From: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu (Russell T. Brown)
Subject: ADMIN: the Shadow Games Storyline
Date: Fri, 20 Aug 93 03:31:00 GMT
Hoi Chatsubo Patrons,
My Name is Russ Brown and I was writting a story earlier this
year entitled "Shadow Games", but I got kind of busy working this summer
and haven't posted anything since april. Well I just finished revising
the six parts that I have finished and I am going to repost them. In
addition to fixing all the spelling and grammatical errors I could find, I
changed some conficting details so everything is consistent now. I have
also reworked the plot a little and have some entirely new scenes added.
For this reason I will post them with the header REVISED instead of REPOST.
I hope you all enjoy this and send me any comments you might have. I
should have the next all new installment out soon. Oh yeah, one more thing,
I use clever puns (okay really bad puns) on childrens games as the titles
to each part. What do you all think are the good or do they stink?
Russ
--
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* Russell T. Brown * E-MAIL: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu *
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Ididn'tdoitnobodysawmedoityoucan'tproveanything - The Immortal Bart
From: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu (Russell T. Brown)
Subject: REVISED: Shadow Games Part 1
Date: Fri, 20 Aug 93 03:32:32 GMT
Shadow Games
Part 1: Found and Lost
By Russell T Brown
Revised 8/16/93
The nearly invisible silver-white wraith hovered silently over the
glowing datapipe. The datapipe ran from below the Wraith's hovering form
to the three red cubes of a cyberspace construct. Behind him, the Wraith
knew that the datapipe connected to a local communications node. The
construct was the virtual representation of the Mile High Investments Bank
database. MHI Bank's system was divided into three parts: Administrative,
Accounts and Security, each represented by a cube. The three cubes were
stacked in a pyramid, with the Security cube perched atop the other two,
like a watchdog. Despite the millions in electronic currency tucked
inside the Accounts cube and the fortune in confidential data contained in
the Administrative cube, the Wraith focused its attention on the Security
cube. Already having cracked the thin but tricky intrusion countermeasure
programs (ice in the decker's slang) on the datapipe, the Wraith waited.
All around, the computer generated world of cyberspace, also
called the matrix, stretched into the distance. After the turn of the
century, as computer technology advanced and the worldwide
communications/computer network grew ever more complex, it became harder
and harder for the average user to cope with the vast amounts of data
available. The solution, provided by a team of computer wizkids funded by
Uncle Sam, was to allow the user to visualize the network as a physical
space using virtual reality technology. After a short testing period,
implementation began on a global scale. Computer systems became vast
halls and vaults packed with glowing pools of data, through which a
user could move his icon. Thus, cyberspace was born.
The formless grey-green void of cyberspace was dotted with the
bright geometric shapes of thousands of constructs. The constructs
represented computers that were attached to the matrix, from private home
decks to the multimillion nuyen systems of the megacorporations. The
nearer constructs were visible as neon-hued blocks, spheres and pyramids,
but the more distant ones resembled mere pinpoints of light. Datapipes
connected the various constructs and formed a fragile spiderweb of light
along which communications pulses flared brightly as they sped to deliver
their precious information. Anywhere the datapipes intersected,
communications nodes directed them down the correct pipes, just like old
time traffic cops.
The Accounts cube flared brightly for a microsecond and then
released a communications pulse. The compulse glowed like a miniture star
as it shot down the dataline towards the wraith. The wraith ignored it
and it reached the communications node and vanished into the distant
reaches of cyberspace. Shortly, the Security cube released a compulse of
its own. In the "real" world fingers flew over a battered keyboard.
\phantom: catch pulse
Waiting....Compulse intercepted.
This time the Wraith extended a skeletal hand and intercepted the
pulse, which contained the daily report of compromised accounts at MHI
Bank. The transmission was bound for the International Banking Net, so
all transactions on said accounts could be halted. The Electronic Wraith
chuckled and a choking death rattle sounded in the computer generated
reality of the matrix.
\phantom: list files
3 FILES
Credit_Inquiry
Exchange_Rates
Security_Report
\phantom: open Security_Report
File Encypted. Break [Y/N] ? y
This is what the Wraith had been waiting for and it quickly found
the file it wanted. Random alphanumeric sequences swam into view as the
Wraith scanned the file. Plunging bony fingers into the data, the Wraith
moved the sequences into a logical order, quickly breaking the file's
encryption. Five accounts had been compromised since midnight. The
Wraith scanned the file and selected the second account. Whoever had
cracked the security on the account had already embezzled over a half a
million nuyen before MHI's security detected the unauthorized
transactions. This amount was neither the largest or smallest stolen from
the five accounts, something in the middle would be less memorable. The
Wraith memorized the account number and security access code, it knew that
somewhere in the "real" world the info was being copied onto the hard disk
of a custom built cyberdeck.
The Wraith turned its attention to the section of the file
containing the matrix addresses used by the communications nodes, and
inserted a few lines of code. The compulse would now be delayed for about
two minutes as it was routed through a series of comnodes in South
America, Africa and even Austrailia before reaching the International
Banking Net in Geneva. The wraith re-encrypted the file and dropped the
starlike compulse back into the datapipe.
"Sorry boys," hissed the Wraith, thinking of MHI's hard working
security deckers, "This account's got one more withdrawal in it."
* * * * *
Ronny terminated the data intercept program and punched in the
matrix address of a virtual reality (VR) banking interface in the
Western-North America grid. On his way there, he activated an Icon
Camouflage subroutine and the Electron Wraith (that he liked to think of
as the Phantom of the Matrix) flickered and was replaced by a silver stick
figure with the letters TWI emblazoned on the torso in neon green. Ronny
smiled, in the matrix, he now wore the standard icon of the
bottom-of-the-line Tiwan Instruments Cybermod 1024. Only the most
sophisticated security scan could tell the difference and who would bother
to scan such clunky, obsolete hardware as a Cybermod 1024? Any attempt to
crack even the thinnest ice with a Cybermod was a one way ticket to
comaville.
The green and silver stick figure reached the VR teller machine
and was queued up automatically to the shortest line. Ronny checked the
chronometer on his cyberdeck: 82 seconds remaining. "Might as well be
days," he thought.
In front of him, the neon blue suited icon of a Mitsubishi
salaryman completed his transaction and sped off into the matrix. Ronny's
TWI stick figure stepped up to the virtual teller and punched in the
account number and access code to the account at MHI Bank. Then he
casually downloaded fifty thousand nuyen to the credchip slotted in his
cyberdeck. Ronny checked the chronometer, 56 seconds to spare. "Slicker
than snot!" thought Ronny.
* * * * *
Ronny slipped the fiber optic connector out of the datajack
nestled behind his right ear and blinked as the electron horizon of
cyberspace flickered and became the water stained wall of his squat. The
transition from the matrix to the so-called real world always left Ronny
disoriented at first. He shook his head to clear it and stretched his
cramped muscles. Ronny reached down and removed the credchip from his
deck, the chronometer read 0602 hours. He coiled the fiber optic cable and
set his cyberdeck down on the workbench. The two inch plug at the end of
the cable matched the aluminum datajack that was bonded to his skull just
behind his right ear. The datajack was a cybernetic implant that allowed
his cyberdeck to generated images of cyberspace by a direct nueral
interface to his brain. The modern decker no longer needed antique video
helmets or even elaborate electrode nets to see cyberspace, provided of
course he could afford the cost of implant surgery.
"Not bad for a little over an hour's work," he thought, "It was a
piece of cake! No, no" he berated himself, "I have to remember to use the
street talk if I'm going to blend in here. What would China or Angus say?
Null perspiration. Yeah, that was it, null perspiration chummer, easy
biz."
The plaintive grumble of his stomach brought Ronny out of his
reverie and reminded him of the reason he needed the nuyen in the first
place; he hadn't eaten in two days.
* * * * *
Ronny washed down the last bite of his second deluxe soy burger
with a swig of his chocolate Nutri-Soy (TM) shake. Ronny stuffed three
Microwave Magic Rice Fries (TM) in his mouth. Bleech! Cold already. He
swallowed quickly and polished off his shake. Dumping his trash, he
purchased another shake from one of the numerous vending machines that
lined the walls of the Snack Shack. This one had artificial cherry flavor
and color and was fortified with vat grown algae instead of soy beans.
Ronny took the plastic cup from the machine and sucked a quick taste
through the straw. Not bad, it even tasted like cherry, or at least it
tasted like all the _other_ artificial cherry flavoring Ronny had tasted.
Even in his years at the Massachusetts Boys Academy, Ronny had
never tasted real cherries or any other real fruit (all fruits were rare
delicacies). Ronny spent 10 years at the prep school that served the upper
crust of eastern seaboard society. Both his parents had been loyal
FujiCorp employees. Dad was a researcher in Fuji's pioneering
nanotechnology team and Mom was an upper-mid level manager in the Employee
Residence Assignment Office. So Fuji was glad to spring for the cost of
sending the Philips only son Ronny to an expensive boarding school. And
all he'd had to do was sign a little seven year exculsive employment
contract with Fuji for after he graduated.
Ronny shook his head, trying to rid himself of those unwanted
memories. That part of his life was miles, and years, away from his
existence in the shadow world of the Denver-Alpine-Metroplex. Also known
affectionately to its residents as the DAM sprawl. Ronny sighed. It was
no good thinking about his time back east, that life was gone forever.
Taking another swallow of artificial cherry flavored algae, Ronny headed
for the door. Maybe a walk would help clear his head.
Coming out of the Snack Shack, he had to pull up short to avoid a
girl sprinting down the sidewalk. Ronny got glimpse of her flashing green
eyes and roguish smile as she brushed by him on the narrow sidewalk.
Ronny watched her go, long blonde hair flowing behind her. Something
heavy crashed into him and the next thing Ronny knew he was on the ground
with an aching backside and throbbing wrist. Blood ran down his chin from
a nastily split lip to mingle with his cherry splattered t-shirt.
Ronny looked up to see the two latinos in jeans and synth-leather
jackets standing over him. Their moussed up war crests and gold lip plugs left
no doubt who they were. "Mestizo Warlords" thought Ronny, "they control this
chunk of the sprawl." Then Ronny noticed something that nearly caused his
heart to stop, one of the Warlord's expensive synth-leather jackets was stained
with a familiar red liquid.
"You're meat asshole" growled the cherry stained gang banger. He
flicked his left hand and a trio of four inch blades emerged from the back
of his hand.
His chummer laid a hand on his arm and said "Forget this wilson,
homes. The skirt is bolting." He pointed down he street behind Ronny.
"Damn!"
They both sped down the street after the fleeing girl and a very
relieved but slightly sticky Ronny was left sitting outside the Snack
Shack.
* * * * *
Ronny finished toweling off and stepped out of the shower. Then he
dressed in the fresh clothes he had laid out: black jeans, high top
sneakers, and a white t-shirt with a hologram picture of a dragon on it.
Wiping steam from the mirror, Ronny saw his freckle spotted face that was
topped with and unruly mop of red hair. Brushing the hanging strands out
of his face, he tied it into a ponytail. He tossed his towel in the
hamper on his way out of the bathroom.
The rest of his apartment consisted of a single C shaped room that
wrapped around the bathroom. One alcove was a small kitchenette with a
refrigerator and microwave and the other held a dura-foam mattress. The
main living area contained an ancient, battered sofa, a standard telecomm
unit and Ronny's workbench and cyberdeck port. Next to his workbench sat
Ronny's Laz-E-Boy recliner that he always used while jacked in.
Ronny flopped on the sofa and began digging in his coat pockets
for his credchip. He needed to contact Blackeagle and the others, they
were probably getting short on cash by now. It wasn't that he and his
friends were broke, in fact they all had fat accounts in a Bahamian bank,
that Ronny had set up to manage their money. The problem was that the
bank had been implicated in an illegal credit laundering operation for an
African Dictator and all accounts had been frozen. Ronny was waiting for
the International Banking Net's interest to wane before liberating his
friend's credit. Not finding the credchip, Ronny went to check the
pockets of the jeans he had on earlier. Strike two. Ronny froze. He
remembered the blonde street girl brushing past him on the sidewalk, her
hand trailing across his stomach. Damn! She'd lifted his credchip like a
pro and left him as a gawking roadblock for the two PO'ed Warlords.
Well, he would have to break the bad news to his chummers. Ronny
crossed the room to the telecomm. The telecomm was the household
information system of the 2060's, combining the functions of cablevision
(over 130 channels worldwide), the video telephone, voice/video answering
machine, electronic mail and fax machine. It could also be programmed
with simple functions such as controlling the apartments lights and air
conditioning or searching public databases for information. It was also
the only legal method of connecting a private cyberdeck to the matrix. Of
course, that allowed the connection to be traced and recorded, which was
why Ronny's deck was connected to a highly illegal cyberport over by his
workbench.
As he sat down at the telecomm, Ronny noticed the blinking message
light. There was only one message in the queue and it was from a public
pay telecomm. He hadn't checked the messsages after jacking out earlier
so the message could be from anytime this morning. He hit the playback key
and Ramrod's face appeared on the screen. The timestamp read 0732, just
after he left for his food run.
"Hola Ronny boy, El Aguila Negra has set us up with some serious
part-time. Heavy matrix work, he said, so be at Club Nitro! at high noon
to meet Mr. Johnson. Adios!"
Ronny punched up a window to display the current time: 1142.
Drek! He had less than half an hour to get across town to the meeting.
End Part 1 <Shadow Games>
Copyright 1993 by Russell T Brown
Written sometime early this year.
Revised and Expanded 08/16/93
Comments, Criticisms and Random Ravings (TM) welcome at: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu
--
**********************************************************************
* Russell T. Brown * E-MAIL: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu *
**********************************************************************
Ididn'tdoitnobodysawmedoityoucan'tproveanything - The Immortal Bart
From: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu (Russell T. Brown)
Subject: REVISED: Shadow Games Part 2
Date: Fri, 20 Aug 93 03:33:52 GMT
Shadow Games
Part 2: Musical Aliases
By Russell T Brown
Revised 8/16/93
Ronny held onto his seat as the monorail hit another rough section
of track. Maintence on the old system wasn't what it should be, but the
Transportation Authority was concentrating on its new pnuematic tube
system. Unfortunately for Ronny and thousands of others, the compressed
air driven trains couldn't make the climb up into the higher elevations of
western regions of the Denver-Alpine-Metroplex. Since his apartment
was up in the Evergreen sector he had two choices of transportation: the
monorail or sending his grandkids into debt for a cab.
