Forbidding Aegis IC
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Forbidding Aegis IC
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Al heard back from Tanya first. <<Well, she said mostly recon an’ intel…fer now. But it’s up against some top tier nasties with no end o’ bad juju, an’ that’s enough said onna ‘link. She said she’d pay fer a large talent pool, cover all the slots. Whether she meant fer all the hires ta join the meet tomorrow’s academic – they’s in then they’s in, an’ they gotta right ta hear the spiel. That’s how I work. An’ hey, along with yer guest list, send ol’ Al a snap o’ whatever yer fixin’ on lookin’ like.>>
-
Tanya/Song Ai
Friday June 3rd, 2078, Xuan Li’s Restaurant, Chinatown, SeattleSong Ai sends considers her list of contacts and settles on several. The message to each is short and to the point. >>Zag. Tanya Marisart. I may have some work for you. If you are interested, be at Zero’s tomorrow evening at 1900. The place is a dive biker bar in Puyallup so dress accordingly. Let me know soonest if you can be there.<<
>>Bronwean. Tanya Marisart. If you are still interested in some real shadow running, I may have something for you. There will be a meeting at Zero’s, a dive biker bar in Puyallup, tomorrow at 1900. Let me know if you can make it. I can give you a ride if you need one. Sorry for the last minute notice, but let me know soonest if you are able to be there.<<
The rest of the messages follow the same basic format. Several on her list come back with apologetic rejections even as she continues to send other messages out. She could send messages out to others that are not currently in Seattle, but decides that they might not be back in time for the meeting.
6
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Rebeca is always traveling and is never happy at any particular place. All her relationships are complicated and are full of contradictions, frustrations and many other emotions she could not set her heart on. Indeed, she was conditioned to loyalty by the Finnigan’s most skilled instructor conditioning that she found difficult to break, even when all reasons were justified.
Yet, something changed with her once she met fake Roger, the choice to see her long lost mother there rather than her lover. It made her aware of something. She was foolish to dedicate her body just for him. the fear the man because he is powerful, but Becky is no longer his. She is well connected enough not to be murdered out of jealousy. She can be free, if he would not commit – she can find some other that would. She is good at what she does and with the money she is making she could support a family – if only she wasn’t so extravagant in her taste. Spoiled for living rich for many years. “More chains, more layers of control… I really only have my own body.”
So, her happiness from visiting Seattle was short lived. Roger was a fun and passionate reunion – but a week into the visit she already felt the urge to disappear. Symbiosis or no symbiosis – the mansion is impossible for her. When Al pings her she texts back “You are in luck, I was just leaving but I will stay in Seattle providing the pay is good and the job is reasonable.”
-
Al was delighted to hear back from Becky right away. They didn’t see eye to eye on everything, but they had history, and Al called her friend. He voice-to-texted her straightaway. <<Reasonable don’t come into this line o’ work, Precious. Less’n ya thought that last job was ‘reasonable,’ in which case you should like this new one jist fine. What I can tell ya is that the Johnson’s a close friend an’ fully reliable. Crazy too, but there we go again – nature o’ the business. Zero’s, south o’ Puyallup City, ’round seven tomorrow night. I’ll put ya on the guest list. Lemme know if yer lookin’ fer a late dinner.>>
He had two main routes out of Orting – if ‘routes’ they could accurately be called. Hell’s Kitchen was generally accessed only by helicopter, but the Mechanicals and a few other motorized denizens knew ways through the maze of sharp ridges of cooled magma and minefields of ash-hidden sinkholes. His preference was to go north, roughly along the line of the old 162. What was left of the road itself had enough ruined structures along it to provide homes for desperate unsavories, but there were often good paths between it and the ash-choked mudflow that passed for the Puyallup River these days.
Tonight, however, he first headed east, taking him through a more arduous gauntlet of geothermal activity to 161, which, thanks to the regular convoys back and forth to Petrowski Farms, was still more or less navigable. He knew the Governor was going to be brought up that route tonight, and wanted to check the route beforehand. As luck would have it, he hit the road in time to trail one of the farm’s armed convoys, joining a collection of other locals that made a habit of taking advantage of the relative security provided by the regular agro-shipments. The dust was terrible, but it made for much easier going otherwise, and his filters were modded for the job.
