Subject: Just Waitin' on a Friend
Date: 14 Feb 91 16:48:32 GMT
Here's another post from your friend and mine, Ken Aubey. Remember folks,
all comments should be mailed to him not me. Thanks.
aubey@gimli.asd.contel.com (Ken Aubey)
----------------------------------------------
Subject: Just Waitin' on a Friend
--*************************************************************************
*****
-- Virtual Camera Direction:
-- (for the movie inside your head)
-- unmarked paragraphs are shot from narrator's point of view.
-- < > paragraphs are pull-back and show scene.
--*************************************************************************
*****
<Sensors awaken, tingle. Some die of fright.>
<They enter the bar as though they've entered rooms together before. The
Twins
come in first. The Twins always take point. It's what they do best.
Identical
seven-foot tall masses of metal and polycarbonate. By this point, The Twins
are
Human only by polite convention. Each one's careful movements are a
mirror-image of the other's. There is flesh only around their mouths, the
rest,
every square millimeter, is armor / prosthetic / cyberware. They make a
good
percentage of their income hiring out to local police organizations for
riot
control. They just have to show up - end of riot. Once the Twins are inside
the
door, they fan out to either side. The Twins have no names, since they have
long since lost anything like any sense of being separate from each other.>
< A black-clad pair enter next. Their eyes scan the room, he to the right,
she
to the left..>
< She is wearing loose cotton; exact replicas of eighty-year-old SWAT
combat
fatigues. The left side of her face is marked by eight parallel scars that
run
down from hairline to disappear inside the jacket collar. Her hair is
buzzcut
very short, shaved around four skullsockets. Her eyes are featureless
quicksilver beneath darkened lids. She is called Echo Six.>
<He is very tall, very thin, wears a leather jacket that looks like it was
very
expensive when it was new. His long hair and close-trimmed beard are snow
white. His skin is nearly as white, lacking even the pink tinge that marks
albinism. His eyes, as ever, are invisible behind matteblack-framed
mirrorshades. It would be very easy to call him inhumanly beautiful, but it
is
a beauty with a sharp, nasty edge. Something about him, the way he moves,
is
vaguely disturbing. Those who are observant and patient enough will, in
time,
come to realize that his movements are absolutely silent. No one knows his
name, no one really wants to. When they must refer to him, his business
associates call him Night.>
<Visually, the last man through the door is the strangest of all. He is
called
The Daemon, and has gone to great pains to look like his namesake. Horns,
fangs, claws, a lashing, barbed tail have all been surgically added to his
body. He wears tattered jeans and high-top sneakers, an Ono-Sendai t-shirt
and
a sleeveless denim jacket - colors - proclaiming his allegiance to the East
Coast Sprawl gang called the Doom_Bunnies. Eight chromed sockets run like a
band across his forehead. He focuses his attention behind them.>
<The sensors show the group of newcomers to be very heavily-armed, though
no
weaponry is visible. The group looks around, takes seats at a round table.
They
arrange themselves so that, between them, a 360 degree field of view is
covered.>
<The tall man gracefully, silently approaches the bar. All over the
Chatsubo,
patrons of both genders whose sexual preferences run to men begin to sweat,
to
squirm nervously in their seats. Ratz wipes up a spill, asks him what he'd
like. He smiles.>
"I'm looking for a friend."
"Ain't we all?", the bartender responds.
"Yes, indeed, but I'm looking for a SPECIFIC friend. He is, shall we say,
an
especially short gentleman, prone to wearing an old military coat. He was
supposed to be staying at my place, here in town, but never arrived. I had
word
from him that he might be here. He wasn't expecting me. I wished to
surprise
him."
<The tall man in black speaks in a soft almost-whisper. There is no overt
threat in the voice, but it still chills those who overhear with its
power.>
<Ratz looks at the newcomer for a few seconds, makes his decision.>
"Was here. Ain't now. Hauled off by cops. What'cha drinkin" ?" His arm
buzzes
as he polishes the bar top.
"Two black coffees", pointing to the Twins, " draft beer for the gentleman
with
horns, Pernod for the young lady, and hot sake for me."
<The man returns toward the table, turns, speaks.>
"If anything untoward has happened to my friend, I shall be most cross."