As the train descented the mountain into the Golden Sector, Ronny had a
good view of the DAM sprawl. Various aircraft buzzed around the towers of
government agencies and megacorporations. The Coors Corporate Biosphere
Colony perched on one of the flattop mesas as if to distance itself from
the rest of the sprawl. It was a totally sealed enviornment for Coors
Multinational employees to live, work and play. Rumor had it that there
was even a live rainforest inside there.
Ronny noticed that Centurion Security Vehicles were on patrol once
again, which was comforting. The company had stopped service pending a
renegotiation of their law enforcement contract with the DAM and while
Ronny and his chummers weren't exactly on good terms with the Centurions,
the streets had gotten downright dangerous in their absence. Ronny heard
that they had signed a new five year contract with the city, so they
should stay on the job for a couple of months at least. The 'copter he
had been watching turned north and sped away, probably headed for the
Rocky Flats Government Housing Project.
A quarter-hour later the monorail squealed to a stop and Ronny
stepped out onto the elevated platform. The cold wind gusting down the
street caused Ronny to shiver inside his jacket. He turned the collar of
his "business jacket" up to keep the wind off his neck. He called it his
business jacket because he always wore it when involved in any shady
deals, and all deals made on the street were shady. That's why his knee
length, synth-leather topcoat was lined with metal strips and ballistic
cloth. The jacket also had a built-in shoulder holster for his Berreta
Razorgun and a large pocket across the back for his portable deck. In the
lefthand pocket, he fingered the harrd plastic rectangle of his new
credchip. It was anonymous of course, bought with Ronny's emergency
stash: 500Y in actual cash money. Sure, using cash was illegal, but what
wasn't these days?
Club Nitro! was located on a narrow side street a few blocks from
the elevated monorail station. As Ronny approached the nightclub, he saw
the antique neon sign was lit even at midday. The exploding purple
firecracker was clearly visible in gray light of noon, sunlight rarely
reached ground level in the sprawl between the permanent brown haze and
the high-rise buildings. The flashing sign cast a strange light on the
row of bikes parked in front of the club. He scanned the bikes and
spotted the familiar form of Ramrod's Harley. BigMac's van was parked down
the block. He knew Blackeagle had probably caught train like him but he
didn't see China's Mitsubishi Streetdemon. She had probably caught a ride
with either Ramrod or Bigmac, after all she was doing them both. She'd be
sleeping with Blackeagle too, if he was interested. This subject was a
sore spot with Ronny, particularly since she wouldn't give him the time of
day. "Aw, screw it!" he thought, "Who'd want to be with such a slut
anyway? Yeah keep telling yourself that, Ron, you might even start to
believe it."
It was funny, he didn't even know her real name. China. That was
all she ever gave anybody. Ronny also thought it was strange calling his
closest friends by aliases like BigMac and Ramrod, but it had become a
habit. It had been months before they trusted him with their real names:
Angus Mac Neil and Hector Ramirez. That's the way things were in the
shadows. The same day that Ronny had arrived in the DAM, Thomas
Blackeagle had saved him from becoming dogfood for a couple of 59th Street
Hellhounds. Ronny had been naive enough to trust his benefactor with the
whole truth and his real identity. The big Amerindian had returned the
favor and been honest with him as well, or so he thought. Now he wasn't
so sure, Blackeagle hadn't betrayed his trust, but only records locked up
tight in the United Nations Military Computers knew the secret of his true
identity.
Ronny turned his mind back to business as he stepped into the
club's dim interior. As his eyes began to adjust, the club erupted in a
dazzling lightshow and pulse-pounding dance track. That was Club Nitro!'s
trademark, the murky stillness was punctuated at random intervals with
short sets of music and lazer light. Ronny tried to pick out his chummers
from a crowd of dark siloettes and strobe-lit freeze frames. Suddenly a
hulking figure towered above Ronny. Masses of vat-grown muscle rippled
beneath the bouncer's jeans and shredded Club Nitro! t-shirt. A strong
hand clamped down on his shoulder and Ronny winced as the thumb pressed
under his collarbone. "Ya don't look twenty-one ta me feeb!" growled the
bouncer, pushing him toward the door.
"Well..."
Then China was beside him, "Chill, Trog, he's with me." Her quite
voice cut through the thunder of the club's sound system. Ronny could
feel the razorgirl's intimidating presence next to him. The bouncer must
have felt it too, cause he let go of Ronny's shoulder real quick. When
the bouncer saw she wasn't gonna carve him up right away, he recovered
some of his 'tude.
"Say it ain't so, China! Whattaya want with a feeb like this?
Wouldn't ya rather have a real man?" He showed a gap-toothed grin.
"Strictly biz, Trog." she returned. Then adding an edge of menace
to her voice, "That cool wit' you?"
"Sub-zero," the bouncer backed away, looking for easier
meat to tenderize.
"You can let go of your toy gun now, Ronald." she chided him.
Ronny released the hilt of his razorgun where it rested inside his jacket.
He knew she didn't approve of his choice of weapons, China believed
carrying anything smaller than nine millimeters was a waste of time.
Massaging his throbbing shoulder, Ronny turned to thank China for
chasing off the bouncer. She wore a full-length, black synth-leather
trenchcoat over pink spandex tights and a black lace bra. Her blonde hair
was shaved on the sides, but long otherwise. About twenty thin braids
fell halfway to her waist and the long bangs covered one of her cybernetic
eyes. The cyberoptics were expensive Nikon Predators; glassy black orbs
with silver iris-lenses that could see in both low light and infrared and,
Ronny suspected, had recording capabilities. The only other visible
cyberware was a trio of chipjacks above her left ear, but Ronny knew she
could move with the blinding speed only possible with wired reflexes. He
also knew her silver polished nails covered retractable, inch-long razors,
a favorite addition among female street samurai.
"Thanks China," Ronny began, " but don't call me.."
"You're late." she interupted.
"Hey, I was jacked in all morning and just got the message, " he lied.
"Save it for Blackeagle." She grabbed his collar and lead him to a
table off to the right. On the way over, he saw Ramrod at the bar,
studiously ignoring them both. Ronny knew that if anything serious
started, Ramrod would be the team's ace in the hole. China stopped at a
large circular table with six figures around it. Ronny recognized BigMac
in a red plastic rain slicker and Blackeagle in his habitual Buckskins.
The intricate beadwork on the Amerindian's real-leather garment always
intrigued Ronny.
Across the table from the big Amerindian sat an immaculate
corp-clone in an expensive Armani three-piece. The suit's two bodyguards
kept a watchful eye on the surrounding area. They wore grey wool
trenchcoats over their Armani's, showing the bulges of what were probably
large calibur SMG's on shoulder straps. While the guards had no visible
cyberware, Ronny knew that corp men like them would only have
state-of-the-art hardware. One of the guards sat on the suit's right
while the other stood behind his chair. The trio's attitude and clothes
screamed wealth, which could attract a dangerous element in this part of
the DAM, but only the stupidest muggers would fail to see their corp
connections.
The woman on the suit's left was another story though. She was as
much a part of the streets as Blackeagle's outfit. She was a striking
brunette in a black jumpsuit and mirrored shades. Her long, black hair
was pulled back in a tail revealing the win circles of chrome cyberjacks
on her temples. "A decker then," thought Ronny, "and probably a good one
if she can afford jacks like that." Unlike Ronny's own datajack which was
an all purpose interface that could be used with anything from a cyberdeck
to digital skill chips to a simstim player, her cyberware was designed as
a highspeed cyberdeck connection. The presence of another decker made
Ronny a little edgy, he preferred working alone. Ronny could feel the
corpguards watching him as he sat next to Blackeagle, straddling the chair
backwards. China stood behind him and rested one foot on the seat of his
chair.
"...and all that remains to be discussed is the compensation for
contracted services." the suit was saying. With a glance toward Ronny, he
continued "And this, I presume, is your wayward cyberspace operative."
"Blackeagle nodded, "Yes, this young buck is what passes for our
decker. Mr. Johnson may I present Ph..."
"Cypher" interrupted Ronny.
BigMac shot Ronny a questioning glance, but Blackeagle took his sudden
name change without even a hint of surprise. "Cypher will work with your Miss
Chromedancer to handle things in the matrix." Chromedancer ... that name was
familiar to Ronny, she had an impressive reputation among deckers.
"Somebody wanna fill me in here?" asked Ronny.
"It's basic biz ... Cypher," said China from behind him, "Mr.
Johnson wants to hire us to help a ... friend of his make a major career
move."
"Its your job to run matrix cover for us while Chromedancer grabs
some data" added BigMac.
Ronny's face must have revealed his displeasure, because the
brunette said "Problems chummer? Do ya think I'm not up to your speed?"
Ronny wanted to tell her that was exactly the problem, but he knew
that answer would not be conducive to making this deal. "Naw, I've heard
of you Chromedancer, your rep is real good. It's just that I usually work
solo."
"I'm sure ya can make an exception, this once" said China, laying a
razor-nailed hand on his shoulder.
Ronny got the message. Besides, he couldn't cover his friends and
crack a database at the same time. "Sure, what's the target?"
The suit smiled, "United Robotronics" he supplied.
"Great," thought Ronny. He knew more than he cared to about United
Robotronics. He'd made a run on their system once and after peeling away
a vaneer of unremarkable commercial ice encountered a towering wall of
military class black ice. Only a few quick keystrokes and a predefined
escape subroutine saved him from the killer ice that day. Ronny was not
anxious to tackle UR's system again. He looked at Chromedancer, "In that
case, let's hope you're as good as your rep."
She smiled, "I am."
"Now back to our negotiation, Mr. Blackeagle" the suit cut in,
"What is your standard fee for this sort of operation?"
"25K for each of my team, plus expenses."
"That sounds fair my friend," the suit flashed a perfectly
constructed smile, "Expenses subject to my approval of course. I'm not
going to buy you all summer homes in Rio." The perfect smile flashed
again.
"Mr. Johnson, I think we're in biz," concluded the Amerindian.
The suit placed a credchip on the table. "This anonymous chip
holds fifty thousand nuyen. Contact me when you are ready to move and
we'll discuss expenses. And remember, your deadline is the end of this
month, after that our friend goes back to Tokyo. Good day." He got up and
his two guards escorted him out.
Chromedancer was handing Ronny a plastic telecomm card and saying,
"Ring me tomarrow and we'll talk, chummer." Then she headed for the door.
As she left Ronny decided he liked the view. After she was gone, he
examined the card, the front was a silver foil hologram. Ronny tilted it
to get the right angle in the light; it was a ballerina.
Blackeagle had a pocket computer out and was dividing up the 50K
nuyen when Hector came over from the bar. The hispanic street warrior sat
down and asked Ronny, "You get tired of being a Phantom, mi amigo?" Seeing
Ronny's confused look, he tapped the side of his head. "I was listening in
on my built-in two way." BigMac handed Hector something small and
metallic, an electronic bug.
"No, I just didn't want anyone outside our group to know I
am the Phantom."
"Por que?"
"'Cause of what happened at..." started Ronny, then changed his mind
about confiding in his friends. "Let's just say there are certain
corporate parties who would be very interested in knowing the Phantom's
identity and location." And UR is not the last in line, he added silently.
"Really? Exactly how interested Ronald? I'm experiencing negative
credflow, y'know" teased China. At least Ronny thought she was just
teasing him.
"Boy, I grab that!" said BigMac, missing the joke, "Tickle my
credchip Tommy!" he passed it to Blackeagle.
When he finished, Blackeagle said "So Ronny, are you in or out?"
"In" he passed over his credchip
End Part 2 <Shadow Games>
Copyright 1993 By Russell T. Brown
Written sometime early this year.
Revised and Corrected 08/16/93
Comments, Criticisms and Random Ravings(TM) welcom at: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu
--
**********************************************************************
* Russell T. Brown * E-MAIL: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu *
**********************************************************************
Ididn'tdoitnobodysawmedoityoucan'tproveanything - The Immortal Bart
From: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu (Russell T. Brown)
Subject: REVISED: Shadow Games Part 3
Date: Fri, 20 Aug 93 03:35:19 GMT
Shadow Games
Part 3: Follow the Leader
By Russell T Brown
Revised 08/16/93
eep! Beep!
eep! Beep!
eep! Beep!
Ronny reached over and switched the alarm off. He pulled the covers
back over his head and tried to get back to his dream. She was this
beautiful blonde; young, slim and with a firm and shapely body. Her long
blonde hair framed her delicate face. She had full lips, a thin nose and
the most vibrant green eyes. She beckoned Ronny to...
Ronny sat up in shock: It was the girl from the Snack Shack! Why
would he dream about some dirty street urchin that he had never even
talked to? Much less one that had lifted a 50K nuyen credchip from him!
If anything he should be dreaming of vengeance, he hoped those two Mestizo
Warlords had caught up with her.
eep! Beep!
eep! Beep!
"Damn Alarm," he grumbled and tossed the clock into the trash can.
Ronny had no more time for dreams today, it was already noon and he had a
full schedule. He had to contact Chromedancer and coordinate for the
United Robotronics run. He was sure she wanted to check out his decking
skills. It was pretty much S.O.P. for two deckers who had never worked
with each other to make a practice run together. This helped put them at
ease with each other and learn how well they could work as a team. It
also gave you a chance to make sure you weren't paired up with a total
wilson who didn't know a piece of paydata from his own ass.
When both cyberjockey's had good reputations, the practice run was
often dropped. Or it was even considered an insult to a famous decker. But
Ronny had no rep as "Cypher", the name he gave Chromedancer, or under any
other name for that matter. Most of the cyberspace-cowboy-wanna-bees out
there worked long and hard to develop a reputation as THE hot new operator
(the stupid and unskilled getting brain-fried along the way). It was
common for a decker to leave a trademark on each job just to prove it was
his. Then with a decent rep, an aspiring datathief could land freelance
corporate (unofficial of course) jobs for the really big nuyen.
Ronny, however, had worked hard to remain anonymous. On every job, he
had strove to leave no trace for the security sysop to detect his
uninvited presence in their system. This was the method he used to crack
some of the most sensitive corporate and military databases in the world.
The thought of shouting out that fact to the whole world gave Ronny the
shakes, which is why he didn't want anyone but his closest friends to know
he was the decker known as The Phantom. In the last three years, since
Ronny had started running the matrix, The Phantom had become something of
a legend for selling hot data before its owners knew it was gone. The
Phantom had remained faceless by only selling the data through virtual
reality clubs in the matrix, never in the flesh. Naturally this lead to a
great deal of speculation on the Phantom's true identity and even a few
impersonators. So far no one suspected Ronny was the Phantom.
