pointed to other maps. These three
passageways were blocked by ICE, as well. "Great..." he mumbled.
He got another report from Howler on the comm-link: [(< Shit!
Man, I lost count of the floors, can you get a fix on me, and tell me
what floor I'm up to? >)] Freddy cringed: the razors were advancing
faster than he was. His foray into the I/O logs had put him behind.
He'd have to make his way to the CPU in a hurry. And he didn't like
to hurry...
He tried the middle of the three unknown passageways, counting
on the symmetric tendencies of most Matrix programmers. He wasn't
disappointed. "This must be the place..." He gazed up at one of the
meanest ICE constructs he'd ever seen: it was a gigantic spider,
hanging off it's web on the "ceiling" of the tunnel. It looked like a
monstrous version of a wolf spider, with it's hairy body and legs.
However, it's jaws were greatly disproportionate: the huge maw made it
appear as a demonic caricature of its smaller cousin.
Freddy suddenly felt a presence to his side that made him
jump: "SHIT! Mortis, *please* don't do that!" The rigger had plugged
into Crimson's hitcher jack to check out his progress.
The dwarf laughed over the link until Freddy pointed out the
ICE on the ceiling. Mortis' eyes bulged and almost popped. "How are
you doing in here?"
Crimson walked back to the octagonal room to avoid
accidentally tripping the ICE. "Well, that critter in there looks
*awfully* 'black' to me, if ya know what I mean." The dwarf nodded
and he continued, "I haven't been able to do drek about security in
the Arcology yet, but I have a hunch that the CPU is right beyond that
ICE..."
The rigger understood. "I'll tell them you'll have control in
five minutes, or they're on their own. Sound about right?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Oh, and if you start smelling burning
hair, be ready to pull me out...quick." The dwarf nodded and jacked
out.
Freddy took a deep breath and entered the passageway with the
spider. He figured it would be triggered when something passed under
it, so he constructed a "ping" program that looked like a wind-up
mouse. He set it down rolling toward the end of the tunnel and waited
for the ICE to strike. "Com'on, you hairy bastard..." He snarled and
barred his teeth, waiting...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 20/21]
Date: 11 Aug 92 06:44:45 GMT
The spider construct didn't seem to notice Crimson's ping
program - until the mouse got just past it. Then, with lightning
speed it pounced, sinking 2 razor tipped legs into the mouse's back.
The ping program returned some info to Freddy before it fizzled out:
PING PROGRAM 34: SEGMENTATION FAULT. HAVE A NICE DAY!
The ICE then went back to it's waiting, which was pretty
strange for "black" ICE. Usually once it was triggered, black ICE
would go on some form of extra alert for a while. This gave Crimson
the information he needed: it wasn't black ICE - the arcology probably
couldn't afford it. Black ICE was illegal and only the largest
corporations - Fuchi, Renraku, Aztechnology, and a few others were the
only ones with enough clout to ignore these laws with impunity... they
also didn't give this ICE out to anyone... That meant it had to one
helluva bitchin' grey ICE program, though.
Crimson breathed a sigh of relief, albeit a small one. Grey
ICE could fuck you up, but it didn't kill: it generally trashed your
deck, told the authorities where you were and let THEM kill you.
He spawned another "ping" program and waited...
The "spider" attacked Crimson's ping program predictably and
Freddy moved like lightening to take advantage of the situation. His
claws appeared to triple in size as he slotted a stonger attack
program. The Badger jumped on the ICE's "back" and started rending,
but the spider reached up with one of its eight arms and threw him
against the wall, hard.
He did a double back flip with a half twist to get to his feet
again (a real badger could never do it, but it was easy in a virtual
environment) and landed facing the spider again. He growled at it,
"Bastard...I bet you're written in COBOL, aren'tcha?" The spider
lashed two claws at him and he rolled aside. He got to his feet and
thought, "Yeesh, I wonder if this thing has...WEBS!" He dove out of
the way as the spider projected a stringy substance at him from its
abdomen.
"Answers that question...well, time to Klone, man..." He
slotted his "special" Mirrors program called "Klone". He'd developed
it early in his career, and it helped define his name. The program
kicked in and three other Badgers appeared, all looking exactly like
Crimson, yet moving independently. One of the Badgers growled, "Four
Badgers versus eight legs...I'll take those odds.." The Badgers
cicled the spider, who watched with multi-faceted eyes and prepared
for new tactics.