<When he has returned to his seat, he takes a folding phone out of an inner
pocket, punches a number, waits. Two of Lonny Zone's perfect women begin
pushing each other, whispering invective. "Out of my way, bitch." "I saw
him
first.">
>From: joan@uncmed.med.unc.edu
Subject: Just Waitin' on a Friend (Parts 1 & 2)
Date: 5 Mar 91 21:22:46 GMT
Hello sport's fans - another post to you from Ken through me. Remember,
all comments should be directed to him (aubey@gimli.asd.contel.com (Ken
Aubey)) and not me.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Subject: Just Waitin' on a Friend (parts 1 & 2)
This post also contains a repost of my last piece, with an apology for the >80
character lines. (No, it WASN'T blank verse. :)) Apparently, my Interleaf ->
ASCII -> mail filters aren't as infallible as I had led myself to believe.
Sorry for the inconvenience.
Please note the warning disclaimer before part 2. (appended here)
Ken
--******************************************************************************
-- Virtual Camera Direction:
-- (for the movie inside your head)
-- unmarked paragraphs are shot from narrator's point of view,
-- voice over soundtrack.
-- The narrator's voice is low-pitched, low in volume - almost a whisper.
-- His accent is slight but distinctive -
-- not quite British, not quite Gaelic, not quite Eastern Eurpean.
--- < > paragraphs are pull-back and show scene.
--******************************************************************************
<Sensors awaken, tingle, register. Some die of fright.>
<They enter the bar as though they've entered rooms together before. The Twins
come in first. The Twins always take point. It's what they do best. Identical
seven-foot tall masses of metal and polycarbonate. By this point, The Twins are
Human only by polite convention. Each one's careful movements are a
mirror-image of the other's. There is flesh only around their mouths, the rest,
every square inch, is armor / prosthetic / cyberware. They make a good
percentage of their income hiring out to local police organizations for riot
control. They just have to show up. End of riot. Once the Twins are inside the
door, they fan out to either side. The Twins have no names, since they have
long since lost anything like any sense of being separate from each other.>
< A black-clad pair enter next. Their eyes scan the room, he to the right, she
to the left.>
< She is wearing loose cotton; exact replicas of eighty-year-old SWAT combat
fatigues. The left side of her face is marked by eight parallel scars that run
down from hairline to disappear inside the jacket collar. Her hair is buzzcut
very short, shaved around four skullsockets. Her eyes are featureless
quicksilver beneath darkened lids. She is called Echo Six.>
<He is very tall, very thin, wears a leather jacket that was very expensive
when it was new. His long hair and close-trimmed beard are snow white. His skin
is nearly as white, lacking even the pink tinge that marks albinism. His eyes,
as ever, are invisible behind matteblack-framed mirrorshades. It would be very
easy to call him inhumanly beautiful, but it is a beauty with a sharp, nasty
edge. Something about him, the way he moves, is vaguely disturbing. Those who
are observant and patient enough will, in time, come to realize that his
movements are absolutely silent. No one knows his name, no one really wants to.
When they must refer to him, his companions call him Night.>
<Visually, the last man through the door is the strangest of all. He is called
The Daemon, and has gone to great pains to look like his namesake. Horns,
fangs, claws, a lashing, barbed tail have all been surgically added to his
body. He wears tattered jeans and high-top sneakers, an Ono-Sendai t-shirt and
a sleeveless denim jacket - colors - proclaiming his allegiance to the East
Coast Sprawl gang called the Doom_Bunnies. Eight chromed sockets run like a
band across his forehead. He focuses his attention behind them.>
<The sensors show the group of newcomers to be very heavily-armed, though no
weaponry is visible. The group looks around, takes seats at a round table. They
arrange themselves so that, between them, a 360 degree field of view is
covered.>
<The tall man gracefully, silently approaches the bar. All over the Chatsubo,
patrons of both genders whose sexual preferences run to men begin to sweat,
squirm nervously in their seats. Ratz wipes up a spill, asks him what he'd
like. He smiles.>
"I'm looking for a friend."
"Ain't we all?", the bartender responds.
"Yes, indeed, but I'm looking for a SPECIFIC friend. He is, shall we say, an
especially short gentleman, prone to wearing an old military coat. He was
supposed to be staying at my place, here in town, but never arrived. I had word
from him that he might be here. He wasn't expecting me. I wished to surprise
him."
<The tall man in black speaks in a soft almost-whisper. There is no overt
threat in the voice, but it still chills those who overhear with its power.>
<Ratz looks at the newcomer for a few seconds, makes his decision.>
"Was here. Ain't now. Hauled off by cops. What'cha drinkin" ?" His arm buzzes
as he polishes the bar top.