"'s funny," he thought "I could probably run down the street,
shouting that I was the Phantom and nobody would believe me. People want
the Phantom to be a tall, handsome intellectual type, like in the holo
adventure flicks, not a skinny, freckle-faced kid. Well I guess I got
what I wanted." Ronny dragged himself out of bed and towards the shower.
* * * * *
Jaz sat huddled in the mouth of the alley across from the
Mountainview Apartments. The trash bags that lined the alley made a
semi-soft seat and a decent windbreak. Still, she shivered inside her new
coat as the chill January wind whipped down the alley. She should have
used her new-found (okay not _found_ exactly) wealth to rent a room for
the night, hell she had enough to buy an apartment, but she'd been too
interested in following the Geek and had lost track of time.
Jaz had first seen him up in the Evergreen Sector when Nick and Juan
were chasing her. God! She couldn't believe they had tried to slice her up
when she wouldn't jump in the sack with both of them. She probably went
too far when she asked them that if they were both so eager, why did they
need her? Jaz chuckled at the thought. Those macho latino guys had no
sense of humor.
Anyway, the Geek just stepped out in front of her, so she tucked a
hand in his pocket as she brushed by. She came up lucky, very lucky.
Then the Geek ran into Juan and Nick, slowing them down and letting her
fade. Then she ducked into this boutique to hide and check out the
balance on the Geek's credchip. She totally spazed when the balance came
up fifty-thou. To celebrate she bought a whole new outfit and the coat.
Then Jaz decided it was time to buzz from the Warlord's turf for a while,
since those two walking hormones were probably still after her.
An then when Jaz got to the 'rail station, there was the Geek, buying
a ticket with a brand new credchip and looking like he wasn't missing the
50K at all! This bore looking into, after all, ya know what they say
about a geek and his nuyen. Following him was simple. She sat two seats
behind him and he never had a clue! Too busy watching the 'copter that
kept buzzing the train. She followed him into the nightclub and slipped
by when the bouncer started hassling the Geek. That's when she saw the
Razorgirl, totally wiz; cool, mean and in control. That's how Jaz wanted
to be, then she wouldn't have to run from a couple of horny gang bangers.
She watched the meeting that followed. The Geek and the Razorgirl
were obviously shadowrunners, the same with the big Amerindian and the
short, bearded guy. That definitely explained the Geek's financial sitch.
He had ta be their decker, he sure as hell wasn't no super-ninja-commando
that the Vid made all shadowrunners out to be. When they all left Jaz was
torn about what to do, she wanted desperately to become a decker and run
the matrix but she wanted to be like the Razorgirl too. Now that she knew
some real pros she had to convince them to teach her the trade. Yeah,
like some guy she'd just taken for 50K was gonna help her out.
Following the Razorgirl proved much harder. In fact, Jaz was sure
she'd been spotted a couple times but nothing happened. After making the
rounds to several different bars, Jaz followed her to these apartments.
Spending the night in an alley was not Jaz's favorite thing and she'd done
it far to often. She was about to book and find that hotel room when the
Razorgirl stepped out onto the street. She turned and nearly ran down the
street. Jaz jumped up, determined not to be left behind. Jaz would catch
up and tell the Razorgirl her plans about shadowrunning. But before Jaz
could catch up, she ducked into a tea shop. The shop was small, if she
went inside she'd be spotted for sure. Instead, Jaz went to the public
telecomm booth on the sidewalk, where she could watch through the front
window.
* * * * *
This was the place. China opened the door and entered the quite
little teahouse. The place was nearly deserted. The only customers were
an elderly Asian couple seated in the back and a dark-skinned man at the
counter. That had to be the guy. She sat next to him at the counter.
"Shadow?" she inquired.
"Si, Senorita .." was all he got out before her fist crashed into his
face. He flew off the stool and landed heavily on his back. His nose was
flattened over to one side and blood was pouring out of it. He tried to
pull his gun, but her foot lashed out in a motion almost to fast to see.
The pistol went flying and the sound of bones cracking was clearly audible
in the quite teahouse. China grabbed his broken wrist and hauled him to
his feet. Then she slammed his forehead into the counter a couple times
and added a nasty cut above his left eye.
"I'm just gonna say this once, chump, so listen up." China
growled in his ear. "I don't betray my friends, got that?" She
squeezed his broken wrist.
"Y-yes," he whimpered.
"Good. I see you again and you're meat pal." China grabbed him
him by the back of the pants and tossed him out the window. Before
she left she tossed a roll of bills on the counter to pay for the
damages.
* * * * *
Jaz held her breath as the Razorgirl left the tea shop. The guy lay
bleeding on the pavement not five feet from her. Maybe now was not the
best time for a chat. Jaz noticed the piece of pink paper the Razorgirl
dropped on her way out, but waited till she was down the street before
leaving the booth. Jaz picked up the paper and scanned it:
==================================================================
SPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDY
==================================================================
SPEEDY DATAFAX
TO: FAXNUM:303.872.3200@GOLDENSECT.DAM.NOAMER.PUB
FROM: ANON@SPEEDYFAX.COSPRINGS.DAM.NOAMER.BIS
DATE: 24*01*68
MESSAGE: CHINA,
I OFFER TOP PRICE FOR INFORMATION ON THE LOCATION OF
ONE RONALD A. PHILIPS, SIN:473019771. IF INTERESTED
CONTACT ME AT THE BEIJING TEA HOUSE NOON TOMORROW.
-SHADOW
==================================================================
SPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDYSPEEDY
==================================================================
* * * * *
After a quick shower, Ronny treated himself to a breakfast of
leftover Raman Noodles that he had picked up on the way back from Club
Nitro! last night. Tossing the empty noodle carton in the general
vicinity of the trashcan, he fished through the pockets of his coat for
the calling card Chromedancer had given him. Ronny examined the rectangle
of silver plastic, turning it over in his hands. On the back was a
magnetic strip with Chromedancer's telecomm number encoded on it. The
front was a silver foil hologram of a ballerina in midleap. He tilted the
card to catch the light at the right angle, the dancer's skin was shining
chrome. "Beautiful, but cold," he thought, "just like Chromedancer
herself. Hell, just like most women he knew."
Ronny was about to run the card through the autodial slot on his
telecomm when something stopped him. He had a feeling he might want to
have this number for future use. Normally that would be no problem, cards
like this could be used many times. But someone like Chromedancer would
not like to be so easily located, Ronny suspected that this card would
erase itself after a single use. In his short time in the shadows, Ronny
had learned to trust his instincts, so he went over to his workbench and
sorted through the clutter until he found a portable datareader.
The datareader was a pocket computer with small keypad and built-in
LCD screen. Across the top were multiple ports where various I/O devices
could be connected. Ronny plugged in a magnetic strip scanner and keyed
up the appropriate software. Ronny ran the card through the scanner and a
second later the telecomm number appeared on the LCD. Ronny saved it in
the computer's memory.
Ronny sat down at the telecomm and ran the card through the autodial
slot. Just as he suspected the card came up blank. "Gotcha," he whispered
under his breath and absently tossed the card on the floor. He keyed
Chromedancer's number in by hand and waited. After a few rings, the
telecomm displayed a graphics screen of a silver ballerina dancing across
a sky-blue background above the words: "The Mayer Academy of Dance." A
woman's voice, that Ronny didn't recognize, greeted him "Thank you for
calling the Mayer Academy, this is Phyllis may I help you?"
Ronny chuckled, this was a clever cover. The dance academy would
throw off anyone who didn't know the card's owner, but it still provided a
connection to Chromedancer. "Yeah, I wanna sign up for electric tango
lessons, Chromedancer." smarted Ronny. The graphics screen clicked off
and Chromedancer's face filled the vidscreen. Now without her shades,
Ronny saw a definite Asian cast to her brown eyes but he couldn't if it
was natural or cosmetically induced. Behind her was simply a blank wall,
revealing nothing about her location. Similarly, Ronny knew that all she
saw was a garbage filled corner of his apartment, by design of course.
Chromedancer smiled and said, "Lovely digs, ya got there Cypher.
Who's yer decorator, Landfills R Us?"
"Who cares? This place is just a storage locker for the meat," he
said, imitating the disdainful attitude he knew some deckers had towards
the "real-world."
"Cute. Well kid, it's time to strut your stuff. Meet me at The
Corral, if you can find it that is!" She cut off the call.
"Cocky Bitch" thought Ronny. He switched off the telecomm and
crossed the room to his workbench. Ronny double-checked the fiber optic
cable connecting his deck to the secured node on the Cyberguild's private
communications network. The Guild for Anonymous Access to Cyberspace, or
Cyberguild for short, was a loose association of decker's and hardware
types who maintained a network that allowed almost untraceable access to
cyberspace for those who could pay their fees. Through their net, you
could enter the matrix virtually anywhere on the globe. One of those
connections was even within the matrix construct known as The Corral. The
Corral was a virtual hangout for the so-called "Console Cowboys," hotshot
decker's who already had major reps in the shadows. Normally the only way
in was to crack the ice on the club's construct and prove you had a right
to be there. Once inside, however, the right connections could buy you
access to the back door.
Ronny removed the Icon Persona Chip that held the programs and
graphics for his Phantom icon and replaced it with another chip. The
second chip held another icon that he used for incognito work. The icon
was a stylized, well muscled man with pitch black skin. A red neon light
bar ran across the otherwise featureless face at eye level. Then Ronny
slotted two more chips a that contained special ice breaking programs.
Ronny flopped down on his ancient Laz-E-Boy recliner. He did all of
his decking from the battered leather chair. He never understood how some
deckers could sit in a lotus position for hours on end as they ran the
matrix. He tried it once and was rewarded with an aching back and numb
legs. Ronny picked up the cord from his deck and inserted the two-inch
plug into the aluminum receptacle of the datajack behind his right ear.
One press of the power stud and he felt himself falling into another
world.
* * * * *
The Ebony Cyclops blinked into existence in the common room of The
Corral. The VR bar looked convincing enough to be found in that other
place called the DAM. The Cyclops surveyed the room and failed to find
any silver skinned ballerinas. The Cyclops approached the virtual
bartender, a 2-D graphic lifted out of a last century gangster vid. For
some reason, no one had ever bothered to flesh the icon out to 3-D.
"Hey Flatman," said the Cyclops in a metallic voice, "Ya seen
Chromedancer around?"
The bartender scoped the less-than-familiar icon of the Cyclops.
"Neg." he replied, "Who should I say is lookin'?"
The Cyclops ignored Flatman's attempt to pump him for a name and said
"Set me up with a conference room and when 'dancer shows send her in."
Flatman twirled his two dimensional mustache and glanced significantly at
the credregister on the bar. The Cyclops slotted his index finger in the
payment slot and down loaded the nuyen for the room. Flatman touched
something under the bar and a door faded into being on the far wall.
The Cyclops entered the conference room to find an empty cubicle with
only a control pad next to the door. Since the decor was not important,
he selected "modern business office" from the rooms predefined choices. A
glass topped table and several Dura-Foam chairs appeared. The Cyclops sat
in one of the springy foam chairs and waited.
* * * * *
The Silver Dancer leaped and pranced across the gray vastness of
cyberspace. She came to a halt with a graceful pirouette outside a giant
yellow octagon. The three story (relatively) high yellow octagon was the
matrix construct known as The Corral. There were no datapipes connected
to the construct or I/O ports on its surface. The only way inside was to
cut your own way in. The Dancer circled the construct slowly, looking for
anomalies in the smooth yellow surface. On the fifth side, the Dancer
found what she was looking for, a small fracture in the smooth wall of the
construct.
>run ram
>Ram v2.0 Launching....
The Dancer reached under her tutu and pulled out a large battering
ram. The four meter long log was capped with a carved bronze ram's head.
The petite Dancer hefted the ram like it was weightless and brought the
bronze head crashing into the yellow wall of the Corral's construct.
Shards of neon yellow wall shot in all directions as the ram punched a
dancer-sized hole in the construct. The Dancer entered The Corral's outer
defense perimeter and was confronted with a maze of twisting corridors.
No problem, the Dancer knew the way. Seconds later, the Dancer stood in a
dusty street outside an Ancient West style saloon. A Cowboy blocked the
entrance, doing rope tricks with his lariat. The Cowboy flicked the circle
of rope towards the Dancer.
>run evasion seq alpha
>batch file started
>Evading....
The Dancer executed a complex series of steps and the lariat landed
in the dust. Before the ice-cowboy could draw it back for a second try,
the Dancer was past him and inside the saloon. Inside The Corral, the
Dancer saw only a few icons that she recognized; there was Iceman, Sir
Silicon, and The Dodger. Since she didn't know what Cypher's icon looked
like, and there was no he could be here already, she decided to wait at
the bar.
As she approached the bar Flatman, two dimensional bartender,
directed her to one of the conference rooms. A large, black skinned,
red-eyed Cyclops waited for her inside the room. "Howdy, Chrome baby," it
said in a hollow metallic voice. "What's the lag?" Amazing. The Dancer
was stunned, the kid had beaten her here. He was obviously more skilled
than she had first thought. "Let's get down to biz, CD" said the Cyclops,
"You wanted to give me a little test, I think?" Fine, if he wanted the
test so bad, she'd give him one.
>run knot/7201 -tvf
>Logic Knot v1.02
random seed = 7201
Launching....
A length of rope appeared in the air above the conference table. It
writhed like a snake and quickly tied itself in a knot the size of the
Cyclops's head. "There ya go, sport!" quipped the Dancer, "just untie the
knot."
Half an hour later, the rope lay on the table, neatly coiled. "So do
I pass?" asked the Cyclops.
"Ya did okay, kid. Actually, I'm surprised ya finished so quick. I
seen guys sweat over that thing for hours. And I gotta admit I had some
doubts, but yer good, real good. Now lets talk about this UR gig."
The Cyclops held up his finger to stop her. "First I have a little
test for _you_ Miss Chromedancer," he said. She didn't like it, but the
deckers' unwritten code said he had the right to test her too. The Dancer
nodded her ascent. "Okay" he said, "There's this bank in the Bahamas..."