He was flipping the bird to some crazy ork bikers that were crowding him when he heard back from Dern. Just a quick text. <<Busy. Try Ex-Gladius at attached code. Currently local. Recommend highly. Will tell him to expect call.>>
Al sent a thank you ping then voiced a text to the new code. <<Name’s Al Guthrie. Got yer digits from Dern. Got nasty dangerous work, fully righteous Johnson. Lemme know if’n ya want particulars.>>
The reply was quick. And very much to the point. <<I have received your message. I am prepared to listen to your proposal. Ex-Gladius out.>>
“Heh heh, not the chatty type, then,” Al chuckled to himself. He sent the meet info and requested an image for security purposes be sent ten minutes prior to arrival.
-
Ulrich had reached the armorer without further incidence. The (Asian)Indian shop owner wore his customary Sikh turban and greeted him with a friendly smile: “You are early, please take a seat while I fetch your suite.
Ulrich nodded and did as he was told. The inside of the shop was pleasantly cool and a decanter with fresh water stood next to him on a small table. The first gulp of cold water felt like heaven and although he pased himself the decanter was empty when Smith reappeared.
“Follow me please, you can try on the suite and tell me if it needs any further alterations.
Ulrich was glad that he hadn’t drunken earlier as otherwise he would have been sweating profusely in the heat.
Stripping down to his underware he put on the executive suite. The fine, silk like structure felt increadibly pleasant on his gaunt frame and the fit was perfect.
“It wasn’t easy to get the weave to accept both the nonconductivity and the electrochromic modification, but it should work now.”
Smith fuzzed abit around and smiled satisfied: “The fit is very adequat. If you need it altered, come back, we’ll keep the rest of the material just in case.
“Thank you”, Ulrich replied. “It will serve well for now.”
Another big chunk of his budget went over to the capable hands of the tailor and Ulrich changed back in his much less fine cloths. The cheap material felt somehow wrong now on his skin.“And here is the mask you wanted. Careful, it is quite heavy.”
Ulrich took the fitted mask and looked at the smooth, ceramic looking surface. The only discernable features were the two black eyeholes. The mask seamlessly connected to his PAN and suddenly the white turned into a mirror, showing a perfect copy of Ulrich’s face. He pointed it at Smith and in an instant it became a facsimile of the shopkeeper.
Although it was just electrochromic material, the illusion was good enough that at some time in the future it might force someone to hessitate for just a fraction of a second – long enough for him to put that person down.
“That will be all. Thank you.” Ulrich put the mask back onto the suite and waited until Smith had made a compact package out of it again.
“I must go now, but I will come back next time I need your skills.”When Ulrich finally had found his way back to his hideout he collapsed on the bed. All in all he had walked close to 30 km today – and the meeting hadn’t even happened yet. Tired he got up and set himself on the hard floor to meditate. After an hour he felt fresh enough to face the prospect of meeting with a bunch of criminals.
He showered and put on his new suit. After that he slightly sculpted his face – just enough to fool facial recognition, should his faceless device fail to cover him adequately. As requested, he sent a picture to this Al. That done he fetched the helmet and the lined coat. Mask and helmet in place as well as the coat, he left the appartment to await his bike’s arrival.
For the drive through the city he called upon a skillful mind construct at six time magnification, letting it flow through him, imparting heightened ability to drive as well as to operate his matrix device. The power flowed through him like water and smoothed away any exhaustion he might still have felt. As a final touch, he constructed a veil on the hyper conscious level to prevent other awakened from perceiving his enhanced mind state.
And with that he was off, hurtling towards Zero… -
Ichante’s out communing with nature and sketching a landscape in a notebook when her commlink buzzes. She looks down at it and finds that she has a message from Al of all people, even though she hasn’t heard from him in four months, nor does she actually remember giving Al her commcode. Well, she probably did. She blinks for a minute, not quite sure what to make of the message. Her mind twists between a variety of responses.
– Wrong number, drekhead.
– Al, you could never ‘turn me on’.
– You scruffy sheep herder, I can’t believe you’re alive. I thought some father with a teenage daughter would have gunned you down by now.She has all sorts of sass but she managed to bite her tongue. She was trying to get away from that, although if anyone could get a rise out of her it would be Al.
Still… what did it hurt to hear it out? It was just a meet, and meets weren’t ironclad commitments. If it was too hot, she could walk.