Freddy had been able to discipline himself to ridgidly
multi-task his own brain functions: indeed he could pat his head and
rub his belly simultaneously, as well as recite lyrics, play chess,
and watch tv at the same time. This was how he was able to create and
play multi-part music with just his mind. However, as the tasks
became more complex, or as more tasks were added, he was more likely
to slow down or make a mistake. A while back he decided he could
handle three Klones, plus himself, with sufficient skill.
The Badgers had surrounded the ICE, which finally decided to
make its move: it lunged toward the Badger in front of it. The Badger
did not take offensive action, but instead parried and dodged the
spider's attacks, while two Badgers attacked the legs and one slipped
underneath to "take a stab" at the soft white underbelly. Three legs
immediately gave way, but the Badger underneath was entangled in a web
and the one in front was eventually crushed by the spider's jaws.
The ICE hobbled around to attack the remaining Badgers, who
were already rattled by the spider's strength. Once again, the ICE
faced a Badger who simply parried, while the other attacked from
behind...
* * * * * * * *
Back in the van, sweat poured from Freddy's forehead. Fingers
flew over the keys to fast to be seen clearly (Stick practiced helped
him immensely). He grumbled under his breath and finally muttered
"Fuck it..." and slotted a special program...
* * * * * * * *
The spider had just finished impaling the front Badger with a
leg when it felt the heat on its back. It turned around and saw the
remaining Badger standing on its hind legs and wielding a flame
thrower. The incapacitated Badgers disappeared, leaving Freddy's
solitary form to fry the spider. That he did, with great speed and
pleasure. As the ICE twitched in it's death throes, burnt to a crisp,
Freddy swore it gave him a "but you can't *do* that" look.
"Oh yes I can..." he growled, and turned to enter the CPU (or
rather, where he thought it was), taking the flamethrower along with
him. "Time to go to work..." He looked over his shoulder and saw the
spider remained still, with half its legs and a mangled and charred
carapace. He snickered and fried the spider's web before he left,
just to be sure.
He suffered much from the battle: when his Klones took damage,
so did he. But he had survived. That's what counted...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Everything presented here is Copyright by Mark Friedman 1991, all
rights reserved. Well, that's not entirely true! Basic story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)
Also, basic Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use.
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 21/21]
Date: 12 Aug 92 05:21:06 GMT
Crimson entered the huge CPU construct to find a huge
hexagonal room with jet-black walls, matching all the other walls in
the system, with numerous control panels set into them all over.
Sitting at a desk was a decker's icon. His icon typing away at one of
the panels, he was caught off guard by Crimson's entrance. "How the
hell did you get past the ICE!?!?" he said, reaching for the alarm.
He never got a chance to touch it, as Crimson blasted him with his
still-readied flamethrower, causing him to dissolve in a fury of
virtual flames. His slowness pegged him as a tortoise: a user not
having (or not using) a datajack. This was bad. Because he was not
really decked in, the attack fried his old-fashoned terminal, but the
decker was still conscious and probably taking countermeasures now...
Working fast, Crimson went over to the consoles, taking them
all in in a glance. One part of the room had access ports for loading
of the datastores, another part had access to the slave nodes
controlling the building's cameras, elevators, and other hardware, and
another part had status consoles for the matrix...
Going to the datastore section, Crimson's worst fears came
true as the color of the walls shifted to red and a computerized voice
came from the CPU construct: PLEASE ENTER ACCESS CODE.
Cursing, Crimson fastloaded a masking program, imaging it as a
name badge. "Hi! My name is Bernie! How are you today?" As it
appeared, it sent of an absolute blur of data, overloading the CPU and
causing it to repeat the request, in a substantially slowed manner:
PLEEEEEEEESSSHHHHHHH...
Not waiting around, Crimson punched a button on the datastore
console, expecting to be 'teleported' to the appropriate datastore,
but finding instead that the CPU's functions appeared to be frozen.
"SHIT!" cursed again. Tracing the datastore's location on the system
map set into the wall, Crimson whisked out of the CPU at top virtual
speed, leaving the CPU in the middle of saying: ...ACCESS...
"This goddamn system may have lots of expensive hardware, but
the administrators are the most amateurish I've ever seen..." Crimson
chuckled.
Reaching the 'secure' datastore, Crimson found it unguarded by
ICE. Chuckling again, he stopped as he ran into an invisible barrier.