* * * * *
Dr. Saito Hiro, Chief Cybernetic Engineer Of United Robotronic's
Military Systems Development Group, pressed the last circuit board into
place. He yawned as he connected the power cable and started booting the
system. It was late and all of his subordinates had retired for the day,
which was just as well since this project was not sanctioned by United
Robotronics, but a private project. A triple beep let Saito know that the
system had booted up and was waiting in standby mode. He reached into the
ventral access port and started the full diagnostic routine. LED's flashed
green, all systems on-line. Finally, after months of covert, after-hours
work it was ready. And none to soon either, the day when it would be
needed was close at hand. Saito switched it over to run on internal power
and put it back on standby mode. Then He closed and sealed the ventral
access port and wheeled the workbench to a security locker at the back of
the lab. He placed the remote activation control in his pocket and sealed
the locker with his personal code. Then Saito left the lab and headed for
his penthouse in the residential levels, it had been a long day.
End Part 3 <Shadow Games>
Copyright 1993 by Russell T Brown
The story and Characters are all my own creations.
Written sometime early this year,
Revised and Corrected 08/16/93
Comments, Criticisms and Random Ravings(TM) welcome at: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu
--
**********************************************************************
* Russell T. Brown * E-MAIL: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu *
**********************************************************************
Ididn'tdoitnobodysawmedoityoucan'tproveanything - The Immortal Bart
From: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu (Russell T. Brown)
Subject: REVISED: Shadow Games Part 4
Date: Fri, 20 Aug 93 03:36:22 GMT
Shadow Games
Part 4: I Spy
By Russell T Brown
Revised 08/16/93
The Boston-Atlanta-Metropolitan-Axis, 24 December 2064. Christmas
Eve. In the BAMA sprawl there were no silver bells or frosty snowmen.
Here and there holiday decorations peeked out of store windows, but these
were few and far between. Christmas wasn't what it used to be, but that
was to be expected. Around 90% of the people in the sprawl weren't even
Christian anymore. Of those that still bothered with religion, most were
Shinto, Buddhist, Hindu or converts of the New Church. Still, with all
these philosophies, the sprawl was not a place of peace and brotherhood.
At this moment, David Philips and his wife Anne were accutely
aware of that fact. He scanned the storefronts for the address they were
looking for. This run down section of Old Boston was not the safest place
in the sprawl, especially at near dark, but they had come for a reason.
Anne pointed out the place they were looking for, it was a nameless bar in
the basement of an Italian restaurant. They went in quickly, anxious to
escape the unfriendly eyes of the the sprawl's emerging nightlife.
Inside, the bar was dark and smokey. It was decorated with real,
hardwood paneling, a legacy from the previous century. They took a booth
and waited. Mr. and Mrs. Philips were a little out of their element here,
the bar was a far cry from the orderly environment of the FujiCorp
Enclave. David had obtained a six-hour pass to leave the corporate
housing facility to supposedly do some last minute holiday shopping.
Their real purpose for coming was more sinister: blackmail.
A scruffy looking man in an old U.S. Army field jacket approached
them, "Well if it aint Ma and Pa Philips." He slid into the booth opposite
them. "Ya got my money?" he continued.
"How did you know it was us?" asked David.
"Face it bud, in this dump ya don't zactly blend! Now, ya got my
money??" insisted the blackmailer.
"After we pay you," said Anne "How do we know you won't send the
files anyway?"
"Jus gonna have to trust me darlin'" grinned the blackmailer."If ya
don't pay, I'm gonna hafta tell the gridcops about yer boy's cyberspace
runs inta the U.N. Military systems." Anne reached into her purse to get
the credchip they had prepared when the front door was thrown open and
three figures rushed in. They carried assualt rifles and wore the dark
green uniforms of FujiCorp Security. "Ya crossed me!" snarled the
blackmailer. Both his hands went inside his coat. The right came out with
a large calibur autopistol and the left held something small and round.
Before he could bring the autopistol to bear, three laser sights guided
three teflon coated slugs to blow three matching holes in his chest.
"Nobody crosses me," he groaned as his left thumb popped the pin on the
thermite grenade and dropped it under the table. Two seconds later, the
resulting fireball claimed the lives of one married couple, a blackmailer,
three FujiCorp security guards and one seedy bar.
* * * * *
The Denver-Alpine-Metroplex, 26 January 2068. Over three years
later and 1500 miles west. Angus MacNeil opened up the accelerator and
cruised through the southbound traffic lanes on the freeway. The big four
wheel drive van was an extension of his body. It was connected directly
to his brain through his rigger jacks. Twin fiber optic cables sprouted
from the steering column and plugged into steel-lipped sockets on the
inside of each wrist. Threads of blue ink wove around the jacks and
encirled the wrists to form an ancient Celtic pattern. The diminuative
rigger was a curious mixture of things ancient and modern. His cyberware,
the rigger jacks that allowed him to interface with specially prepared
vehicles and robotic systems and a micro-radio reciever/transmitter
implanted in his skull, were definitely on the modern side. However,
Angus liked to think of himself as an ancient Scotts Highlander. In
addition to the tattoos, Angus wore his family's kilt and his red-brown
hair and beard were long and braided. He was also a master with that
ancient Scottish blade; the claymore.
Angus drove with his eyes closed, seeing instead video feeds from
minicams located on all sides of the van. He could also feel the pitch of
the road under his tires and the throbbing of the big V-8 engine like a
heartbeat. The van was custom built. The steering wheel could be removed
completely and replaced with a special computer deck that would allow
Angus to drive the van and simultaneously control up to six remotes. It
was also armor-plated with quarter inch steel, had solid rubber tires and
a sophisticated alarm system. The cargo area in the back held a
motorcycle rack (currently occupied by Hector's Harley) and a fold out bed
with a complete emergency aid kit.
In the passenger seat, Hector Ramirez tried to ignore the fact
that he sat in a vehicle going almost 100mph and the driver seemed to be
napping. Hector and Angus were a mismatched pair, at six-two Hector stood
nearly a foot taller than the rigger. Hector was strong, in great
physical shape and all of it was natural, the product of hard work in the
gym and steroids, rather than cloned and surgically implanted muscle
tissue. He took pride in his body and tried to keep his cyberware to a
minimum as well. He had wired reflexes of course, implants that boosted
your nervous system and let you get your butt out of danger. It was
getting hard to survive on the streets these days without them. The only
other in-body tech he had was a two way radio like Angus's. Hector wore
old camo pants and shirt that had been stripped of all insignia. He wore
his black hair in a crew cut, reminiscent of military style. The van
swerved wildly and passed within inches of another car as it changed
lanes. He struggled to make his voice heard over the road noise and the
heavy metal blaring over the van's sound system, "Hey hombre, you awake?"
Angus cut the volume on the stereo then said "What's wrong Hec?
You 'fraid I'll nod off and dream about hitting the ejector seat, neh?"
Then he braked and turned onto an exit ramp that led into a nearly
deserted warehouse district. Angus steered the van through a maze of
warehouses, street after street of the same gray metal buildings.
Graffiti sprayed on the dirty metal buildings declared this the turf of
the Hellrazors street gang. He parked the van in front of one building no
different than a hundred others. They both got out of the van and Angus
used the special frequency on his implanted two-way radio to lock the van
and activate it's alarm system.
The pair approached the steel door of the warehouse and Angus rang
the buzzer. "Aha if it isn't my good friend BigMac and right on time too!"
said a voice that wafted up from a hidden speaker. "Who's your companion?"
Angus knew the harsh voice belonged to Graft, the man they came to see.
Graft was a fixer; part fence, part loanshark, part arms dealer and total
profit-monger. Graft was like a hundred other fixers in the DAM,
providing stolen or illegal goods and services to those with enough nuyen.
But Graft had one thing that made him unique, a crazy uncle who lived up
in the mountains. His uncle may have been crazy, but he was also a master
at designing and building rigger remotes.
"This is Ramrod," said Angus, using Hector's street name "he's my
mechanic."
An electronic buzzer sounded and the door swung open. The two
entered the warehouse and found it was filled with shelves packed with
everything from hot simstim players to military surplus radiation suits.
They were greeted by Graft, a tall, thin man in greasy coveralls. His
head was completely hairless, most of his exposed skin was covered with
burn scars and he wore an eyepatch. "Welcome Gentlemen" his gravely voice
was at odds with his polite manner. He had told Angus once, that he had
inhaled the flames that burned him.
"Morning Graft," returned Angus, "You got my new toys?"
"Of course, don't I always deliver? Getting the helicopter, though,
took some doing." Graft led them through the shelves to a pair of crates.
One of the crates had already been pried open, it contained two spy
remotes nestled in styrofoam packing. The remotes were small and
rectangular, only about 18 inches wide and slightly longer. They were
flat, only about three inches thick and the middle was dominated by a 14
inch rotar blade that allowed them to hover like a helicopter. A cylinder
was mounted horizontally along each side of the remotes. Smaller rotars,
used for manuevering were mounted in the back of each cylinder. In the
front of one cylinder was mounted a video camera and the other held a
pnuematic gun that could fire trank darts, razor edged projectiles or a
number of other things. The remotes' electric motors made them virtually
silent flyers.
Angus spent several minutes examining the remotes then asked "What
about the parasite?" Graft picked up a crowbar and opened the second
crate. He removed a metal sphere from the crate, it was about the size of
a large bowling ball. He set it on the floor and activated its power.
The lower half of the sphere split into eight sections and unfolded into
long, multijointed legs. The remote now resembled a giant, metallic
spider. Six video lens "eyes" were spaced evenly around the dome shaped
back of the spider.
"Forgive me for saying so, my friend, but I thought you were crazy
when you gave me the design for this thing," said Graft.
Angus chuckled. "Well, I knew if anyone could build it, your old
uncle could." He picked up the spider remote and examined its underbelly.
A powerful electromagnet occupied the center along with a small cutting
laser and two retractable steel tentacles. "It looks good," said Angus,
"let's try it out."
"First lets see the helicopter," interjected Hector. Graft led
them through the rest of the shelves to the open part of the warehouse
where the helicopter waited.
* * * * *
Edmund Burke, Vice President of Personnel Aquisitions for Mitchell
Machines International sat in his office sipping his morning coffee. His
desktop telecomm chirpped. That would be Chromedancer checking in on his
secure line. He should have realized giving her this number would allow
an experienced decker to trace his location and thus the identity of his
employer, but this was his first assignment and he was still new to the so
called shadow world of the DAM's criminal element. As head of the
Personnel Aquisitions Division, he was in charge of making contact and
organizing the corporate defections of individual's who interested MMI.
Extracting personnel from other corporations was tricky and dangerous so
they used mercenaries rather than corporate security employees. Also this
way if any of the mercenaries where captured or killed there was no
connection to MMI.
Burke answered the call and it was Chromedancer as he suspected.
"Hoi, Mr. J, hows it hangin'?" asked Chromedancer.
It irked Burke to have to deal with the uncoth street people but
he managed to remain calm. "Fine, and how are you this morning Miss
Chromedancer?" He continued without waiting for an answer, "Did you check
out this Cypher kid?"
"Yeah, the kid's a real hotshot, he surprised me." Chromedancer
smiled. She really was quite beautiful. It was a shame she must be
eliminated, but she knew too much about him and MMI. "Don't worry
though," she continued, "I can plant the data in UR's system without him
knowing. We have the run all planned, just waiting for his chummers to
work out their end of it. Which means I'm gonna need that breaker
software you promised me."
"No problem my dear," replied Burke, "I will have it messengered
over right away. Contact me again when you are ready to begin the
extraction. Goodbye." Any reply she made was cut off as Burke broke the
connection. Now he had to wait for word from the Indian, Blackeagle. His
band of shadowrunners had better be ready soon, Saito was about to be
transferred back to Japan at the end of the month. Burke was worried
about the outcome of this project, he had made the same mistake with
Blackeagle that he did with Chromedancer, giving out his telecomm number.
But he had convinced Chromedancer to plant some information in UR's system
that would allow them to track down Cypher, who would lead them to the
Indian and the others. Burke liked the idea of having UR do his dirty
work for him. As for Chromedancer, Burke had the boys down in software
tech put a nasty little surprise in the program he was sending her.
Things might work out alright after all. They had better, for the sake of
his career.
* * * * *
Ronny rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. The
occasions when he was up and about before noon were rare but the pressure
on his bladder would not let him stay in bed one minute longer. He didn't
sleep well at all. He had been jacked in 'til about four in the morning
and had dreams that made him restless all night. For some reason he had
dreamed about his parents. He hadn't thought about them in a long time, it
was one of the subjects Ronny liked to avoid.
He had spent most of the night running the matrix with
Chromedancer. After they left The Corral, Ronny had her crack the ice on
the Bahamian Bank that held his friends money. She passed his test with
flying colors. She had created a program to simulate an International
Banking Net audit and had gotten them inside in a matter of minutes. She
was one of the best deckers he had ever seen, he hated to admit it, but
she might even be better than Ronny himself. One thing was certain, she
had been running the matrix a lot longer and was familiar with a lot more,
supposedly private, computer systems.
After burning the ice on the bank, they had worked out a plan for
getting into the United Robotronics system. The plan was good, the only
part Ronny didn't like was that it depended on Chromedancer getting a
special ice breaking program from their employer Mr. Johnson. He didn't
like the idea of depending on Johnson for anything, but maybe that was
just his distrust of all corps showing. Well he'd better contact
Blackeagle and tell him that he and Chromedancer were ready, but first he
needed a shower.
* * * * *
Jaz leaned against a candy machine in the front of Merlin's
Arcade. The electronic beeps, squawks and buzzes from a hundred different
video and holo games raised the sound level in the arcade to slightly
above deafening. When you added the lastest rap track from MC Chuckie
Chuck, it was almost enough to make your ears bleed. Jaz took another
bite of her chocolate bar and kept watching the entrance to the club down
the street. She was waiting to see if any of the shadowrunners she had
seen the other day might come back here. Jaz could kick herself for not
following the Razorgirl from the teahouse the other day. The datafax Jaz
had found said her name was China, but who was this Ronald Philips guy?
Was it the red-haired decker or one of the others? If it was him maybe
Jaz could use the info that someone was looking for him to get him to
teach her to be a decker. But first she had to find the shadowrunners
again. God, she couldn't believe she had spazed out and lost China at the
teahouse. So what if she had just trashed that guy, that had nothing to
do with Jaz. Afterward Jaz had gone back and staked out China's apartment
but she never showed. If no one showed up here at Club Nitro!, then Jaz
would head back to the Evergreen Sector and look for the red-haired
decker. That could be dangerous though, if the Warlords were still
looking for her. Speak of the devil, there was the decker going into Club
Nitro! right now. They must be having another meeting, so Jaz decided to
wait and see who else showed up.
* * * * *
As Ronny entered Club Nitro!, he looked around for the bouncer
that had almost tossed him out last time. He found Thomas Blackeagle
watching him from a nearby table first, so he went over and sat down.