She responds tersely. <<I’ll listen. No promises. Where?>>
-
Becky texts Al back >> The job cannot be any wackier than our last one, but I was referring to the payment.
With that, she returned to the Dancing Dojo where she was training currently alone. Her task was to listen to the sound of silence. Master Omaya was always this cryptic and spoke with metaphors. Becky had a rough idea of what the old man meant, but he lacked the formal magical education to correctly articulate himself. He was speaking about her inner place of strength, about her QI, and while it was oriented inside her body, it could be oriented outside, if she could get it right.
So there she is, moving silently within a dance of blows and kicks and feints – trying to listen to that internal silent force within her. She starts to understand the critique Omaya has of her augmentations as shortcuts to power. Becky can almost hear ‘the silence’ but they are in the way, these augmentations has a rhythm that minutely differs from the rest of her body. Somehow, the Bioware experts did not augment her quite right. It was frustrating but not unexpected, and Rebeca knew that while developing her talent is a life goal. She trusted technology better when her own survival was on the line, magic could be negated but her augmentations are always with her. Becky fails again and again and was growing frustrated. Her movement was flawless but it lacked the desired mystical effect. That illusive QI vanishes before she completes the strike. She is clearly doing something wrong, but she is uncertain exactly what.
-
Pulling the Gaz into Mordecai’s boathouse, Al noticed more texts. It was more traffic than usual for him, but was it any wonder, really, that he should find himself so sought after?
He left the big doors open for when his van arrived. As planned, his friends had dropped it at an agreed address down in Aurora. No need for them to bring the big flatbed all the way into city traffic when the van’s SOTA pilot could make the trip better than most metahuman drivers. The ETA was seventeen minutes, and just for fun he was tempted to tell it to make the trip in fourteen. The ride was for work, though, and there were lots of eyes around the ‘plex whose attention he didn’t need.
He got to work on the voice-to-texts.
<<Ichante! Almost cordial fer you, princess. Zero’s – it’s jist south o’ Puyallup City, jist a hunnerd meters or so past the cop-line on 162. Seven tomorrow night. Oh, an’ yer supposed ta wear somethin’ sexy. Part o’ the job or somethin’.>>
<<Reckon the pay’ll be top-notch, Precious honey. Backers on these sorts o’ gigs is true believers with deep pockets. An’ like I said, no worries about any fatal buyer’s remorse once the job’s done on this one. You’ll be treated right.>>
Business done, he sat down on a mauve beanbag chair he’d tossed into the corner next to the hotplate at some point in the past month or so. It was dotted with duct-tape patches and smelled of old mold, but it was comfortable enough. He forced himself to remember for a few minutes the night he’d died here. Resisted the urge to call Hun and check on things. The kid. Counterproductive, that. Then he shifted his mind to more important matters – this kind of work required constant, disciplined training. Watched ten minutes of one of his Carl Ryder chip and mentally followed along with all the moves. That as a good workout. Then he called up the latest Karl Kombatmage episodes and settled in for the serious study.
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[Friday June 3rd, 2078; Mechanicals Compound, Orting, Seattle]
> I only met Lily in person a month or so ago but I have watched her from afar for the last six months since she escaped to the Mechanica in the Squeeze and then shortly after that made the trip here to their New World brethren in Orting. I believe that Lily was created by the arcano techs of House Senjak, the Iron Company, in London Below. Not for their own use but for an outside buyer. Unfortunately my efforts to get more information about who or why have been stymied at every turn, even for the close mouthed House this was a secret that was kept deep. I have people working on that angle but Below is not really covered by my network of whisperers so it will take time. I expect we will find out eventually, hopefully this run will have part of the puzzle. I will see you at Zero’s tomorrow then, stay safe!
> Silk***
#08
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Al had known the incoming text was from Silk by the ‘Me So Horny’ he’d designated for her calls. He never tired of his own sense of humor.
<<Roger roger all o’ the above, Silky baby. Suffice ta say, any suspicions ya got about that girl’s likely true an’ worse…ain’t no good thing never come out’n that rat’s nest of a Mole Kingdom. We’ll treat ‘er with care, be sure o’ that.>>
-
She feels frustrated and dripping from sweat, and is about to swear when a little voice whispers hello. The shy master waves a slight hand. “Did you stay here all night…?” he asks. “I came at about midnight, couldn’t sleep.”
