From: bmromer@cs.millersv.edu (Ben M. Romer)
Subject: [New Story] Pickpocket
Date: Wed May 03 21:28:38 MET DST 1995

          Pickpocket

          A Streetpunk Story
          By Ben Romer



               Jasen was used to lying on the street. Usually, he found the
          cold asphalt comforting, especially after a good take.  He'd lie
          there counting the new yen, someimes smiling to himself about how
          long it would be until the creds were missed. The sidwalk was
          just about the best friend he had, but not tonight.

               Not with five razorblade edges at his throat.

               He had tried lifting her credstick, she had seemed to be one
          of the better-off streetgangers, nice clothes, well-hidden
          cyberware, Kodak-custom neon-green eyes, the kind that seem to
          glow in the dark. He'd found her attractive (as a target) at
          first, but now all he could see was her razornails. He inched
          back, slowly, unnoticably he hoped.

               "Move another micron and you're lunchmeat, jackman -- I hate
          thieves."  The neon eyes followed Jasen's, watching, waiting for
          him to make a move. "Just hand the stick over and I'll letcha go,
          be quick 'cause I don't got time to fuss with ya'."

               Jasen was still in shock -- how had she thrown him so fast?
          He barely remembered reaching for the stick, in his mind it
          seemed he'd been standing and then instantly floored. Nobody had
          ever done that before, nobody had ever even felt his touch. She's
          wired for bear, he thought, must have some kind of motion sensor.

               He opened his hand and dropped the stick. "How the hell did
          you do that, lady? Where'd you learn to do that stuff?"

               "On the street, kid, now shuttup and gimme that stick 'fore
          I chop ya." She grabbed the stick with her other hand, holding
          her blades at his neck long enough to grab the stick, before
          retracting the edges and backing off. "Well go on, buzz, kid,
          you're pissin' me off."

               Jasen turned and ran, stopping at the end of the alley, far
          enough to disappear from sight. The woman turned and strode off;
          Jasen tailed her, keeping his distance but staying within sight
          of her. He wanted to know more about her -- what she was up to,
          where she learned that throw, how she detected him.


               --------------------------------------------------

               Turning the corner, Theia found herself on the sidewalk
          again, the dim streetlamps illuminating the two-laner with a
          milky irridescence. Her neon green eyes took in the surroundings
          like a wolf scanning for prey, as she strode quickly toward a
          darkened telecomm booth on the streetcorner. Lifting the headset,
          she keyed in a number written in blue ink on the palm of her
          hand.  Two rings, then a deep voice: "Hello. Sidelong glances..."

               "make friends in the dark," she completed the passphrase,
          "dammit, Johnson, where's yer boy? I ain't seen nobody."

               "My courier will be there shortly, miss. He will deliver the
          package to you, and you will bring it to me. Payment in full on
          delivery. Understand?"

               "Yep -- twenty-five K new yen, in anonymous credit," Theia
          spoke quietly into the receiver, "expenses nonwithstandin'."

               "You will receive what's coming to you, miss." Click.

               Theia hung the headset back up. I hate that prick, she
          thought, always playin' wordgames. But he pays well.

               The motion sensor display in her left cornea blinked:
          movement behind, range fifteen meters.  Theia spun, razorclaws
          sliding into place as she activated the mental directions to her
          cyberware.  The sensor highlighted the movement: a red, man-
          shaped outline, standing behind the wall in the alley. Probably
          the courier, Theia thought, silently moving towards the darkened
          corridor.

               "Hold it there, razorgirl," A male voice said... from behind
          her? She turned, but the motion detector was blank -- not even a
          background trace image from the wind.

               Too late, she thought to look up -- the taser prong struck
          her in the chest, sixty-thousand volts running through her body
          for a split-second. Her razorknives twitched spasmodically as she
          passed out, the prong pulling free from her body.

               --------------------------------------------------

               When she came to, Theia was being held from behind by a
          muscular man, her arms and hands tied and held in a way that, if
          she'd try to use her razors to cut free, she'd slice her own
          wrists first. She struggled for a moment -- realized that he was
          far too strong, even with her muscle grafts -- then heard a laugh
          from in front of her.

               "Sorry razorlady, you're on the shit list for tonight," he
          said, his hands resting on his wide, brown leather belt, an auto
          45 hanging freely from its holster on his hip. He gave her a
          slight grin, his yellowish teeth bared; he scanned her body with
          his brown eyes, taking in her curves. "It's a waste, but we got a
          job to finish."

               "Who are ya', ya' honorless punks, fight like MEN, not
          cowards!" she screamed, violently fighting the strong grasp of
          the man holding her.  "ain't ya' got any BALLS, ya' 'fraid of a
          GIRL? C'mon, lemme loose, chummer, if ya' gotta' do it, do it
          right."

               "Nope, you lose, ladyblades, not that I'd mind goin' a few
          rounds, considering what I'd win" -- he licked his lips -- "but
          ya know how biz works."

               He reached for his gun and got nothing.

               "Looking for this, chummer?"  Jasen pulled the trigger,
          sending a burst of leaden death into the assassin. As the man
          fell, Jasen turned the gun on the huge man, just in time to catch
          a glimpse of him seeming to glide through the air smoothly, flip
          over, and land on his back, Theia's hands locked on his knee.
          Jasen fired, the bullets ripping into the man's chest and face.

               "Whatthehellareyoudoinghere?" was all Theia could manage to
          say, staring at Jasen, wondering.

               "Well I ran into this guy a ways back," Jasen said, keeping
          the gun pointed in her general direction, but with a smile on his
          face, "he had this box, well, he used to have this box, and then
          these two guys geeked him. I figured they'd be on you next,
          so..." Jasen pulled a small, rectangular box from a pocket,
          tossing it to her.

               "Gratzi, chummer, i owe ya'..." Theia grinned. "Mabye
          thieves ain't so useless."

               "Show me that throw you did, and you're on your way to even,
          miss..." Jasen said, "and F.Y.I. the name's Jasen."

               "Theia. Ya' know, everythin' considered, Jay," she said, a
          grin crossing her face, her neon green eyes looking across at
          him, "I think I'm gonna' show ya' a hell of a lot more than that."


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