"Hiya Blackeagle," he said, "how's it going?" He placed a credchip on the
table, "Here's a present for you. It's Christmas in the Bahamas, they're
giving away bank accounts." Blackeagle nodded his thanks. He was dressed
in cowboy boots, jeans and his buckskin shirt. The buckskins reached to
mid-thigh and were covered with fringe and intricate beadwork around the
shoulders. His black hair was long with a few grey streaks just starting
to show at his temples. He wore it loose with two eagle feathers sticking
up in the back. Ronny knew that his friend had no cybernetic implants of
any kind, but still he managed to survive to the ripe old age of 40. That
was no mean feat when every Tom, Dick and Harry with an atitude and a
little cash could get boosted reflexes and built-in switch blades. Ronny
had asked him why he didn't have any cyberware once, but the only answer
he got was something about "breaking the scared hoop." Whatever, Ronny
guessed it had something to do with an Indian tradition.
"Afternoon Ronny," replied the Amerindian, "What did you want to
talk about?" Ronny told Blackeagle about the plan he and Chromedancer had
devised and his reservations about relying on Johnson's software. And
that he didn't trust Johnson for some reason that he couldn't really put
his finger on. "Let's take a walk." said Blackeagle. They got up and
left the club.
"Burke" said the Amerindian as the headed down the street.
"Huh?" Ronny replied intelligently.
"Edmund Burke," elaborated Blackeagle "That is Johnson's real name.
I have been doing a little checking. He works for a company called
Mitchell Machines International out of California. I hired a friend to do
some deep probing into Mr. Burke's past. Here is what he found." He
handed Ronny a datachip.
"How did you get a lead on Johnson in the first place?" asked
Ronny.
"He foolishly gave me his telecomm number. He's fairly new at this
game." answered the Amerindian.
"I could have checked him out for you Thomas," said Ronny "And I
wouldn't have charged you." Charging someone who had saved his life seemed
wrong to Ronny so always worked free for Blackeagle.
"You had other matters to occupy your attention. By the way, why
is that blonde girl following you? She came into the club right after you
when we met Burke, too."
"Huh?" Blackeagle had a way of catching you by surprise. Ronny
glanced over his shoulder and saw her. "Hey! She's the one who lifted my
credchip. Why's she tailing me?" Ronny was confused.
Blackeagle took him by the elbow and guided him around a corner
and down a side street. "Just do as I say and we'll find out what she's up
to." whispered Blackeagle.
* * * * *
After a couple of minutes, Jaz was surprised to see the decker
come out of the club with the old Amerindian. Unless he'd been in there
since about eight this morning, he had gotten inside with out Jaz seeing
him. The two shadowrunners were walking down the sidewalk across from the
arcade. Jaz slipped out to the street and followed them. They just
seemed to be walking and talking, then they turned a corner. Where were
they headed? Jaz hurried to the corner so she wouldn't lose them. She
rounded the corner and came to a stop, they were gone. The street was
completely deserted. She scanned the scene for clues to where they went.
There was an entrance to the new pnuematic subway, Jaz started toward it.
"Lost something?" said a voice from behind her. Jaz whirled to see
the Amerindian. How had he snuck up on her like that? He moved like a
ghost. Jaz was about to bolt when she realized this was the chance she was
waiting for.
"I was following you." she confessed.
"Or my associate to be more accurate." he said, "The real question
is why?" How could he know that?
"She's probably waiting to pick my pocket again." said the decker
as he came up the stairs from the subway station.
Uh-oh she'd better get on their good side before things turned
nasty. "A girl can make a mistake ya'know." She pulled the credchip from
her pocket, "Most of it's still there, I only spent about 500 nuyen." Jaz
tossed the chip to the decker.
"So you followed me just to give my money back? Somehow I don't
buy that." he said.
Jaz had to convince them she was friendly. Obviously she was not a
danger, the Amerindian looked liked he wrestled grizzly bears for fun.
Jaz took a chance, "Yer in danger. I mean ya are Ronald Philips, right?"
The decker nodded in surprise. Jaz pulled out the pink sheet of the
datafax and handed it to him. "Take a peek at this."
"Damn," he said under his breath,"Its gotta be Fuji."
"You still haven't told us why you are doing this. You must have
a reason." accused the Amerindian.
"I do." said Jaz, "I wanna be a shadowrunner like you guys. I
wanna be a decker."
The decker looked up at the Amerindian, who nodded. "Okay, let's
talk."
* * * * *
He stood on the roof across the street from his quarry's suspected
lair. His encounter with the female cyberai, China had provided him with
the general location of his quarry. It had also provided him with a night
in the hospital. He had been unable to calm China down. The rage he had
found in her mind had caught him by surprise and it nearly killed him. He
had been lucky to escape with a broken wrist and thirty stitches above his
left eye. He pulled out a fresh pain-killer derm and pressed it to the
side of his neck.
After leaving the hospital this morning, he had spent the day
combing the Evergreen Sector. Searching people's minds for the face of
his target. Eventually, the trail led him here. He hoped he wouldn't
have to wait much longer, the winter chill made his wrist throb. Bingo!
There was his target in the flesh. Who was the blonde with him? Some
joygirl most likely, it didn't really matter. He took a cellular phone
from his pocket and placed a call.
A computer synthesized voice droned out the ritual greeting,
"Thank you for calling the Fuji Corporation. You have reached the Security
Command Office. Your call is being traced. This line is for authorized
Fuji Security Personnel only. If you are not an authorized Fuji Security
Agent hang up now. Thank you."
"Codename: Mindshadow" he said into the phone.
"Verify please," said the computer.
"Alpha-one-six-five-niner." he provided.
"Identity confirmed. What can I do for you Mr. DaCosta?"
"Contact Agent Philips, tell her 'Positive contact established.
Scramble team immediately.' Mindshadow out."
End Part 4 <Shadow Games>
Copyright February 1993 by Russell T Brown
All Characters, story and the DAM are my own creations.
The BAMA sprawl is, of course from W. Gibson's books.
Written in February I guess and
Revised and Corrected 08/16/93
Comments, Criticisms and Random Ravings(TM) welcome at: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu
--
**********************************************************************
* Russell T. Brown * E-MAIL: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu *
**********************************************************************
Ididn'tdoitnobodysawmedoityoucan'tproveanything - The Immortal Bart
From: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu (Russell T. Brown)
Subject: REVISED: Shadow Games Part 5
Date: Fri, 20 Aug 93 03:37:53 GMT
Shadow Games
Part 5: Capture the Scientist
By Russell T Brown
Revised 08/17/93
Ronny and Jaz sat on his couch eating a dinner of Chinese food
that he had prepared. Yep, that's right, he called the take-out place all
by himself. In the last 32 hours, since they had come back to his squat,
they had started to get to know each other better. He had taken her for a
cruise through cyberspace so she could see what she was getting into.
Since she didn't have a datajack, he had to rig up an old-style electrode
net for her to wear. The electrode net didn't provide as fast an
interface as a datajack and the resolution sucked. But she was just along
for the ride, Ronny was in control the whole time. After that, he showed
Jaz a few of the basics of programming and computer operating. Jaz had a
long way to go, apparently she had never even touched a computer before,
much less a cyberdeck. She was smart, however, and was picking things up
quickly.
Jaz had spent the night on his couch and today had been a crash
course in computer literacy for her. She had also told Ronny about her
past and how she ended up on the street. She was younger than Ronny had
thought when he first saw her, 15 at the oldest. Her parents had always
been active environmentalists and after that little nuclear mishap in
Kansas City in 2055, they joined Gaea's Salvation Army, the ecological
terrorist group. A few years later, they were killed in a skirmish with
US Government troops and Jaz was remanded to state custody. Since the age
of four she was raised in state institutions and foster homes. At
thirteen, she'd finally had enough and cut out of the system. She ended
up on the street panhandling and picking pockets to survive. The two
positive aspects of Jaz's life so far was that she had managed to a void
turning tricks as a joygirl and had never got hooked on drugs.
"So," Ronny said between bites of sweet and sour tofu, "tell me
Jaz, what's your real name? I always feel silly calling people by
streetnames and aliases like Mr. Death or Super Ninja Guy ." Seeing her
look of distress, Ronny continued "Hey you're gonna have to start trusting
me sometime. When you start running the matrix, trusting my word could
mean the difference between life and death. You might as well start now."
"After considering momentarily, she said "Jaz is short for my real
name: Jasmine." She laughed. "Strange bein' named after a flower, but I
guess that's what ya get for havin' third generation tree-huggers for
parentals. Guess I got lucky not winding up named Rainbow or Moonbeam or
some shit."
"Jasmine," said Ronny, like he was testing the water with his
toe, "I like it, very pretty. Exotic."
The business with the fax still bothered him. It was not a fake,
he had hacked into the Speedy Datafax outlet from which is was sent and it
was listed in their transmission records. Since the sender had paid for
the anonymous service, his id was never recorded in Speedy's system and
Ronny had no way to trace him. What bothered him was that China denied
trashing the guy in the teahouse or ever receiving the fax in the first
place. Blackeagle had gone to the shop to check out Jaz's story and the
shopkeeper had confirmed it, even describing China and the Spanish guy who
had apparently sent the fax. The guy had signed the fax as "Shadow" which
meant nothing to Ronny, but he must be a FujiCorp operative. That was the
only way he could've know Ronny's SIN. Ronny had done his best to destroy
all traces of his identity held in government and corporate databases, but
Sally would still remember his SIN. She was comming after him again and
it looked like China might be helping her this time. He would to find a
new place and lay low for a while, but unfortunately he had things he must
do first.
He glanced at his watch: 22:53. In a few minutes, he was due to
meet Chromedancer in the matrix. The run on United Robotronics was
scheduled for tonight. Angus was going to drop Blackeagle and the others
inside the UR compound at exactly midnight. Of course, he and
Chromedancer had to be inside the system by then to cover their butts.
Ronny set down what was left of his dinner and crossed the apartment to
his workbench.
He examined his cyberdeck. Earlier he had wired an extra
chipsocket into his deck. Now he could slot both of his Icon Persona
Chips; he would run the Cypher chip first but if he ran into real trouble
could switch to the Phantom Chip. The chip with the Phantom Icon had more
advanced programs and a built-in accelerator. Ronny also slotted several
ice breaking programs and a special communications package. He needed the
comm software so he could stay in touch with Angus in the real world and
with Chromedancer once they split up. Angus would be using his headphone
to place a call to Ronny's telecomm, which meant he had to connect to the
matrix that way instead of the Cyberguild's private net. Ronny took out
an old Sony Senseman Simstim player and connected between the telecomm and
his cyberdeck.
"What's that for?" asked Jaz. She had come over and was watching
everything he was doing. She hazarded a guess, "You gonna record the run?"
Ronny chuckled. "Nope. This little baby is not what it seems." He
patted the Senseman. "I gutted it and filled the case with electronics of
my own design. When a trace program comes down the line, this will dial
up a number at random and send the trace on a wild goose chase. I always
use this when I jack in through the public telecomm lines."
Jaz picked up the electrode net, "Can I tag along?"
"Sorry, not this time." he answered, "That net slows down my
reaction time and tonight I'm gonna need all the speed I can get. The run
should only take a few hours, make yourself at home but don't touch any of
the hardware, okay?" She nodded and went back to the couch to finish off
the take-out. He settled into his big, leather Laz-E-Boy and jacked in.
* * * * *
The Ebony Cyclops cruised through cyberspace toward the rendevous
coordinates. On his way there, he activated various utility and
diagnostic programs. He began to feel sluggish and knew that the RAM in
his cyberdeck was getting filled up. So he uploaded the bulky
communications package into his headware RAM: a cybernetic implant in his
meat body. That cleared up the problem and the Cyclops returned to full
speed. He arrived at the predetermined coordinates on the outskirts of
the DAM Industrial Grid and waited for the Dancer to arrive.
* * * * *
The Cyclops and the Dancer waited outside the towering construct
of the United Robotronics system. The construct was a giant, metallic
skyscraper that seemed to be perpetually under construction. The workers
were, of course, all robotic. They swarmed over the tower like chrome
ants; carrying girders, welding and setting rivits. There was a buzzing
inside the Cyclops' head and he knew that it signified an incoming call on
his telecomm in the real world. This was it.
\cypher: exec audansw com1
Executing: Audio Answer by Modem Magic port = com1
The connection was made and he heard Angus' voice in his head "Hoi
Ronny!" The sound of a helicopter made Angus shout to be heard. "Guess I
oughta use the callsigns Hector concocted. Skyhawk to Matrix One, we're on
the way! ETA 15 minutes. You better have control of the security systems
by then."
"Understood Skyhawk." said the Cyclops in its metallic voice,
"Beginning matrix insertion now. Matrix One out." Then to the Dancer,
"Okay we can start the run as soon as I establish our communications
link."
\cypher: exec audinit chromedancer com2
Executing: Audio Initiate by Modem Magic port = com2
Attempting to connect to Chromedancer Icon......
Connection Established.
A silver thread, like a silken spiderweb, now tied the Cyclops and
the Dancer together. They would be able to talk to each other no matter
where they went inside the UR system. "Here we go!" said the Dancer and
she moved towards the tower. The Cyclops was close behind her. United
Robotronics protected its system with a massive layer of illegal black
ice; security programs that could kill a decker with neural feedback.
Around the black ice was a layer of non-lethal white ice, which was
depicted as the newly constructed walls of the skyscraper. The Cyclops
would break the white ice while it was the Dancer's job to crack the black
ice with the special software Mr. Johnson had supplied. They were rapidly
closing in on the perimeter of the construct.
\cypher : exec pick
Executing: Icepick v3.0
A silver javelin materialized in the Cyclops' hand and he hurled
it towards the skyscraper. It tore a hole in the construct where it
struck. Immediately the robots that moved around the building changed
course and raced towards them. They were too slow to prevent the Cyclops
and Dancer from entering the hole. Inside the tower, they faced a
gigantic black sphere. The sphere never would have fit inside the narrow
building, but cyberspace didn't have to obey the laws of a three
dimensional universe. Blue lightning arced across the surface of the
sphere. When they entered, the lightning went haywire and began to arc
toward them.
> run logicbomb
> Logic Bomb v5.5 Launching....
From beneath her tutu, the Dancer pulled an impossibly large
bazooka-type weapon. The petite Dancer fired the artillery piece at the
sphere. When the shell impacted there was an explosion like a star going
nova and the vibrations would have put the '42 California earthquake to
shame. The next thing he knew, the Cyclops found himself in an unknown
node of the UR system.