“Any progress?” He asks, and Becky replies “Not much” “Perhaps you are trying too hard, why don’t you take a shower and go to sleep.” She sighs “Is that your professional opinion or your personal one?” she says with a hint of sass. “We are at my Dojo, give me twenty,” he says, and Becky falls to the floor for twenty pushups. It is more a demonstration of discipline than exercise as her muscles can pull much more than their own weight. “I cannot teach you if you lack the discipline”
She feels outraged by the insult, she is the most hard-working student you ever had. Every single lesson, every hint is met with hours of practice, and reflection and attempts how can she lack the fucking discipline? At this point, Becky knows better than to speak back. “Yes, master Omaya. I will be heading for the showers now”. The handsome orc sighed “Children” and begin the ritual to open his daily training.
To be fair, Becky was about half a meter shorter than the orc, and kind of seemed like a child in comparison. “I’ll show him… I’ll show all of them.” She thought, she stripped quickly and entered a steaming hot shower. The hint of pain from the water kept her sharp, and she watched the droplets drop over her body and her short brown hair. As the adrenaline, and anger faded she became exhausted, overworked again. She was working too hard for optimal progress and muscle growth – trying to reach for something that alluded her.
Tomorrow there is work to do, at least a job offer and she needs a break. Becky leaves the Dojo downtown Seattle and walks down the street, wearily looking at windows and at people getting on with their days. Everything seems upside down for her for being so exhausted at that early hour.
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Well, well, well. A message from Tanya Marisart. Tanya fraggingMarisart, to use her full name.
Time was that Zag had resented her money and family name — the sort of money and name his family might have bestowed upon him, had Hualpa and its gang not stolen it all. She’d first talked to him at a Street Dance, she’d complimented all the dancers, perhaps even flirted professionally, and he’d burned with resentment. But since then he’d done ‘work’ with her a couple of times, and he’d discovered that she was as dangerous as she was gorgeous, and more importantly that she knew. That like him, she understood that you were only truly living when death was a whisker away.
Of course, he’d assumed too much based on that realization. Assumed she too would like to dance with Kamikaze screaming through her veins. The look on her face when he’d offered her some … well, no surprise that after that misstep he hadn’t heard from her once that job finished. It made an orc wonder what sort of job would lead her to call him now?
Well, only one way to find out.
<<Lady Marisart, I look forward to the opportunity to see you again. I will be at Zero’s tomorrow and be ready to sit and listen to the situation.>> There, hopefully that was enough to communicate that he’d be there straight. Not that he’d ever waste ‘Kaze on something like a meet, but people made weird assumptions once they knew you were a user.
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Tanya/Song Ai
Friday June 3rd, 2078, Xuan Li’s Restaurant, Chinatown, SeattleTanya receives the short message from Zag and smiles. The man made little secret of how he felt about her, but the promise of a nice payout could make them working companions again. She does not like his use of drugs to give him an edge, but she is not that different from him in that she uses metal and microchips to get her advantages, that and years of practical experience. >>Zag. Tanya Marisart. I look forward to seeing you again. I can promise a very nice payout, but the risks will undoubtedly be very high.<<
Her next message is to Al. >>Al. Tanya. I have received confirmation from one and expect the same from another, but have drawn a dry well on others, all of whom seem to be away from Seattle at the time. I have attached a photo of what I will look like, although the clothes will be a bit scruffier, as appropriate to the location. Ciao.<<
Done with the messages, she turns back to Fu Shing, pushing a bit closer into his side as they walk the short distance back to the hotel from the restaurant. She looks up at him with a smile. “So, practice tonight, honorable husband?”
The look on her husband’s face says it all and the two pick up their pace, their guards rolling their eyes at each other, but they are used to such flagrant displays by now. Besides, there are enough rumors and half-truths about Song Ai and her abilities to keep them in line.
