From: roadrunner@uk.tele.nokia.fi
Subject: Special Brew
Date: 12 Oct 1993 09:23:13 GMT

Special Brew
==========

Jake checked the time. 20:27. Only three minutes left.
Shit. He wasn't ready. He dismissed the time-piece, and brought up the
map again, he was on course, but would have to speed up if he was
going to make the deadline.
Shit, he cursed again. he really shouldn't have got caught up with that
spook back in the terminus. 11 years he had wondered through the
highways, 11 years and not one spook had delayed him for more than a
minute. But today, of all days, he gets caught by Fools Mate. Of all the
fucking spooks in the net, Jake gets caught by Fools Mate.
Damn.

AL suddenly warned him of Customs appraoching. Jake instinctively
deployed two forwarding packets to take care of them. As he slid
towards the first CO a door beckoned, a quick glance at the other COs,
the packets were keeping them busy (probably a lot to declare, Jake
chuckled), and he quickly darted through the new found entrance.

A new highway unfolded in front of him. Fellow travellers glanced
briefly up at the newbie, acknowledging his presence, others ignored
him and carried forward with their missions. AL popped up an alert
[TRACING], Jake checked the address and threw the Tracer a
preserve. Probably some phreak trying to tailgate him.  This preserve
should make sure he doesn't tailgate anybody for a while. These
echos'll probably leave him in a really sticky situation Jake sniggered.

Time was of the essence, so Jake tripped off the main highway and
darted through one of the adjoining arteries. Zipping through the
smaller, and less crowded capilleries, he re-entered an ancillary
highway. Jake had made up some time, but he knew he was taking a
risk. Who knew what lay in some of these redundant paths. Company
Men were supposed to flatline dead paths, but most of them left access,
albeit restricted, so that they could, if need be, re-enter their Companies
if the front door ever got shut in their faces. Of course this was highly
illegal, and no-one actually did it. But Jake knew he had to be careful.
Backdoors were trouble, and CatFlaps usually meant a CAT.

He sighed, and remembered the old days, when the urban data highway
was created as an information pool. Security was non-existent, with
just a few administrators making sure the paths didn't flatline with
increased traffic, but not censoring anything (maybe censoring
Censorship, Jake smiled). That was before the Corporates moved in
and privatisation of the data highways hit the masses.

AL popped up. 20:29. Damn.
Jake fervently darted from path to path, occassionaly jumping across
highways , much to the annoyance of regular travellers, who caught the
turbulence of his trail (and consequently had some of their CRCs fail).
He slowed at 771adelta, and slewed off a filter into 773a.
Straight in front of him lay the MGM Time Warner building. The
nerve centre of the entire Western hemisphere of DigiNet.

He stopped, checked the time. 20:29:26. Not long now. He checked the
pot. hmmm, bubbling over nicely. Checked the target, not that he could
miss its towering hulk. And slung the pot at it with more than a hint of
smugness. Only he knew how potent the potion was, and this made him
laugh. Loudly.

So long Mother Fuckers, he muttered to himself, and jumped on an
outState biway, just as the first splash landed.

Jake travelled quickly, but nonchalantly occassionaly looking back.
Behind him, highways disappeared; 773, 771adelta, damn, even the
interstate was crumbling. travellers panicked as there packets flew into
the void that now lay ahead of the disappearing highways, some
searched for alternate protocols, but Jake knew that was no use. He had
made a real special brew this time, and none of these pansy, crimson
colour mother's was going anywhere but the Pits. Packet oblivion.
Damn it felt good.

He jumped across I330B74M and flared his tail a bit more just to annoy
the mothers below, or was it just to give them a little taste of what was
coming to them. Easy as watching Lemmings going off Niagra he
chuckled.

Pulling around 1083alpha, he once again checked for tailgators, and
once AL assured him, he slowed and relaxed. He was in the 'old
country' now. Remnants of the IBM transatlantic link lay before him,
and - wait, was that a packet riding the Internet ? Now there's
something you don't see everyday. Probably someone from the old
school, just trying to relive the old days.

He stopped in front of the ARPA terminus, self-diagnosed, placed his
deck on standby (don't want to be clocking up valuable time when not
on the move)  and waited for his rendezvous.
He was happy. His mission had been successful, and it was all down to
his own ingenuity. He was feeling quite chuffed and smug with
himself.

Time to get paid. He had worked his butt off for months for this time-
credit, and he was sure as hell going to get it.

How right he was.

As Jake lay in standby, behind him loomed the dark figure of the
Company Man. Carefully the CM snipped the inputs from Jake's deck
and attached them to The Box. This he looped back to Jake's deck, and
fixed it. AL remained dormant throughout the entire procedure.

He left as silently as he had come safe in the knowledge that Jake
would never awaken from his dream. Jake was a lucky one. He would
drift in the void forever, but at least he would be in a state of
satisfaction, of happiness. Lucky he wasn't target 0alphaZ. Now he's in
for a real shock.