***WARNING: Defensive Programs at 42% ***
***WARNING: Auto Evade System Off-Line ***
\cypher: identify node
hostname:United Robotronics
nodename:Terminal Subprocessor 3a
Mr. Johnson's icebreaker had trashed the Cyclops almost as bad as
it had the host system. If by some miracle, some of the system's ice was
still on-line and found him in this condition it wouldn't be pretty. The
Cyclops rebooted his defensive programs and attempted to contact
Chromedancer via their communications link.
cypher> Chromedancer, can you hear me? You still on-line?
dancer> Yeah I'm okay. That was some blast, neh? I'm gonna have to have a
dancer> word with Johnson about that.
cypher> I'm in a subprocessor that runs employee terminals, it's pretty
cypher> quite this time of night. Where are you? I am attempting to
cypher> access the building's security system.
dancer> Good luck. That damn breaker program crashed half the system.
dancer> I'm headin' for the R&D database, catch ya on the way out.
cypher> I copy, Cypher out.
The Cyclops turned his attention to picking his way through the
shambles of the UR computer system. Time was running short, he had to
have control of the the security system before midnight .
* * * * *
Angus guided his helicopter/body towards the target site. The
United Robotronics compound occupied a complete city block and was
surrounded by a fourteen foot concrete wall. The wall was topped by
electrified barbed wire and mounted with numerous video cameras and
electronic sensors. "ETA thirty seconds." Angus shouted over his shoulder
to the others.
"The kid better have control of things down there," observed China
from the cargo area. She and Blackeagle and Hector all sat on the floor
of the cargo area next to the open side doors. They were all dressed in
black kevlar body suits and heavily loaded with arms and equipment.
Hector was armed with a pump-action shotgun, a .44 magnum Colt pistol and
a combat knife in a boot sheath. He also carried a large satchel that
contained several explosive devices and other goodies. He had his
headphone tuned to the same frequency as the helicopter's radio. Hector
donned a pair of goggles that could switch from nightvision to infra-red
vision.
China carried a pair of Uzi sub-machine pistols, complete with
silencers and flash surpressors. Her cyberoptic implants made goggles
like Hector's redundant, but she did wear a radio headset. She had chips
slotted in all three of her chipjacks. The first held a chip that endowed
her with the knowledge of how to bypass electronic locks. The second held
a Japanese language chip in case Dr. Saito's English wasn't so good. The
third jack held a blank video chip that she was recording the entire run
onto.
Blackeagle was armed with an H&K 227 assault rifle and a pnuematic
powered carbine loaded with trank darts. The Amerindian also carried a
steel-headed Tomahawk and long bladed combat knife in case things got up
close and personal. Blackeagle also wore a radio headset that matched
China's. "You do not give our young friend enough credit, China." he said.
"I am sure he has things well in hand."
Angus triggered his headphone and said to Ronny "Skyhawk to Matrix
One. Tell me you're ready for the drop off."
After a second, a distorted, metallic version of Ronny's voice
filled his head. "Affirmative Skyhawk. I am in control of the security
system, no alarms will be relayed to the authorities. Watch out though,
damage to the computer system has alerted the in-house security. Drop the
team when ready."
Angus switched his headphone back to standby and yelled back to
the others "Heads up Chummers, this LZ's gonna be hot!" Then they were
sailing over the outer wall of the UR compound. Angus lowered the
helicopter to just a few feet above the ground. In a matter of seconds
the three shadowrunners were out of the 'copter and scrambling to find
cover in the courtyard. Angus activated the two hovercraft-style spy
remotes and sent them after his pals. Search lights clicked on at the
sound of the helicopter, but by the time they swept towards him, Angus was
already leaving.
* * * * *
Blackeagle stayed low as he raced across the open area towards the
entrance to an underground parking garage. China and Ramrod fell behind
him. Even with their cyber-enhanced speed they could not keep up with
him. The Spirit of the Stag lent him its power, gave him speed. As he
entered the ramp that lead down to the garage, Blackeagle saw two UR
security men guarding the way. They were both busy looking up at BicMac's
swiftly departing helicopter. Blackeagle raised the carbine and quickly
fired two trank darts. The first guard collapsed with a dart stuck in his
neck, but the collar of the second guards thickly padded uniform stopped
the second dart. Blackeagle rolled to the side, dodging the guards return
fire. Three heavy slugs slammed into the pavement beside him as he placed
a dart in the back of the guard's hand. Ramrod and China arrived as the
guard hit the ground.
Blackeagle cursed silently, the sound of the guard's gun could
give them away. He had used the trank carbine in an attempt at silence.
To late for that, he could hear other UR personnel all around so he
holstered the carbine and unslung his H&K. BigMac who was cruising around
the sprawl at a safe distance by now, sent one of his hovering spy remotes
into the garage first. Blackeagle followed with his two companions close
behind. They hadn't gone a hundred feet, when there was a high-pitched
whine and a sound like thunder and the spy remote disintegrated. They all
took cover behind concrete support pillars before the minigun could be
turn on them.
Blackeagle called on the Spirit of the Owl to help him see in the
dark and quickly found their assailant. The robot was large, it's top
nearly scraped the ten foot ceiling. It was bipedal and had two stubby
arms. The legs were articulated like the back legs of a horse, with the
knees facing backward. The body was roughly rectangular, with the longest
dimension parallel to the ground and the front looked like a giant
electric razor. On one of the short arms the minigun was mounted and the
other sported a RPG launcher. It was called a SCARAB (Sensory Controlled,
Armored Remote Assault Biped), United Robotronics built them under
contract for various military organizations around the globe. The SCARAB
was clearly very heavily armed and armored but what made it most dangerous
was the fact that it was controlled by a human mind. The SCARAB was
actually a rigger remote.
The SCARAB was advancing on their position and blowing large
chunks of concrete from the pillar Blackeagle was hiding behind. China
was already firing and the nine millimeter slugs from her Uzis just
chipped the thing's paint. Blackeagle squeezed off a burst. Even though
his assault rifle was loaded with teflon jacketed rounds, they didn't
pierce the SCARAB's armor. "Ramrod," yelled the Amerindian "Take it out!"
Hector lifted his shotgun. It was loaded with miniture Sabot
rounds. Just like the larger artillery shells, these could punch a hole
in a battleship. Unfortunately, Graft had only had three in stock when he
and Angus made their supply run. The Sabot shell hit the SCARAB right in
the shoulder, blowing off the arm with the minigun. Undaunted, the SCARAB
began to arm its RPG launcher. The second and third Sabot rounds hit the
robot dead center, leaving only a pair of metallic legs standing.
At the sound of running footsteps behind them, China spun and cut
down an entire squad of guards with her twin Uzis as they reached the
bottom of the ramp. "Let's move out!" commanded Blackeagle "We need to
reach the elevators before we run into any more SCARABs. Hector
hesitated, listening to Angus on his headphone. Then he took the metal
sphere of the parasite remote out of his satchel and set it on the ground
before running after the others.
* * * * *
When he heard the alarm claxons, Saito knew the time had come. He
jumped out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants and shoes. From a hidden
compartment in the rear of his closet, he retrieved a bullet proof vest
and a metal attache case. The case contained documents of as much of his
work as he could sneak out of the lab. He would have to rely on the
decker Burke had hired to get the complete records from the computer.
Then Saito took a small calibur handgun, (On the street it would be called
a ratgun since you obviously needed something bigger to stop a man) from
the hidden compartment. Saito put the vest on over his t-shirt, then
looked around for his lab jacket. Donning that, he put the pistol in one
pocket and checked the other for the remote activation unit. Finding it
right where it was supposed to be, Saito sat down at the table to wait.
* * * * *
They were pinned down. About fifty yards from the elevator bank,
they were stuck in the garage's security camera monitoring station.
Another SCARAB had positioned itself between them and the elevators. They
had to find a way around the robot, Hector was out of Sabot rounds and the
smaller arms hardly phased the armored robots. The security monitors
flickered to life and the red-eyed face of Ronny's Icon appeared. "Bad
news guys," Ronny's voice came from the speakers. "The only way upstairs
is through that robot and up the elevator."
"Can you do something to take out the rigger's connection to the
SCARAB?" asked Blackeagle. He knew Ronny could hear him since he was
tapped into the rooms security bugs.
"Negative Blackeagle. I already tried and I can't find any trace
of any riggers. They must be operating from a totally isolated system."
"More bad news, Jefe" shouted Hector "there's two more of those
ugly suckers coming from this side."
* * * * *
Angus flew the 'copter through the standard commuter lanes that
let him orbit the UR compound at a range of 1 to 2 miles. He had
activated the 'copter's smartpilot so he could concentrate on his remotes.
Through the video eye of his remaining spy remote he saw the two SCARABs
approaching his friends. He switched control to the parasite. He had
left it hanging upside down from the garage's ceiling. The spikes on it's
spider-like legs dug into the aging cement easily. Angus sent the
parasite skittering sideways like a crab, so that the second SCARAB would
pass beneath him.
When it did, he let the parasite drop onto the larger robot. The
SCARAB continued on its way, oblivious to it's uninvited passenger. The
parasite scrambled back, to a rear access panel. Angus activated the
electromagnet on the parasite's underbelly and attached it solidly to the
SCARAB. Then Angus triggered t he parasite's cutting laser and quickly
burned a 2 inch hole in the SCARAB's armor. Angus sent the two flexible,
steel cable tentacles into the hole and inside the SCARAB. Through a
micro-camera in the tip of one tentacle he located the remote's signal
reciever. Angus attached the other tentacle to the reciever's control
leads, effectively bypassing it.
Angus felt like a spirit falling into a new body as the parasite
took control of the SCARAB. Angus took a quick survey of the new system,
but it would take a long time to learn all the details of a system this
complex. Unfortunately, Hector and the others didn't have much time left,
being caught in a crossfire. Brute force would have to do instead of
finesse and this machine was definately capable of applying brute force.
Angus targeted the left hip joint of the SCARAB in front of him and
triggered a sustained burst from his minigun. The hip-joint was torn
apart and the robot toppled to the ground. Then Angus fired his full
compliment of 12 RPGs at the other SCARAB which was reduced to scrap. The
one-legged SCARAB was trying to stand, so Angus triggered another minigun
burst into its body to finish it off. Seeing his friend's confusion,
Angus activated the remote's PA system. "Skyhawk to Ground Team. The
coast is clear. Proceed at yer convenience."
* * * * *
"Dr. Saito is on level 36, number 3607." said Ronny through the
speaker, "I've locked out all the elevators except the one waiting for
you. It will take you to level 36, then to the roof. I have also sealed
off all the fire doors, effectively blocking all travel between floors.
So the only opposition will be what was already on that floor."
"Understood, Cypher" said Blackeagle "Good work."
"I'll see if I can divert their attention from the roof" added
Ronny, but Blackeagle, Hector and China were already halfway to the
elevator. Angus' spy remote zipped in right before the door closed.
* * * * *
The Dancer browsed through the R&D database looking for anything
that might turn a tidy profit. She had already copied all files related
to Saito's work and had just finished planting Cypher's address. The
Dancer had run a trace on him when they met at the rendevous point and
come up with an address in the Castle Rock sector. She made it look like
the system had run the trace itself before it crashed. She had picked up
a few tidbits that would make her a nice bonus on the side, but she
shouldn't dally to long.
The blast took the Dancer in the back and shattered about half of
her defensive shielding programs. She turned to see a tank icon rolling
towards her. Obviously, she had stayed too long and the UR sysops had
starting bringing the system back on-line. The tank fired a second shot.
>run evasion seq delta
>batch file started
>Evading...
>run firestar
>Firestar v3.7 Launching...
The Dancer spun away from the tank's attack and tossed three
flaming shuriken at the tank. The stars impacted, knocking large chunks
from the tank's armoring and crippling it. Unfortunately for the Dancer,
a second tank had arrived and attacked. She turned right into a net that
it had fired. The net constricted, slowing crushing her shielding. Then
her defensive programs crashed and she was paralyzed by the net. The
Dancer had few options left, but she decided to call for help before
jacking out. She activated the comlink to Cypher.
dancer> Cypher! I need yer help, the ice is back on-line.
cypher> What? Where are you?
dancer> In the R&D database, hurry it caught me by surprise.
cypher> Okay, I'm on my way.
The Cyclops sent a text message to all vidscreens on the 36th
floor, to let Blackeagle know of his change in plans. Then he started
searching for the Dancer.
\cypher: transfer node
Destination? search chromedancer
Searching... target located.
Transfering node...
The Cyclops materialized next to the Dancer. It seemed she was
caught in some kind of net, all of her defensive programs were probably
crashed. It was getting crowded in this node, besides the two deckers,
at least four tank-ice programs were on the prowl. Having already subdued
the Dancer, they were standing by. One wounded tank was attempting to
restart its defensive programs.
\cypher: exec blaster x4
Executing: Blaster v3.1 pulse = 4
Four blasts of ruby red light shot out of the Cyclops' neon eye in
quick succession, one striking each tank. The attack crashed the wounded
tank, which disintegrated, but just seemed to annoy the others. They
quickly responded with and attack of their own.
Engaging Auto Evade...
\cypher: exec blaster x2
Executing: Blaster v3.1 pulse = 2
The Cyclops dodged the barrage but one tank blast clipped his leg.
He returned fire with his eye-blast, shooting twice. The fewer blasts he
used per execution, the stronger each blast was. The Cyclops hit the two
closest tanks. They were shaken but not badly damaged. Whatever the
Dancer had used to cripple the first tank must have been a killer program.
The tanks attacked again, too fast for the Cyclops to dodge. He was struck
twice, with devastating results. These things were though, too tough for
the programs the Cyclops had available.
***WARNING: Program Corrupted: BLASTER.EXE
***WARNING: Auto Evade System Failing......
***WARNING: Defensive Programs at 34% ***
***WARNING: Auto Evade System Off-Line ***
\cypher: chicon phantom
Booting Phantom.....
ROM Check.. ....OK.
Engaging Accelerator Chip.....Boot Completed.
Checking System STATUS....