"Two black coffees", I point to the Twins, " draft beer for the gentleman with
horns, Pernod for the young lady, and hot sake for me."
<The man returns toward the table, turns, speaks to no one in particular.>
"If anything untoward has happened to my friend, I shall be most cross."
<When he has returned to his seat, he takes a folding phone out of an inner
pocket, punches a number, waits. Two of Lonny Zone's perfect women begin
pushing each other, whispering invective. "Out of my way, bitch." "I saw him
first.">
--***************************************************************************
-- Ken Aubey (kaubey@europa.asd.contel.com)
--***************************************************************************
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> WARNING <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
The following piece, while not especially explicit, contains a
sexual encounter which may be disturbing to the easily-offended.
If this is the case, please do not read any farther. If you would
like a "G"-rated synposis, please email me.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> WARNING <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
--------------------- This film is rated "PG13" --------------------------------
--******************************************************************************
-- Virtual Camera Direction:
-- (for the movie in your head)
-- unmarked paragraphs are shot from narrator's point of view
-- The narrator's voice is low-pitched, low in volume - almost a whisper.
-- His accent is slight but distinctive -
-- not quite British, not quite Gaelic, not quite Eastern Eurpean.
-- # # paragraphs are shot from the narrator's point of view, but using
-- a very different set of senses. The lighting is bright and harsh,
-- - an illumination from which nothing can be hidden.
-- { } paragraphs are medium close-up, soft-focus lens, subdued lighting
-- < > paragraphs are pull-back and show scene.
--******************************************************************************
{One of Lonny Zone's girls, the reconstructed one with the silver hair, sits at
a table with a guy in a Mitsubishi-Xler flightsuit, sipping a tall drink.
Tonight, she is dressed entirely in bright red, a glowing ember amidst the
too-cool black and dark clothing of the group that surrounds her. Her attention
is drawn by the tall, elegant man who has just entered. She excuses herself
from her annoyed tablemate, sways across the floor toward the round table.}
<The newcomer folds the phone, speaks. He has not yet noticed the woman
approaching behind him. His companions have. Hands inconspicuously move toward
hidden weapons. He warms his hands on the ceramic sake bottle.>
"Medicine Hawk says he's all right, but he's gotten involved in rescuing one of
his old acquaintances. He believes that things are under control, but asked if
we've any pressing business, in case problems were to develop. I told him that
our dancecard was empty. He's given me an address. Six, would you mind driving
by tomorrow morning and dropping off the ChamoCloth coveralls from the plane?
It seems that the good colonel feels the need for a bit of stealth. Since . . "
<He takes notice of the woman who has approached the table. The Daemon's tail
lashes madly at the sight of her, the smell of her pheromone-laced perfume.>
{The silver-haired woman stands provocatively, a pose she has practiced often
and well. Her healthy, tanned skin glows, reflecting the red of her short
dress. She introduces herself as "Honey", asks if she might have a seat.}
I like the way this one looks, very much. Lovely, perhaps too much so, but I
don't mind. A silly thought strikes me. She is so attractive that I feel as
though perhaps I should look around for a pair of grinning long-bearded men,
waiting to hand me the keys to their car. I invite her to sit.
<There is little need for talk. Honey knows what she wants. The tall man in
black knows what he will have. He signals his companions. They stand and resume
their formation as they exit.>
<Honey is at the center, surrounded by her new escort and his four friends as
they move out of the bar, into the street. The group travels down the sidewalk
toward a large black automobile. It's big and old, an armored Mercedes-Krupp
Megastretch, luxurious, expensive, dangerous. There is more than enough room
for all of them.>
<As they approach the car, the scarred woman in black falls back, next to the
Daemon. She grins, speaks. "Hun'erd nuyen says the boss-man just picked up
another stray." "Nah, he's just gonna make it with 'er." "Two hundred, then -
put up or shut up." "You got a bet." They slap palms quietly.>
<Echo Six gets behind the steering harness, locks down the manual controls,
jacks a cable into the side of her head. A synthetic voice asks, "Are you going
to be driving, miss?" "Yeah, Vlad, I'm just better at it than you are." "As you
wish, miss." The AI sounds vaguely disappointed. Whenever Echo Six is around,
she drives, no question. If it rolls, floats or flies, she can pilot it, and
pilot it well. The readouts on the dashboard all show green as the turbines
whirr to life. She nods to the Daemon, seated in the shotgun seat, pops a chip
of antique music into the car's sound system and says, "Let's boogie.">
<The Twins take their accustomed places, next to each other. Their hands join
on the seat and they look deeply into each other's metal and plastic eyes.>
{Honey crosses her long, elegant legs on the leather cushion, exposing even
more of them to the pale man's view. He pours sparkling wine into a Lalique
crystal flute - a Ladbroke Grove Premier '53 - very costly, very classy. She
giggles apropriately as the effervescence tickles her nose.}
#There is no lipstick mark on the glass when she sips the wine. The shine on
those lips comes from tiny synthetic glands under the skin that secrete a
smooth glossy coating onto the surface. She can even control the flavor.
