From: lhassell@quapaw.astate.edu (WyLdFiRe)
Subject: Story Seed: Opinions?
Date: 14 Nov 1995 15:03:44 -0600

To whom it may concern,
	Just the beginnings of something I've been working on.  Give me
some feedback, if you don't mind

						-Leif

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Thin Ice
By Leif Hassell

	Vic hadn't had a real job in a while.  It wasn't that he was bad--- on 
the contrary, Vic was one of the best.  The Cyberdyne MarkVI he carried sported 
more "surprises" than 007's Beamer, and Vic knew it better than he knew his own 
body.  The problems Vic had were beyond ability.  He lived for the rush of
the grid, the neon pulse of information like a global bloodstream, and he had 
grown cold to the world.  Realspace was like a prison to him, and the grid was 
the only place he felt free.
	When the client--- a small, thin man--- had showed up at his door with 
a pair of Razorboy bodyguards, Vic had assumed it was another "cut and cover" 
operation; open up building security for some corp espionage team, and cover 
their tracks behind them.  

                                    ***

	Vic lunged through the grid like a shark on the hunt.  The target was 
small--- some unknown Bahamian bank; the ICE was an old Microsoft design.  Vic 
was surprised that anyone bothered to use something that old.  By today's 
standards, the antique firewall was a diversion, something cowboys used to 
teach their apprentices the ropes on.
	Vic eased through the ICE, using duplicate icons to confuse the ICE's 
limited AI; it was about as smart as the average chihuahua, and just as 
tenacious.  Once he passed it, he saw why they had it.  It was a diversion; but 
it wasn't the cowboys they were worried about hiding it from.  Since the 2007 
Geneva Conventions, use of so-called "Black ICE" was illegal--- it's like 
wiring a shotgun to the front door.  They had to keep it quiet.
	As Vic approached the DataConstruct, he slowed his speed; in reality, 
there was no velocity, but allowances have to be made for the limitations of 
humanity.  Vic called up his ICE-breaker; it was a custom job, and he spent 
most of his free time tuning the code.  He watched as the program, which he 
called "The Mailman", began to weave lattices of logic around his icon.  He 
felt the familiar sensation of dislocation as his signal was broken up into 
tiny, discreet packets.  He was going in.  Vic muttered to himself as he
entered, "Neither rain, nor sleet, nor Corporate Ice..." €


   
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"Non Nobis Domine, Domine                |   Leif Hassell
Non Nobis Domine                         |   
Sed Nomini, Sed Nomini                   |   
Tuo Da Gloriam."                         |   lhassell@quapaw.astate.edu
Latin Litany (from Henry V): "Non Nobis" |   wyldfire@deeptht.armory.com