STATUS: Defensive Programs at 100%
STATUS: Offensive Programs All Available
STATUS: Auto Evade System On-line
STATUS: Threat Detection System On-line
\phantom:
***WARNING: Hostile Programs Detected ***
\phantom\Execute Scythe 5.0? [y]: yes
The Cyclops faded from the matrix. For a second the Dancer
thought he had abandoned her. Then, in the Cyclops' place, a skeletal
figure appeared. It wore a translucent grey cloak, but its bones were
still quite visible. Two points of fire marked the eyes within the
darkness of its cowl. Then a strange implement appeared in the Wraith's
hands; it was a long staff with a downward curving blade attached. The
Wraith moved with blinding speed as it swung the implement through one of
the tanks. The ice program was crippled.
\phantom: exec dh
Executing: DEATH'S HEAD v1.0
The Wraith reached up and pulled back its cowl. It's flaming eyes
grew in intensity until a fireball exploded and washed over the tanks.
When the flames receded, the tanks were nowhere to be found. The Wraith
turned to the Dancer and cut her free of the net with his scythe. "Let's
get the hell out of here!" said the Wraith with a voice that sounded like
a dying man's last breath . It exited the system without waiting for the
Dancer's reply.
* * * * *
The Wraith and the Dancer had returned to their previous rendevous
point. "You?" ranted the Dancer. "Yer the Phantom? YOU?" she raved. "But
yer just a kid!" The Phantom Icon was legend among deckers, but no one
seem to know who the actual person was.
"Hey I'm 18" protested the Wraith, "Why is it so hard to believe? I
saved your butt, didn't I?"
"Yeah" conceded the Dancer. "I should'a known there was somethin'
about you when ya solved that knot program so fast." she laughed. "Hey
look," her voice became more serious, "I owe ya now so I gotta tell ya.
Mr. J was afraid your pals knew to much about him so he paid me to double
cross you. I ran a trace on you and planted it in the UR computer."
It was the Wraith's turn to laugh. "What address did you get?
Something out east in the Aurora Sector?"
"No, the Castle Rock Sector."
"Don't sweat it, I'm not in either of those places. Let's talk
later about how you can make it up the me. I've got your number."
suggested the Wraith.
"Gotcha" nodded the Dancer. But as she ran the logout procedure,
she found the nasty surprise Burke had left her. The breaker soft was a
Trojan Horse that planted a virus in her logout. That way it wouldn't be
activated until she had finished doing his dirty work. The virus
attacked her already weakened defenses and sent lethal neural feedback to
her brain. Ugly splotches of brackish rust crawled across the Dancer's
chrome skin. With only seconds to live, the Dancer activated the Panic
Routine to dump her conciousness from the the matrix. However, the virus
blocked access back to the cyberport in her apartment. One avenue of
escaped remained open; the comlink to Cypher/Phantom.
The Wraith saw the virus attacking the Dancer and then received a
transmission on the comlink. For a second he had a feeling of another
presence. Another mind? Then all he could do was scream as the virus
attacked his system. He barely had time to key in his logout sequence
before everything went black.
End Part 5 <Shadow Games>
Copyright March 1993 by Russell T Brown
All Characters, the story and the DAM are my own creations.
Written back in March and
Revised and Expanded 08/17/93
Comments, Criticisms and Random Ravings(TM) welcome at: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu
--
**********************************************************************
* Russell T. Brown * E-MAIL: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu *
**********************************************************************
Ididn'tdoitnobodysawmedoityoucan'tproveanything - The Immortal Bart
From: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu (Russell T. Brown)
Subject: REVISED: Shadow Games Part 6
Date: Fri, 20 Aug 93 03:39:37 GMT
Shadow Games
Part 6: SIMONS Says Die!
By Russell T. Brown
Revised 08/19/93
Julio DaCosta was not in a good mood. A crowded airport was not
the ideal place for someone in his condition. His head still throbbed and
the stiches above his left eye seemed to have become infected. The
frequent dizzy spells from which he was suffering made him think he had a
concussion that the docs missed. The fact that he had spent the last
twelve hours in a dingy hotel coffin listening to the jets land next door
at the Denver International Airport didn't help at all. But worst of all
was an airport full of travellers projecting their irritation and
annoyance against his battered psi-shields.
He was waiting for Sally Philips and her team to arrive from
FujiCorp's offices back on the East Coast. It had taken over thirty hours
for a trip that should have lasted only three. Julio knew that she had
encountered resistance from within the corporation over this operation.
Some of the suits didn't think the advantages of recovering the target
would outweigh the _cost_ of recovering him.
After all, how much was one cyberdeck operator worth to a corp as
large as Fuji? Sally's determination was the only thing that had kept the
project going for over two years. If Sally had a religion, it was the
Fuji Corporation and the guy she was after was the chief heretic. It
didn't matter that it was her brother she was after, he had betrayed the
corporation to which she had devoted her entire adult life. Shorty after
the death of their parents, Sally's younger brother had skipped on a seven
year employment contract. She had been looking for him ever since.
Or more accurately she had hired Julio to look for him since Fuji
wouldn't let her look for him full time. Julio had finally managed to
track the kid here to the DAM. Fuji didn't maintain offices in the DAM,
which was probably why he had fled here in the first place. Once he had
sent word to Fuji that he had found Ronald Philips, Sally had run into
more corporate opposition. She had been denied the use of a corporate jet
and been bogged down in reams of paperwork before she got her team onto a
commercial flight. She had called Julio's cellular from an airphone in
mid-flight and he had already made arrangements for the sealed corporate
package (more like a crate really) to be delivered to the squat he rented
to use as their base. The package contained all of the team's weapons and
gear.
The TWA jet was taxing up to the gate when he first recognized the
familiar pattern of Sally's thoughts. She was both frustrated at the
delay and eager to be after her prey. That was good ole Sal, all business
and action without any thought to her feelings. Or his. Sometimes he
wondered why he struggled to maintain a relationship with her. A few
minutes later as Sally deplaned with her four pet bullyboys, her face was
like a steel mask, showing no emotion. Her ice blue eyes and strawberry
blonde hair were a welcome sight to the battered telepath. Not even the
baggy Fuji jumpsuit could hide the curves of her shapely figure. The
other four members of her team looked like they were pressed out of a
cookie cutter, with only slight variations in height and hair color. The
first indication he had that she was happy to see him was when she grabbed
him by the collar and kissed him passionately.
"You look like shit, boyo. What happened?" inquired Sally.
"China, one of yer baby bro's amigas. She was very unhappy I was
looking for him." he explained.
"Well if I find that bitch, I'll teach her not to beat up on my man!"
* * * * *
Dave Collins waited by the elevator bank on level thirty-six. He
gripped his assault rifle nervously as the single elevator approached his
floor. Halfway through his second week as a security guard for UR, Dave
was ill-prepared to deal with this situation. When the alarm first
sounded, his security team scrambled from the guard station on this floor
to go to the parking garage. Finding the elevators locked out, the guard
captain left Collins here to watch them and led the rest of the team down
the stairwell. That's when the security doors activated and sealed of the
stairs, trapping the rest of the team. There must be someone screwing
with the security computer. Now there was an elevator approaching this
floor, an elevator that UR security didn't have access to. Collins knelt
in front of the door and readied his assault rifle. When the doors
opened, he fired an extended burst into the empty car. Empty? Yep,
empty. Damn! They would probably take the damages out of his salary.
Suddenly something dropped down from the top of the elevator and he felt a
stabbing pain in his neck. He reached up and pulled a trank dart away
from his neck before he blacked out.
* * * * *
After Angus' remote took out the lone guard, Blackeagle, China and
Hector dropped down from their hiding place on top of the elevator. A
quick search located apartment 3607, the one belonging to Dr. Saito and
revealed no more guards. Hector kicked in the door and they found a
Japanese man in his early forties sitting and waiting patiently for them.
"Dr. Saito I presume?" said Hector, "Man, I don't beleive I said
that." Saito nodded in response.
"Let's get moving Doc" Blackeagle motioned toward the door.
"Hey Tommy, check this out!" China pointed to the apartment's telecomm
which displayed a text message.
BE-
Things are getting too hot here, I gotta bail from the system
The elevator is waiting for you. Seeya in the real world.
-RP
"Okay people, were one our own now." said Blackeagle. Then he
turned to the miniature hovercraft, "Meet us on the roof in five." As
Blackeagle led the group back to the elevators, Saito reached into the
pocket of his lab coat and found the remote activation unit of his
"special project." He pressed the button that would send the activation
signal. Soon, very soon, he would be free.
* * * * *
Activation signal received.
Surveillance-Intelligence-Military Oriented Nomadic System
=> switching to Active Mode.
SIMONS Unit Alpha now on-line.
Initiating Environment Scan => Location: United Robotronics Research Lab 117
Accessing Mission Directive Memory Files.....
Mission Directives:
Universal Directives:
1. Protect Creator: Designation Dr. Saito
2. Terminate all Units Designated as "Threat Units"
3. Evade Detection/Capture
4. Accept New Mission Directives from Creator
Specific Directives:
A. Destroy Robotics Research and Design Equipment Previously used by Creator
Location: United Robotronics Research Lab 117
B. Exit United Robotronics Property and Remain Undetected
C. Locate Acceptable Target and Implement "OPERATION MISDIRECTION"
Reference Memory File #8A0F25
D. Track and Maintain Surveilliance on Creator
The SIMONS unit kicked open the door of the security locker and
stepped into Dr. Saito's research lab. The dim light reflected dully off
the matte black finish of the SIMONS unit's titanium-steel combat chassis.
The robot opened its abdominal storage compartment and removed the
thermite bomb stored there. It set the detonator for a five minute delay
then exited the lab and headed for the stairwell.
Having all the security codes that Dr. Saito could provide, The
SIMONS unit had no trouble exiting the United Robotronics compound. In an
alley across the street, it waited with the inhuman patience of a machine
until an explosion rocked the eleventh floor. Then the robot disappeared
into the shadows of the DAM.
* * * * *
Angus guided the helicopter in close to the roof of the UR
building. The roof was clear of security personnel, they were probably
all busy chasing his "rogue" SCARAB or locked in a stairwell. He had sent
his captured SCARAB off into the sprawl, no doubt giving UR officials
nightmare visions of bad press and lawsuits. As he hovered over the
rooftop helipad, Blackeagle and the others came rushing out of the waiting
shelter. With them was a middle-aged Japanese man that had to be Dr.
Saito. They climbed in the back of the 'copter and Angus quickly sped
them away. He headed for a prearraged location where some of Graft's men
were waiting with his van.
In a few minutes, Blackeagle climbed into the copilot's seat and
asked "Any word on why Ronny had to bail out of the matrix?"
"A big neg on that Tommy! I lost contact with him a few minutes
before I picked ya up. And I can't seem to reestablish the connection, but
we'll be at Graft's place in a few, you can try from there."
* * * * *
List Mission Status:
Directive A: Accomplished
Directive B: Accomplished
Directive C: Active
Directive D: Pending
Initiate Scanning Mode: Visual Identification
......Acceptable target located.
Initiate OPERATION MISDIRECTION.
The SIMONS unit stood in the mouth of the alley. The high walls
blocked out the street lights and shrouded it in darkness. The robot was
unware of the passage of time as it compared the faces of passing
pedestrians to an image stored in its memory banks. When it found a match
within acceptable parameters, it reached out a black metallic arm and
pulled the middle-age Japanese man into the alley. The machine
emotionlessly drew the autopistol from the holster compartment in its
right thigh and fired three explosive shells into the man's face. Next
the SIMONS unit examined the corpse, taking fingerprints and a blood sample.
After completing the scan, the SIMONS unit remove the victim's wallet and
credchip. Then it dropped a prerecorded vidchip onto the corpse's chest.
New Mission Status:
Directive C Accomplished.
Directive D Activated.
* * * * *
Blackeagle slammed his fist down on the disconnect button. For
the third time, his attempt to reach Ronny's telecomm number went
unanswered. Something was definitely wrong, he was supposed to wait for
Blackeagle's confirmation that they had delivered Dr. Saito to Burke
before meeting them at Club Nitro! On the other hand, if he was having
trouble in the matrix, UR might have traced his location. If that was the
case, then Ronny would have had to move immediately. Ronny knew where
they were and Blackeagle hoped this is where Ronny would come, but he
couldn't be sure. Damn! He should have worked this out before, he hated
it when he failed to plan for something. Blackeagle decided to wait long
enough for Ronny to get to Graft's warehouse, if he was indeed on his way.
Besides, he had to call Burke and arrange a time to hand over Saito.
* * * * *
They waited in the room that Graft called his "parlor." It was
done in retro 1930's art-deco style, with white marble tile on walls and
floor, and furniture of shiny red leather and chrome. There were several
statues of 'flappers' that Graft had commissioned from a local sculptor
and a wet bar that ran the length of one wall. The entrance was a set of
double doors covered in the same red leather as the furniture with a
circular window in each door. Graft had spent a small fortune outfitting
this room. Graft was currently pouring Hector another tequila at the bar
while China and Saito sat on the divan watching the giant wallscreen
telecomm. Right now it was tuned to MTV-Japan but when you turned it off
the surface was mirrored, to better match the room's decor.
Blackeagle stormed in and crossed to the bar. Graft poured him a
Beck's Dark from tap, the Amerindian's drink of choice. Blackeagle was
grateful, because it was hard to come by. Due to Coors Corporation's
contract with the DAM's trade commission, their beer products were the
only ones legally available in the territory. He took a long pull on the
beer and tried to calm himself.
"So whatzupp, bossman?" said China from across the room.
"I reached Burke, the meeting is set up for 5 am so we have a
coupla hours to kill." he replied, "Then you will be able to start your
new life with your new employer Saito-san."
"Domo Arigato Blackeagle-sama," said the scientist, " I am very
much looking forward to it."
"The bad news is I can't reach Ronny, I just hope he is on his way
here." Blackeagle took another pull off his Beck's, "What's Angus up to?"
"He's out playing with his new toy, that big ole robot he got from
UR." answered Hector.
A look of alarm crossed Blackeagle's face, "He brought that thing
here? Of all the stupid stunts! They are sure to have it rigged with
tracking devices."
"Relax, Herr Blackeagle." Graft's gravelly voice cut in, "Angus has
assured me that he has disabled any such devices on that mechanical
monstrosity. Here, let me pour you another fine German beer." Blackeagle
realized that Angus knew what he was doing, he was just upset and worried
about Ronny. He hoped the kid was alright.