Currently, it is black raspberry. The color is adjusted by the opening and
closing of chromatophores in the epidermal layer. Her designer has been very
thorough.#
I put an arm around her, fondling a bare shoulder, drawing her closer. I enjoy
the warmth of her body next to me.
#Her body temperature is high, about 39 degrees C. Her metabolic set points
have been artificially raised. The hotter skin is sexually stimulating and the
higher metabolic rate burns calories faster than normal. Nobody wants a fat
hooker.#
She puts her face in that kiss-me position and I gladly oblige. My left hand
strokes a perfect thigh. I apply a bit of mental pressure, caressing her mind's
pleasure centers, and my mind is bathed in the energy tide of her wondrous
response.
#Her nervous system has been massively rewired. If a street samurai could have
his fighting moves jacked up the way her sexual responses were, he'd be able to
take out a cybertank with his bare fists. Many of her pain sensor nerves have
even been re-routed to register pleasure. She could have an orgasm while
burning to death. Fun for the sado crowd, but criminally dangerous.#
Damnation, I would enjoy killing the evil-minded bastard who thought THAT one
up. I probe again, looking at the consciousness housed in this perfect body.
#The girl's mind is a poor, pitiful thing. Chemicals and surgery have taken
away too much of her intelligence. She can care for herself adequately, but
there is little there besides the drive to look pretty, feel pleasure and
please her companions. Strangely, the lack does not find expression as
stupidity, but as a rather sweet, charming innocence.#
* * *
<The apartment is large, expensively-furnished. The place gives the impression
of a sales model or an expensive hotel room, not a home. The personal touches
that mark such a place seem to be missing. The door aims its sensors at the
group, identifies them, opens quietly.>
<A soft synthed voice welcomes them. "Welcome home, sir, it's been a long time.
There are no messages for you." "Thank you, Sethra.", the tall man whispers,
moving toward a bedroom. He leads Honey-san by the hand. She follows eagerly.>
{Honey undresses slowly. He beckons her onto the huge bed, kisses her with
exquisite gentleness. He has not removed the chromed sunglasses that hide his
eyes. He enfolds her body in his deceptively strong arms, enfolds her mind with
his. She is taken on a voyage on pleasure, an odyssey of ecstasy that thrills
her every nerve and muscle. Her pale lover feels the blazing radiance of her
delight, warming him like fire.>
Finally, I relax the control of my desires. A bit of mental coaxing and she
trembles, breathes raggedly, hanging for minutes on end at the very razor-edge
of climax. I bask in the radiance of her energies. She shudders, screams aloud
in delight, actually loses consciousness for a moment as I extend my fang teeth
and delicately slit the smooth skin above her femoral artery, sipping the hot,
salty blood like a magnificent vintage wine.
* * *
{Honey kisses the smooth pale chest, looks up into his face. Despite the
hammered pewter color of the corneas, her eyes are soft, dewy. Not at all the
eyes one would expect. The perfect voice whispers, "Keep me. With you.
Please?". A small tear falls.}
<He gathers her up for a long kiss. "I have to be away from here tomorrow
during the day. I shall be back in the early evening. I'd like very much for
you to be here when I return." Turning, he speaks aloud to the house computer.>
"Sethra?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ask one of the Twins to accompany the young lady to her home tomorrow. She
will be removing her belongings and bringing them here. Please have a room
prepared for her things . . . and, Sethra, please tell Echo Six that she can
collect on her bet. She'll understand."
--******************************************************************************
-- Ken Aubey (kaubey@europa.asd.contel.com)
--******************************************************************************
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