From: lowk@nucleus.cuc.ab.ca (Karl Low) Subject: Spinner's Web Date: 9 Nov 92 11:58:17 GMT Author's Apology: Sorry for not posting sooner, or more regularly. The muse strikes when she will, and more often then not, it's a slow killing blow. Plus my characters seem to have their own ideas as to what they want to do, so blame them. Author's Thanks: To those who bothered to comment, or criticize. It's much appreciated. And gives an egoboo like nothing I've _ever_ felt before, that's for sure. And without further ado.. the second installment. NOTE: The Spinner of my story, and the Spinner of JBrandt's are totally different people. No relations can or should be drawn between the two other than they have the same streetname. This was not done out of malice on either author's side, but rather a simple mistake in choosing identities. --- Choice is illusion. Life is the world's best magician. Practice Experience It's never enough. You're always taken in by the show. --- Spinner stepped out of the tenement into the harsh glare of the sun. It's hot rays beat down on his sallow skin, the faded neon lettering of his shirt coming to new life. Thomas looked up at the sun, shading his eyes. "There's something you don't often see around here." Spinner grunted, seeing the way that the hot, yellow rays transformed the neighborhood from the sinister and depressing to the merely run-down. Empty windows across the street gaped back at him, movement in their shadows sometimes visible. Just people. People trying to get on with a normal life in a world that had long lost any sort of normality. The car slid up to the curb beside them. A silver bullet marred by the newspaper stuck to its wheel. The gull-wing door hissed open, and Spinner shook his head at the sudden resemblance to a space ship. Thomas idly tore the paper away from the wheel and tossed it down the street, a playful, desolate wind picking it up and carrying it down the lane. Spinner watched it until it disappeared around a corner, and turned to find Thomas looking at him. "Ready?" "Never. But close enough," Spinner replied as he crouched into the low seat. Thomas slid in beside him and the door hissed shut, sealing off the brightness outside. "Mishubi 21R." Thomas said. "Wha?" "The car. Prototype, actually. Thought you'd be interested." "Oh." They rode in silence for several moments, the car moving smoothly down the rough streets. Spinner watched intently out the window as the neighborhood passed by. Graying, condemned buildings fading into one another, cracked paint, the occasional plant on a windowsill, usually dead, sometimes not. Even a couple of people, their staggered walks halted with envious looks as the car slid by them. The bright light of the sun made it all seem so much more dead. Without the overcast skies to lend an aura of impending tragedy, or without the darkness of night to give the place the sinister mystery that seemed so enticing, the place just looked dead. There wasn't anything exciting about it, just a slum on its last leg. Nothing would ever happen here. Spinner knew that and, seeing it again for the first time, couldn't help but question if that wasn't exactly what he really wanted. "Looks different, doesn't it?" Spinner nodded in reply, "Looks all too real." "On to bigger and better things." "I wonder." The car quietly shifted up an off ramp and onto the highway, the low rumble of its engine slipping up the octaves to dissappear into a high whine as the car picked up speed. Spinner looked idly over at Thomas, who was doing some sort of strange finger dance. "Who's driving?" "Beg pardon?" asked Thomas, the dance of fingers never stopping as he looked up. "Driving. Shouldn't someone be steering this?" "Computer. Newest system. Picks up it's whereabouts from satellites in orbit, infrared and radar telling it if it's coming too close to anything. All you need to know is where you're going." "Huh. Impressive." "It is. That's the kind of thing we're working on." "So what do you need me for?" "Don't know. Mr. Terott said get you. I got you." "So what am I working for?" "Abrupt, aren't you? Sorry. All that you'll need or want to know will be explained by Mr. Terott." "Great," Spinner turned his gaze out the window, watching the smooth procession of billboards flash by. "So you're just a joeboy then. Company cannon fodder." Thomas glared at him. "Look, I'm trying to keep things friendly here. It's not in my orders, I just don't like being an asshole. But that doesn't mean I can't be. So I'd really appreciate it if you tried to keep things friendly as well." "Uh-huh." Spinner nodded, his eyes flickering over the billboards as Thomas concentrated on the continuuing finger dance. "I scare you don't I?" he questioned after a few minutes. "No," came the instant reply, "you piss me off." "No. I scare you. You can't handle being in the same car as someone who you think is gay." "Nothing to do with it." "Uh-huh. Polygraph it. You think I'm gonna rape you right here in this car." Spinner suddenly found his face pressed painfully up against the glass at the front of the car with one of Thomas' hands at his throat, and the other on the back of his head. "Shut the hell up. I don't know where you get this 'tude from, or what makes you think you can get away with it, but you can't. I _was_ being nice. Considerate. Then you start into this. I _will_ fuck you up if I have to. So how about you get a grip before I lose mine? Hm?" Spinner felt the constriction at his neck vanish and pulled himself back into the seat. He looked over at Thomas and smiled into the malevolent stare, "_Now_ we're getting somewhere. You actually felt something." Thomas shook his head at him and sat back, facing away from Spinner, out the opposite window. "So, Thomas," Spinner started, "tell me about yourself. What got you into this line of work?" Silence was the only reply, as Thomas gazed fixedly out the window. Spinner grinned to himself and looked back outside. No more was spoken in the car. Spinner watched in silence as it pulled up to a heavy chain-link fence, topped with barbed wire. He noticed the small box attached to one pole and the sign warning all comers exactly how absurdly high the voltage was running through those wires. He saw the gates swing inward as the car approached and the rather heavily armed people dressed as gardeners strolling idly inside the perimeter of it over the lush green grass. The second wall was made of stone, the iron wrought gates also swinging silently open at the silver vehicle's approach. Now Spinner could see the house. A mansion in the classic sense, hidden carefully behind and between row upon row of old oak, too regularly irregular to be real. He heard dogs bark in the distance and saw the glint of metal between the leaves of some of the trees. The road switch from ultra smooth pavement to a rough red-gravel, a half-second of vibration in the car being the only indication of any change before the shocks re- adjusted. Finally the car slowed to a halt before the red sandstone of the house. Both gull-wing doors hissing open at the same time, making the silence between the two occupants seem that much more audible. Thomas climbed smoothly out, not looking at Spinner who clambered out clumsily with his dufflebag. "So are you gonna say anything now?" Spinner asked. Thomas merely walked up to the door and lifted the ornate knocker. It came down with a heavy bang. A moment later the door opened and Spinner found himself looking at a small oriental man in a loose sweatshirt and bermuda shorts. "Thomas," said the man in perfect English, "verify." "Appleseed." "Johnny." "Nevermore," agreed Thomas. "Excellent. And this." Thomas was handed a small pair of what looked like binoculars, but with no lenses at the far end. Thomas put them to his eyes and a moment later a tinny voice issued. "Demarco. Thomas. Four. three. two. oh. four. two. Verified." The computer voice lapsed into silence. The oriental man bowed, "Welcome home, sir. Mr. Terrot is waiting for you in the pool room. I assume this gentleman is Spinner?" Thomas nodded, "As ordered." "Superb. Mr. Terrot will be most impressed. He has some cyberware in his left cranium, but nothing that appears to be weaponry. I will escort, in any case." "Of course." "Now gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to follow me." They stepped into the house, Spinner remaining mute as the door swung shut gently behind him. The lock clicked. --- Comments, Criticisms, Questions welcomed. Perhaps not answered, but welcomed. Copyright 1992 by Karl Low, all rights wronged, all lefts right. lowk@nucleus.cuc.ab.ca | Look, _I_ don't want responsibility for my actions, -----------------------+ so what makes you think anybody _else_ does?