* * * * *
The neon red Kangaroo hopped merrily through the shambles of the
United Robotronics computer system. The portions of the system that had
been brought back on-line were on full alert and the tank icons of ice
programs patrolled the node vigilantly. Whenever the Kangaroo would
encounter one, it would pause momentarily and then move on. The small
yellow tag in the Kangaroo's ear provided access codes and informed the
ice that the Kangaroo was a programmer hired on special contract to the
R&D Division. The Kangaroo was not headed to work on any research project
however. Instead it made its way into the datastore containing personnel
files. The Kangaroo designed a query to locate and delete the records of
one Saito Hiro, Doctor of cybernetics. Next the Kangaroo withdrew a small
crystal from its pouch. The crystal transformed into a glowing datafile
that the Kangaroo inserted in the place of the deleted record. Having
completed its task, the Kangaroo hopped merrily towards the exit.
* * * * *
Pain danced through his skull like a herd of elephants and waves
of nausea wracked his stomach. The foul acid taste in his mouth and the
reek of vomit told him that his stomach had already rejected his dinner
although he didn't remember it. His world was a murky void with a single
red sun directly ahead of him. He could feel his body, in fact it felt
like it was made of lead, but he couldn't see it. He felt for his
keyboard maybe he was in some remote sector of the matrix, but then where
was his icon? Instead of a keyboard, his fingers found something wet and
warm. It was difficult to think, but this lead him to believe that where
ever he was, it wasn't the matrix. Was he dead? Dying? Already in some
televanglelist's hell? Finally, he decided that the constant pain was the
telling factor that he was, in fact, still alive. But if it didn't go
away soon, maybe dying would be better.
He heard a woman's voice, echoing as if down a long hallway.
<<Poor baby. At least you can still feel SOMETHING, even if it is pain.>>
Then the voice was gone. He tried to make a snappy comeback but all he
could do was moan.
"Ronny! C'mon man, can't you hear me? Wake up!" again he heard a
woman's voice, but different this time. Higher, more musical and tinged
with nervousness. Ronny? Oh yeah, that was him. Suddenly it occurred to
him that the red light he was seeing was just ordinary light, probably
from his beat up old lamp, seen through closed eyelids. With a tremendous
effort he forced his eyes open and saw a beautiful, if somewhat fuzzy ,
blonde. "NO! No, you gotta wake up. Wake up, please..." she sobbed and
her head sank down to rest on his chest. He reached up and lightly
touched her shoulder. At the touch, she bolted upright and stared at him
in amazement. He had time to smile weakly before she started yelling at
him. "Shit , man! You scared the crap outta me! I mean I thought you were
gonna, like .... die, ya'know."
Ronny tried to answer her but could only produce a rasp from
his dry throat. So she brought him water in a styrofoam cup and gently
lifted his head so he could drink. "Jas... what... happened?" he
managed to get out.
"Well, ya were just decking like normal," she said while wiping her
eyes. Were those tears she was wiping away? "Then you started screaming
and havin' some kinda fit, shaking and kicking all over. I dint know what
to do, so I took a chance and jacked you out. Then when you... you just
laid there, I thought I killed you."
Ronny attempted to sit up and Jaz helped him lean against the
wall. He had slipped out of his Laz-E-Boy and had been laying on the
floor in a pool of his own vomit. "You did fine, Jaz. In fact, you
hadn't jacked me out I'd probably be dead right now." said Ronny. <<Ya got
that right, bucko.>> Ronny looked up at Jaz "What?"
"I dint say nothing. Here let's get ya into the bathroom and
cleaned up." she said. As he stood up, dizziness hit him like a hammer
and drove him to his knees. A few minutes later, after he stopped dry
retching, he began to shiver uncontrollably. Jaz threw his jacket around
his shoulders to warm him up. "We gotta get you to a Doc, ya think you
can walk now?"
He stood up slowly and leaned against the wall. The weight of his
portable deck in the back pocket of the jacket reminded him. "Get the
chips from my deck, Jaz" Then he waited while she quickly popped the chips
out of his deck and then helped him out the door. Jaz was leading him
towards the stairs when they heard someone coming up them. It sounded
like a fairly large group, maybe five or six people. Not knowing who it
was and being very ill-prepared for trouble, they reversed course and
headed for the fire escape. Ronny managed to make it the three floors
down to the ground without collapsing.
"Where is the closest FreeMed Clinic?" Jaz asked as she half
carried Ronny towards the street.
"No, I know a better place." he said, "Just get us to the closest
'rail station."
* * * * *
Julio led Sally and three of her muscleboys up to the third floor
apartment where her brother lives. Muscleboy #4 was staked out downstairs
in the lobby as a rear guard. Julio knew that the apartment was empty
before they reached the top of the stairs, thanks to a quick mental probe.
He thought of telling Sally, but knew that she would want to have a look
inside in the place anyway. A few kicks from one of Sally's
cyber-enhanced muscleboys opened the heavy metal door. As the door
opened, they were assaulted by the acrid smell of burned out electronics
and fresh vomit. The apartment was a disaster area, with dirty clothes
and old food cartons everywhere. The only "clean" spot was the workbench
in the corner, it was littered with electronic parts and gadgets instead
of garbage. At a nod from Sally, the three muscleboys quickly started
ransacking the place.
Sally turned to him, eyes flashing angrily "Why didn't you tell me
the place was empty? Didn't your infamous telepathy warn you?"
Julio bit back an angry reply of his own. He was all too familiar
with Sally's temper and he knew that she wasn't really serious. It was
one of her favorite passtimes to rib him about the occasional
unreliability of his powers, but they both knew that they had saved her
life a number of times. "'Course I knew, Sal" he said, "But I also knew
that you'd want to sift this place for clues."
"This telecomm is totally fried, Captain." reported one of the
muscleboys, who was examining the electronics. "The cyberdeck is
connected to the telecomm, looks like someone was running the deck through
the public telecomm lines and ran into some big trouble. I can't tell if
this deck is still operational, but all of the chips have been removed."
Sally pointed to the old simstim player wired in between the deck
and telecomm. "What's this?" she asked. "There's no reason for
connecting a simstim player like that. It must be something else, any
clue?"
"I don't know what it was, but now it's just a snappy paperweight."
"Can it Reese, I don't pay you to be a stand up comedian." she
said. "Macon, Cole you find anything?"
Cole looked up from his unwanted task of examining the vomit on
the floor. "Well what can I say, It's fresh. He couldn't have been gone
to long."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah, I think he had Chinese for diner!" After Sally shot him an
acid glare, he muttered to himself "How come I always get the shit jobs?"
Macon came in from the bedroom area. "I found this snapshot." It
was of two guys, the younger, bare faced one was obviously the one they
sought, Sally's brother. The long red hair was a dead give away. The
other guy had a full beard and reddish-brown hair tied in long braids. It
looked like they were in the back of a van, working on some type of
electronic device. "Looks like they're fixing a rigger remote, Cap'n"
Macon reported.
Sally took the picture and examined it, then ordered her men to
pack up all the electronic equipment. As the were loading the stuff into
a vinyl carrybag one of the muscleboys had producted from a pocket,
something caught Julio's eye. Over by the telecomm, a flash of silver
peeked out of under a pile of dirty clothes and petrified pizza crusts.
Nudging the pile with his boot revealed a plastic telecomm card. When he
presented the card to Sally, she glanced at the wrecked telecomm in the
corner and said "We'll test it later."
"Let's go" Sally ordered, exiting the smelly squat. "It looks like
my baby bro almost got himself flatlined while running the matrix. If so,
he probably needs a doctor. We'll split up and search all the local
clinics and hospitals. And keep a lookout for the other dude in this
picture."
Julio realized what had probably happened. "Of course! If he got
his brains scrambled enough, it could've disguised his thought patterns."
When they reached the lobby on the first floor, Sally ordered the
muscleboy stationed there, Patterson, to remain behind while they searched
the local medical clinics.
* * * * *
"Damn it!" swore Blackeagle, "He should be here by now." The big
Amerindian slammed down the empty mug of his third Becks. Ronny would
have had plenty of time to get here from his apartment if he was on his
way. Something must have happened to the kid. "China I want you to go to
his apartment and see if he's okay. If he's not there, try and track him
down. You can meet us later at Club Nitro!"
China peeled herself off the couch, "Ya sure ya don't need me to
back you up?" She glanced over at Saito. "Burke, may try to pull somethin'
ya'know."
"I think Angus and Hector will be enough backup, they're both
big strong boys." said Blackeagle.
China nodded and headed for the parlor's door. Her Mitsubishi
Streetdemon was parked out in the warehouse. The powerful bike could take
her across town to Ronny's apartment in about half an hour.
* * * * *
When the female cyberai got up to leave, Saito fingered the remote
control in his pocket. These mercenaries had not even bothered to search
him, but then they thought he would willing allow himself to be turned
over to that fool Burke and Mitchell Machines International. They thought
that because that's what Saito wanted them to believe, even Burke believed
it. They had been useful tools allow him to escape the grasp of United
Robotronics, but soon they would no longer be useful in his plan to start
a new life. He had recieved confirmation from the SIMONS unit that his
plan was working perfectly, even now it lurked somewhere outside the
warehouse. Soon they would be leaving and the machine was programmed to
follow him, so that it could set him free.
* * * * *
The lurching and rocking motion of the train did nothing to help
the nausea he felt as Ronny lay semiconscious on the seat of the monorail.
He heard the brakes squeal and felt the train lurch. Jaz shook his
shoulder gently, "Wake up sport, this is the stop you wanted." As he stood
up, the dizziness was still there but not nearly so bad as before. Jaz
guided him out the door and towards the exit of the train station. "Oh
shit, not them," said Jaz, "I don't need their crap right now." Ronny
followed her gaze across the station to two guys in synth-leathers and the
moussed up warcrests of the Mestizo Warlords street gang. With a shock,
Ronny realized that they were the same two Warlords that had be chasing
Jaz the other day. Jaz had been trying to get them up to the street
without being seen but the two gangbangers were already headed this way.
Before they reached the stairs, Ronny was pushed from behind and went down
face first on the cement.
"Hola Jaz, long time no see, eh?" said one of the Warlords.
"Buzz off you creeps!" screamed Jaz. Ronny heard the sounds of a
struggle and people running to get out of the way.
"C'mon chica, I know yer really happy to see us, no? Hey Nick
check out the feeb she's with." said the Warlord. Ronny heard the snap of
a switchblade opening and felt a hand on his shoulder. When the Warlord
rolled him over, he didn't expect the razorgun in Ronny's hand. Ronny
sent three of the diamond shaped projectiles into the gangbanger's
stomach. The thug dropped his switchblade and tried to stop the blood
pouring from his guts.
When his chummer hit the floor, it distracted the gangbanger
wrestling with Jaz. She kneed him savagely in the groin and then pulled
away. Once she was clear, Ronny sent two razors into his leg. Then Jaz
was helping him up and they were headed for the stairs. Ronny glanced
back to see the Warlords on the floor bleeding.
Up on the street, they went about a block and a half to this video
and holo store that specializes in porno tapes. A holo projection of a
topless dancer writhed in the front window. "This is where you wanted to
come?" said Jaz, "Ya really must've got yer brains rattled!"
"It's a front for this streetdoc named Sawbones." said
Ronny "He's more reliable and anonymous than any public clinic." He opened
the door and they entered the sleazy shop.
* * * * *
The meeting place was an open parking lot in the Lower-Downtown
Sector of the DAM, called Lodo. As Angus pulled into the lot they spotted
Burke's limousine right away, the lot was mostly deserted. Burke's two
guards stood outside the car, one at the front and one at the rear. Angus
parked the van about fifty feet from the limo with the sliding side door
facing the limo. Angus triggered the door mechanism and Blackeagle and
Hector stepped out with Dr. Saito between them. Blackeagle carried his
H&K assault rifle and Hector his pump-action shotgun. They stopped about
halfway to the limo to wait.
The back door of the limo opened up and Burke got out with another
guard. This guard carried a small steel case, the kind used for holding
computer or video chips, the other two carried Uzis. Burke flashed his
perfectly constructed smile in the predawn light. "Ah, Mr. Blackeagle it's
a pleasure to see you again." He took the case from his assistant and said
"This case contains five certified credchips of fifteen thousand nuyen
each and an additional chip of fifty thousand, to cover your expenses.
Just like we agreed."
Inside the pocket of his labcoat, Saito's thumb depressed a small
red button on a hand held control unit.
* * * * *
The SIMONS unit sat in the driver's seat of its stolen Nissan
Jackrabbit. The robot had appropriated the car in order to follow the
Creator and fulfill the last of it's mission directives. It could have
followed just as easily on foot, but it's stealth programs alerted it that
a fully armed combat robot running down the street at 60mph would attract
unwanted attention. The SIMONS unit watched the meeting in the parking
lot passively, flagging all the armed men as possible threats.
Incoming Transmission: Priority Alpha-One The Creator
Source of Transmission Confirmed by Encrypted Security Keys
Message: PANIC BUTTON depressed.
Priorty Overide:
Activate Mission Directive A: Protect the Creator.
Initiate Combat Mode.
* * * * *
The first shot hit Burke square in the chest, the explosive bullet
penetrating his armored coat. The second shot took off most of his
assistant's head. "It's a trap!" growled one of the other guards as he
squeezed off a burst from his Uzi at Blackeagle. The Amerindian dived
behind a parked car for cover, escaping unharmed. The other guard was
trying to get a bead on Hector when he was cut down by a burst of fire as
the sniper switched to full auto. The next burst hit Hector as he was
diving behind the van. The explosive shells hit him in the left leg,
tearing apart the knee. The last guard was pulling the wounded Burke into
the back of the limo that was already pulling away.
Blackeagle ran to the back of the van where Hector had gone down.
The armored van provided cover from the sniper. Hector's leg was a bloody
mess of torn flesh and bone fragments that ended just below the knee. He
was loosing blood at an alarming rate. Angus had jacked out of the van's
rigger control's and opened the back door of the van. He jumped out with
the van's medkit in hand. Hector had passed out from the pain and loss of
blood. Blackeagle quickly applied a tourniquet to Hector's leg while
Angus sprayed the would with a coagulant accelerator.
"Help me lift him in to the van," said Blackeagle, "We gotta get
him to a doctor fast."
"What about Saito?" asked Angus as they lifted up their wounded
comrade. Blackeagle looked around; Saito and the case containg their
money where nowhere to be seen.
End Part 6 <Shadow Games>
Copyright April 1993 by Russell T. Brown all rights reserved.
Revised and expanded 08/19/93.
All characters, the story and the DAM are my own creations.
Comments, Criticisms and Random Ravings(TM) welcome at:rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu
--
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* Russell T. Brown * E-MAIL: rtbrown@nyx.cs.du.edu *
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Ididn'tdoitnobodysawmedoityoucan'tproveanything - The Immortal Bart
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