This wiped the smile off of his face, since this was exactly the sort
of thing that wasn't supposed to be possible. "Then again, maybe the
SysAdmin's not a moron... Nah... Of course he is!"
Reloading his sleaze program, he found that the barrier wasn't
affected, probably due to the increased processor time the ICE was
getting due to the alert. Standing back to think, sitting on it's hind
legs and rubbing it's chin with one clawed paw, an onlooker might be
reminded of a furry "Thinker".
Going back to the local sub-processing unit, Crimson found it
guarded by a corp decker. Loading up another variant of his mirrors
program, he set his mirror to walk towards the SPU. The decker, seeing
a badger walking up, lunges at Crimson's clone and falls right through
him. Crimson, waiting on the other side, swipes at him with his claws
and catches him in the throat, destroying his icon. Sleazing his way
past the barrier, he entered the SPU, sending a command to transport
him to the node. Seeing the SPU hesitate, Crimson loads his masking
program again, simulating the guardian decker and resending the
command.
Appearing in the datastore, the walls were lined with row upon
row of virtual filing cabinets. Browsing through the indices, there
was no mention of Robert Travis' accounts. Then the walls blurred
once again to a searing white, indication that the matrix was to be
purged of foreign connection. Checking the files once again, Crimson
used an alias he had heard in connection with Robert Travis. Only he
didn't know where it was from.
The browse program found a reference, but crashed, giving
Crimson the messge: REMEMBER THE ALAMO!
Quickly hitting the key to upload the info before he was
closed out of the matrix, Crimson was stimied as nothing happened. A
few seconds later, his attack program crashed and gave the message:
BUY ZERPSO!
Checking his deck, he found a virus had been injected and was
working on his utilies. A "tar baby", another type of ICE, had been
injected onto his deck. Checking the logs, he found that it had
entered through the browse program. Erasing all onboard utilities,
Crimson was forced to make his own programs on the fly. Trying to
upload the file, he found it protected by some ICE. Scramble Ice, from
the look of it. Knowing a way around that, Crimson just transferred
the ICE process to his deck, thanking his luck that he now had the
memory, and then uploaded the file, hoping to be able to defeat the
ICE later, at his leisure.
He had barely finished uploading the file when the bottom
suddenly dropped out of all of his senses. He reeled, feeling
disoriented as he was forcibly ejected from the matrix...
| | | | | | | |
Freddy tried to stand up immediately after being dumped, but
he hit his head on the ceiling of the van, hard, and fell to the
floor. Mortis looked back for a second and could see by the decker's
face that all did not go well in the Matrix, but the dwarf went back
to his own work with the drones. By the dwarf's expression he could
tell that the razors were having an incredibly worse time than he just
had. After sitting on the floor a while, breathing heavily, Crimson
gathered up his deck and took it back out to the bike, where he locked
it in the seat compartment.
He sat on his bike and looked up to the 18th floor of the
Arcology while he recovered from the shock being dumped. Through the
transparent aluminum windows he could see red lights flashing. He
also saw autocannons and railguns trained at the side of the building
he was facing, firing at some drones that were probably Mortis'. He
became even more disheartened when some attack choppers came out of
the heliport and started circling. "Wonderful..." he grumbled as he
headed back into the van.
Freddy got the thick briefcase from under the decker's
console, puched in the combination, and opened it up. Inside was his
disassembled Ranger Arms sniper rifle. He stared at it for a few
seconds and then shook his head. "Fuck 'em." He closed the case and
walked out of the van with it.
He walked out to the bike and put the rifle case in the seat.
Freddy looked at the Arcology once more, at the firefight that had now
blossomed like a fiber-optic flower. "Not tonight..." he muttered and
mounted the bike.
As he rode away into the night (like all the pro-runners in
the trids do), he flipped on his PR-128 and took a listen to the I/O
log he had captured as sequencing data. He smirked at it. "Heh.
Frank Zappa: _Jazz_from_Hell_..."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1991, all rights reserved. Basic story plot and Matrix help
was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him all the profits
from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well...
Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.
- Mark "Crimson" Friedman
Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former "Beat poets, "If you put a hungry ferret in your
about King Crimson." not children." trousers, he'll run around..."
- Robert Fripp, 5/11/90 - anonymous - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
Back to the index for this section
Back to the Tea Bowl