>From: janneylh@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (Lyle H Janney)
Subject: Return of 'The Slider'
Date: 25 Mar 91 00:53:07 GMT


===============================================================================

Pretty quiet night here at the Chatsubo, only 2 slicer fights and it's
almost midnight already.  All of a sudden (I felt it commin') there's
this sound of static behind me; so I turn to look for the asshole with
the new taser toy.  As I turn, I notice the room is gettin awful
silent; then I see why.  Now, it aint often that 100 people all
hallucinate the same goddamn thing at the same goddamn time, but that's
the only way I can figure it.  We were all lookin' at this image that
was just kinda standing there in the center of the room.  Looked like
some guy, but he didn't look quite right.  He was dressed in some kinda
suit that had to have been out of date before the 20th ended; but that
wasn't nearly as disconcertin' as what had to have been causin' the
static sound.  He looked sorta less than 3d; like those real old holo
projectors and to make matters worse, it looked like he had a bad
electical feed.  He was just kinda standing there, shoulders hunched,
head hangin, suit ruffled up as though he had just been in some kinda
tough assed fight.  Suddenly, as if he had just become aware of our
presence, his eyes flashed recognition and something else; almost a
longing or (oh, what the fuck was that word Bernie used... ahhh)
wistfulness.  With what I had to figure as bein' a smile on his face, he
began to speak.

"Hello there, folks.  You probably don't remember me, but I was around
back in November, or was it October, when this group was begun.  I'm
glad to see that it has solidified into something that will last a
while." (What the fuck is this shithead talkin' about.  If you asked me,
I'd say he don't know shit about 'solid'.)

"Seeing an opportunity that I had been awaiting for quite some time, I
immediately jumped at the chance to post some of my writing.  You may
recall 2 postings about a character that went by the handle of
'Slider'." (Yeah, I remembered him, that poor shit just showed up one
day and several days afterwards.  I was kinda wondering what had
happened to him.)

"Well, please forgive me.  I was kidnapped by some suits and forced to
live in the corporate world, slaving over an old keyboard interface
machine; network limited to a single building.  Cruel and inhuman
punishment at best.  However, I've been able to sneak past their crude
and archaic systems to a point where I have access to the true net once
again.  That being the case, I can now continue my writing;  'The
Slider' lives again!!!"  (Now what the hell is he saying?  You almost
gotta think that he thinks we are just figments of some writer's
imagination.  God is he fucked in the head; I'm a hell of a lot more
real than he'll ever be)

Suddenly the image begins to fade in snowy static that you would
probably see on an old televid.  Before its gone completely, the figure
reaches into it's jacket pocket and pulls something out.  As it blinks
out of existence, something falls to that floor.  Only a moment goes by
before everyone goes back to what they were doing as if nothing ever
happened.  I guess no one else saw the figure drop whatever it was it
had gotten out of it's pocket.  With only slight hesitation, I get off
my barstool and walk over to the space the figure had just occupied.
Looking down to floor I see what appears to be some paper folded in
half.  Picking it up, I notice some writing on the inside, so I read it.

===============================================================================


"Turn off that fuckin' noise!!!"

I'm not sure if I actually said that, or if the words just rang out in
my head.  My eyes opened to the skygrey color of the ceiling in my
'waterfront room'; the noise seemed to be coming from outside my
window.  With that hammerpunch of reality, the pain in my head subsided
to a dull roar.

I pushed myself down to the end of the foam mattress and leaned over to
move the cardboard shutter aside.  Looking out through the broken,
glass window I was accosted by that lovely sight of Chiba harbor.
Looking down, I easily spotted the Tacvan that was the perpetrator of
my rude awakening; screaming down the dockside, lightflashing a further
wakefulness to my sore eyes.  As Chiba's finest tactical units hopped
out of their matte black ride; furtive glances behind mirrored helm
visors, I decided once and for all, I was out of here.  This shit's bad
on the nerves.

It took me a total of 30 seconds to round my gear up into my duffle; my
other shirt (the dirtier one), spare socks, cellular, and, of course,
my deck.  That thing was gonna help me make the big time.  Duffle slung
over my jacketed shoulder and shades on, I headed out of the warehouse
I had been calling home for the past 6 weeks since hitting Chiba.

The Tacs were fishing some nondescript humanoid form out of the cold
black depths near pier 5.  I noticed through the sludge that the left
hand was missing half its pinky; another Yak bites the dust.  That
makes 3 in the past week.  Somewhere out there is one pissed off
Oyabun.  Fuck it, aint my problem.  I'd better be getting to the Chat';
the early bird catches the biz, y'know.  And it's about time 'The
Slider' was that bird.