7
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<<All good, chiquita. You got maybe two, I done got three confirmed. That makes seven even if Silky sits it out. Any more an’ we’s steppin’ on each other.>>
Tanya’s text had come just as Karl Kombatmage was taking out a squad of Bulgarian mercenaries with the changeling infant he’d rescued in a papoose on his back. Al went back to the beginning of the action sequence, wanting to watch it sans interruptions…whoa! The baby sprouted fangs and sank them into Karl’s neck…dammit, the mercs weren’t Bulgarian, they were Transylvanian…they’d been trying to help Karl, or at least put an end to the devil-vampire-baby. Al shook his head. Karl was okay, but when would he learn? Never work for Johnsons whose haircut cost more than a car, and never ever turn your back on a changeling.
Al was considering the best way to apply these two truths to his own work (wasn’t Silky some sort of changeling, what with the horns?) when the road outside washed over with headlight beams and The Gov rolled smoothly through the doors. He popped to his feet. Went over and patted a sturdy side panel. “Ya made it, hey? Loco dusty, but that’s nothin’ but good in our work. Let’s erase yer nav history and check the rest of ya out….”
-
Ichante stifles a laugh at Al’s suggestion to wear something sexy. Part of her wants to be mad, but it was actually pretty clever so she allows herself to smirk, not that she’d ever admit that to Al.
<<Al, are you into leather products? How about a belt in your mouth and boot in your hoop.>>
She’s never been to Zero’s but she’s familiar with Puyallup and knows what to expect once the Knight-Errant rating slips from a C to an E or, Spirit forbid, a Z. “Sexy” might be a sleeveless armored vest, or maybe boots that don’t cover your ankles. Ichante knows a homeless rights activist down there – Waylon – who has told her plenty of stories about what it’s like. Every block is claimed by a gang, even the rubble heaps. He told her that half the gangs owe allegiance to the Gianellis, half owe allegiance to the Kenran-kai, and another half are aligned with the Vory who are trying to expand their influence eastward from the docks of Tacoma. Math was never Waylon’s strong suit.
The meet isn’t until tomorrow but Ichante fires off a quick message to Waylon, wondering if the Reality Hackers have maintained the public grid well enough for Waylon to actually receive it. You wouldn’t think that an ex-squatter would be busy, but he somehow maintains a full schedule with his homeless rights advocating.
<<@Waylon [Ichante] Waylon, I’ll be in your neck of the sprawl tomorrow. If you’re not busy avoking, I’ll buy you dinner. Anyplace you want other than that hot dog cart which does ‘rat dogs’, ‘devil rat dogs,’ and ‘dog dogs’. Bring your mending; I can do some of that too.>>
Unable to concentrate on her sketch any longer, Ichante closes her notebook. She rises to walk and review her memories of Texas, and to wonder what trouble Al is getting her into this time.
-
Ulrich arrived early – as he had intended – driving once around the place, sniffing out were all possible exits were. Being a wanted man made you cautious.
A lot of heavy machines were parked in front of Zero, so that his own racing bike wasn’t out of place. Local hudlums were likely vary of touching any of the machines here for fear of disproportionate retaliation. Good. A tired neon sign in the window spelled out the name of the bar – or maybe the average rating its patrons had given it.
The facade had once been a simple whitewashed industrial building, but had accumulated a dark grey patina over the years of neglect. The only part that the owners had invested in seemed to be the ballistic plate windows as well as the very sturdy looking steel front door.
Either drive by shootings or guests being thrown from inside through the windows were the likely reason – most likely both.
The rat infested back alley had enough refuse to hide a small army, but Ulrich guessed that that would have to be a very brave army indeed.
Entering through the door did nothing to improve the smog ridden air quality – thick nickstick fog hung in the air and made the ceiling all but invisible between the glare of the low hanging lamps and the otherwise pathetic lighting. Probably a small mercy, considering how the floors looked.
The concrete tiles had probably once upon a time been covered by hardwood or something similar, but were now gone and replaced by an impressive matt of spent butts, dirt, stains that looked suspiciously like blood and stains that looked perfectly like vomit.
Someone had made the effort of decorating the walls with stuff like licence plates and framed pictures, but hadn’t realized that those license plates should preferably come from different, far away places and not just obviously stolen Seattle vehicles. The framed pictures at least showed holografic scenes of famour urban combat games – not that Ulrich had paid any attention to this or any other kind of sports.
The smell was surprisingly not that bad – your sinuses just shut down with all the smoke around.
