IC 2071
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IC 2071
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[Mid-afternoon, Wednesday August 12th, 2071; Departures, SeaTac Airport]
Becky and Jenny made their way purposefully towards the upper concourse and so far seemed to have escaped the attention of the agents making their own way through the throng. Everyone’s efforts were somewhat hampered by the security clamp down and the inability to move anywhere fast without drawing unwanted attention but Willis was doing a good job of drawing attention away from the others otherwise movement would have been completely impossible. The crackle of stun batons left little doubt about the eventual outcome of his distraction but dealing with enraged trog would give the cops a focus that was faster to resolve than a potential terrorist incident and hopefully will result in the lock down being lifted faster…smarter than he looked!
Finally on the upper level Becky wasn’t surprised when the black gentleman appeared walking on Jenny’s other side. He was dressed in a tired old business suit and didn’t look like he could afford a large team of runners, even an amateur one, the greying dredlocks adding to the image of washed out wage slave. But his eyes were bright with amusement and sharp intelligence at odds with his dishevelled look and Jenny didn’t seem perturbed when he took her arm in his. His voice was warm honey, without being cloying, persuasive and ever so comforting, pitched low for their ears alone
“Thank you. We can manage from here, can’t we Jenny? Our flight is just ahead. I have a ‘link here for you, you may pass the number to your new friends if you wish to contact them again…”
#49
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Before handling Jenny, Becky astrally perceived the man to verify that it was no ruse.
Astral perception: 11d6t5 5
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Ernie and Bernice were still making their way determinedly in the direction Becky and Jenny had gone – so determinedly, in fact, that they didn’t seem to notice Al in their wake. The little man was maintaining distance as close as he dared, still holding his attack until Becky signalled the hand-off. Passing by a restroom, he snatched a mop from a momentarily unattended janitorial cart, reached down, and deftly detached the mop-head, not missing a stride….
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Following Al following the agents, Forty did note that they were nearly at the escalators. Hadn’t someone said something about keeping agents from making it up to the second floor? Maybe there had been some signal they were supposed to wait for? But the agents that they knew about were close to getting up the escalator
Seeing Al grab a mop, and trusting him to cause problems to the two agents that they were trailing, Forty swerved and started pushing quickly through the throng, not minding if she attracted attention now. “Coming through” “Out of my way” “Let me slide past” Some people maybe would havelet her push past because of her looks, others perhaps could have been quelled by her glare. But she didn’t take chances, she infused Thunderbird’s power into her voice and snapped orders, sliding through the openings that this created. She left a wake of grumbles and disturbed flow. But that was OK, she didn’t want a well behaved crowd right now.
She asked Bolt “Ready to impress a lot more people? Would you materialize and start knocking out of the air anything else flying around? Mostly it is dull-dead machines, that don’t deserve to fly anyway.” Then she muttered under her breath “Showtime — thanks Maggie for showing me how this is done.”
Then she barged into a well dressed older man who was trying to maneuver a large rolling suitcase in line with the escalator and yelled at him “Meat is murder! You meat eater, eating our fellow creatures! She knocked his suitcase askew then stepped past him to harangue the crowd “Who eats meat? The rich! They are eating up our whole world! We need to rise up and protect the animals! Protect the animals and protect ourselves from exploitation. To the rich a cow and you are much the same! We must stand with our animal brothers and sisters!” As someone tried to push past her to go up the escalator she ordered the woman “Stop and listen!”
She took a moment to glance as the metahuman gridlock that was already forming from the blockage at the escalator, and to note Bolt soaring down the concourse in pursuit of a drone, and she smiled smugly. Create chaos? This should could do! Then she went back to haranguing the crowd and blocking off the escalator.
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[Mid-afternoon, Wednesday August 12th, 2071; Departures, SeaTac Airport]
As far as Becky could tell, and she was pretty confident in the clarity of her vision, the J was a mundane human, about sixty years old. He exuded confidence and purpose and a benign amusement and was physically fitter than his appearance might at first suggest. She suspected that the slightly scruffy clothes were part of the act, and that he was very good at acting, but there was nothing to suggest that he wasn’t the person who had arranged for this unlikely band to trek down to CalFree to spirit this girl away from the clutches of a corp bent on studying the way these technos ticked. He could of course represent exactly such a corp himself but it might not be wise to mention this to her companions as they seemed to have an unrealistic view of the way the shadows were supposed to operate…
#50
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Becky smiled and continued chatting with the man, and updating him with what they could identify about the pursuers to that point. Promising to update him if they find out about more. When an opportunity presented itself, she left them and blended into the crowd. It was a job, a man paid for an extraction, they did it. She liked Jenny – but to her, there was nothing to it than that.