At the end of the docks, 'bout half-way on my walk to the Chat', is a
little yakitori stand.  I kinda feel sorry for the poor bugger that
runs the stand, havin' no legs and all, so I give him the last of my
NuYen in return for some breakfast.  Tastes like shit, but it's hot and
it stops the grumblin' in my gut.  Time to steel up and be tough; I
gotta good feelin' about today.

				- * -

Every goddamn day I come down to this raunchy bar they call Chatsubo in
a different get-up, trying to hire a good merc for guard duty, or some
specialist for something 'special'.  Today, I gotta pick up some putz
for guinea-piggin'.  I hate this the worst, 'cause all the while I'm
talking to 'em, I'm looking into the eyes of a dead person; only, they
don't know it.  Fuck the world after all.

Through the door steps Crash, a console-cowboy of no small skill.
Standing there in his black jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket, neon
light glinting off his silver-toed boots and the 'trode-accentuators on
his temples, he slowly removes his matte black framed mirrorshades.  He
takes his usual scan of the room, and seeing the little clues
indicating I'm looking for a decker, heads over my way, hanging the
shades from his jacket pocket.  Not wanting to see the nearest thing I
have to a friend get baked in some back room, I give him the jive
telling him I aint looking for skill, just a warm body.  He shrugs and
heads over to the bar where Ratz is already pouring his usual; Double
Baileys OTR.

A couple minutes later, some young punk steps in and begins a poor
imitation of the actions performed by Crash only moments before.  If I
could laugh in my business, I would have.  He was dressed in cheap
black work slacks, old black Nikes, and a black synth-leather jacket
over an off-black shirt.  The shades he removed weren't even mirrored.
Over his left shoulder was a small duffle bag indicating that he was a
transient. His hair was long and tousled, framing a feral visage with
little facial hair.  I recognized the face and the wild eyes it held as
belonging to a kid calling himself 'The Slider'; yeah, right.  He's
been comin' down here everyday for the last several weeks, hangin' out
in the wings, trying to learn 'the game'.  At least he had some sense,
poor kid.  Just in case he hadn't learned well, I signaled him to join
me instead of waiting to see if he picked up the clues.

				- * -

Holy shit!  She just flagged me.  I knew my luck was comin' up.  Whoa,
boy.  Be cool.  Just saunter on over there and let her know that she's
got the right man for the job, whatever it is.

				- * -

Poor kid almost lost control there; he's still very new to the game.
Well, not any more.  As he comes over, I study him carefully; just
'cause he's a gonner doesn't mean I want a complete incompetent.  The
skin on his temples is dry, despite the sweaty gleam on the rest of his
face.  His grimy, fingerless gloves have a line across the palm
indicating that they rest against the edge of a hard surface quite
often.  Yes, he's been out there before; and several times by the
appearance.  He's doing his best to look on top, but knows that his
heritage shows.  I look into his eyes as he nears the table and see the
same aguamarine blue I saw when Crash first sat across from me, as well
as a slight blush, hmmmm.  Goddamn I hate this job, but now I'm
committed, and I gotta deadline to meet.  I motion him to sit and I
wait.

				- * -

As I walk over, I notice her checking the package, so I do the same.
God, she's built.  No signs of augmentation, either.  She looks real
professional, and real pretty, too.  After this job, I'm gonna come
back in some real clothes; clean and dressed to kill.  Hopefully, I'll
impress her enough with my skill that she'll let me take her to a show
or something.  Jeez, I would love to see her in and out of some dressy
gown or something.  Oh, shit!  I think she noticed me checking her out,
but all she does is motion me to sit; so I do.  She seems to be
waiting; time to sell myself.

				- * -

"Hey.  I'm Slider.  You gotta game, I'll play it.  You gotta base, I'll
bust it.  You got..."

"Enough with the shit.  What I got is a base, but I don't want it
busted.  I just want someone to go in, and come back out.  Of course, I
would also like that someone to come out with a small piece of
information, but nothing else.  I want it clean, too."  (Bad come-on,
but I'll give him an 'A' for effort.)

"Okay, so I don't leave any traces.  No problem.  Gimme a net-ID, and
we'll talk money."  (Pretentious bitch.)

"I'll give you five, no more.  The ID and information come after you
sign."  (God, his eyes sparkle.)

"Bullshit, chick.  For sight-unseen, you give me ten, or you get
someone else."  (Gotta stay tough here.  Hope it works.)

"Ten it is.  I like your spunk, kid.  By the way, you call me anything
other than Kelly again, and I break your arm."  (Why me?  I don't want
him to die, but he will.  That base is blacker than the 7th plane of
Hell.)

"Okay, Kelly.  You give me some information and a safe place to jack-in
and you'll get your dope.  I hope this can be the start of a meaningful
business relationship."

"Perhaps."  (Why'd the bastard have to say that?)


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Standard Disclaimers Apply                                       Lyle H Janney
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