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By the time the hand-off took place, Al was in sight of the trio of Becky, Jenny, and the Johnson geezer.
Which meant that the bad guys were even closer. Al got ready to lay into them with some mop-handle shock-and-awe, but as Becky peeled away, the Azzie agents somehow seemed to lose focus. They walked by Jenny and the Johnson, passing within a few feet of them and just moving on. Al was pretty sure the old guy looked right at them. And smirked.
Damndest thing. But then Al realized he must have subconsciously cast a spy-distracter spell, leaving him fairly impressed with himself. With a hearty self-congratulation, he left the mop handle behind a potted ficus and followed Becky’s example, breaking away from the small islands of commotion and heading for an exit. He couldn’t see Macey, but he assumed she was not far from Willis. Forty and the dog were also headed out.
The troll was easily visible, but Al could see he was already letting himself be taken down. If he played dumb, there was no major crime to connect him to, and it was unlikely they’d have trouble making bail for him out of their payment. It was money they’d never see again, but there were always operating expenses.
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The trid droned on inanely “In a minute our own Mary Day will be going underground to talk to a ton of troll twins: roots music novelty band ‘Not The Thompsons’. If you’ve never seen them play before you’ll be amazed –they handle those delicate musical instruments without crushing them, and they even put together a pretty good rhythm. Their latest release is a tribute to their home town, but before we see them let’s listen to the original. And don’t worry, your trid is not broken, this song is so old that it only has flat video, and the music is so simple that, well, even a troll could play it.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sl751CDdRZI
“Fragging Shiawase grid, always good for a jab at the metas. I can’t believe ‘Celia wanted this subscription.” Despite her grumbling, Forty didn’t turn off the trid projector. “Flat video? Maybe it will be something I remember from MTV!” But the video that came up was up boring men in an old-timey country bar playing hokey music. “Why doesn’t anyone make good music anymore?”
And still she left the trid projector running. The proceeds from the trip to San Francisco had paid for a lot of little luxuries in their crappy apartment, and a decent grid subscription and a trid projector were still novel enough to enjoy for their own sake. Especially because luxuries for the apartment had come a ways down the priority list.
First she’d had to visit her parole officer and pay him off, giving up a fair chunk of what she’d made. That had hurt, but the amount was big enough that she thought they had a working arrangement for now. No doubt he’d turn on her quickly if he needed to, but if she could make enough, and keep cutting him in, he seemed willing to turn a blind eye for now.
Second, Forty had bought a used Nissan Jackrabbit and had taken some driving lessons from Cecilia. They didn’t agree on how ready Forty was to drive on her own, but Forty knew she’d had all the fussing from her sister that she could take right now, so then she’d finally given in and got Cecelia a couple of new BTL chips. While her sister visited fantasy land, Forty had negotiated with the local slum lord and the local gang, and had ended up with a sort of garage, more of a lean-to than anything, but good to keep the car out of sight at least. And she’d had time to learn some other skills too before Cecilia was ready to get on with the rest of their plans.
Then they’d put time, sweat, and nuyen into making Cecelia’s shrine something that other’s would more readily recognize as such. Already it was pulling in more people from the surrounding area. Not a lot, but it seemed like Cecilia wasn’t the only one who liked a bit of ritual in her life, and Forty wasn’t the only who could feel the calm atmosphere of the place. The local gang seemed happy to have more traffic that they could tax, corrupt, or recruit, so for now the shrine seemed safe.
Only after they’d taken care of all of that had they finally sprung for a few personal and apartment luxuries. A better commlink, a grid subscription, the trid projector, a good calligraphy set, a new pot for Mr. Bonsai, some new dishes and better clothes. They’d even painted the walls, replacing the faded beige with a light yellow that Cecilia swore would be both relaxing and invigorating.
Finally Forty turned off the projector and let silence fall. “Enough fragging around, Forty. Toys are just a distraction, a way to turn soft. They don’t matter. Time to get in touch with Thunderbird, time to learn something deeper. Time to fight.”
Soon she was standing in front of the shrine they had shaped from a burned out building, feet firmly planted, staring the world in the eye.
A few deep breaths, then she bellowed This place is under my protection. You got a problem with that, come at me!”There was no response, but that was OK. Word would get out. She’d be at the shrine for a month, if she survived that long. If she made it, the protected status of the shrine should be pretty solid, and she’d know if she was ready to be a champion of anything.
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