Most of the seats had old and worn through artificial leather coverings, that had been inexpertly patched with – at it seemed – hot glue and skin from road kill animals. The cracked trid behind the bar was currently switched to a music channel, showing a much too young elven dancer in a very skimpy western outfit, singing an autotuned hit about her truck, whiskey and imprisoned boyfriend.
The song was so generic, that probably not even the boyfriend in prison would have paid attention to it.
The barkeeper – a scarred and tattooed ork looked like his skin had been cured by all the smoke.Scattered small tables and chairs filled the open space up to the point where the three billiard tables where the owners of the bikes outside spend time drinking and shooting. Unsurprisingly, the billiard tables were the one thing in here, that looked reasonable new and well cared for.
Ulrich went straight to the barman and said: “One beer, please.” He neither cared nor was asked for his preference, as he didn’t actually intend of drinking anything in here. His new suit under the coat drew a questioning eyebrow, but nothing more.
He paid and took position with a good view to the entrance as well as the toilets and the backdoor.
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Tanya/Song Ai
Saturday, June 4th, 2078, Zero’s Bar, Near the Puyallup Barrens, SeattleTanya roars into the parking lot of the bar on her Harley Davidson Nightmare, scattering gravel as she pulls to a stop at the line of other bikes. Stepping off the large machine, she stands still for a moment as she surveys the other motorcycles in the row. A quick look around lets her note the dirty whitewashed façade and the heavy, bullet resistant windows of the bar. Her riding leathers and boots appear worn but cared for. She notices two rice burners in the line and spits at them as she walks past, eliciting loud guffaws from the four burly bikers lolling near the door. She walks with a sure confidence, unzipping her vest to show a good amount of cleavage, which is emphasized by a large gold chain hanging around her neck, the end nestling between her breasts. Her dark red hair is cut close to her scalp except for the Mohawk down the middle. The men at the door pause to look her over, most eyes focused on the exposed portion of her ample chest. One, a large human, takes a step in her direction but is pulled back by the ork standing near him, who points to the scarred face, the rather large combat knife at her right hip and the even larger Desert Eagle revolver at her left. The four men silently split apart to let the woman pass by into the building.
“Thanks, boys.” Her voice has the gravelly tone of someone who has lived a life of too much cheap booze and too many cheap cigarettes. She pauses for a moment then looks over at the man who had made a move towards her. “Maybe later.” She passes into the large room, stepping to one side to let her eyes adjust to the dim light and smoke. The odors of unwashed bodies and spilt beer mixed unpleasantly with vomit and the layer of smoke from the various brands of cigarettes and nicsticks. A good look around and Tanya was familiar with the placing of the tables, the handful of booths against one wall, the pool tables, and the other exit. The thin walls of the building were no barrier to her radar and she spots another exit out of what looks to try to pass for a kitchen. For some reason, every menu item on the wall behind the bar included a reference to road kill and she is pretty certain that the words were not used loosely. The trid behind the bar was playing music videos and she notes the end of a song by some scantily clad Elven babe-wannabe and the beginning of one where the display of flesh was even more pronounced. At least the tune is better and Tanya walks further into the room, headed to the pool table area. She lets her hips sway gently to the beat of the music and several of the patrons have their eyes glued to her figure.
Tanya steps up to a table where the game seems about to wrap up and places some scrip on the edge of the table, signifying that she is claiming a spot in the game. There is a pilé of money in front of hers so she walks to the side of the room to examine the cues in a rack against the wall. A cute serving girl comes over to Tanya and takes her order for a beer. The available seats in the area being taken and no one looking like they are willing to give up their chair, Tanya leans against the wall and waits, quietly observing the players. One of the larger men crooks a finger at her and Tanya walks over to him. The man bends over and says something in her ear and she responds, causing the man to throw his head back and laugh loudly, bringing interested gazes his way from the others here. The waitress returns with a non-descript bottle of beer and Tanya smiles at her before placing some money on the tray and taking the bottle. She then leans in to give the girl a long kiss, eliciting lots of whistles and cat calls. When Tanya pulls back, the waitress smiles and leans in with a kiss of her own before strolling away.
Tanya remains near the large man, leaning against his leg as she drinks her beer and watches the other players.
8
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Rebeca arrives home and rests for a while, she has another full boring day dedicated to studying and practicing and honing her skills. She is never idle, she rarely has any ‘fun’ and she is never satisfied. Always looking to get more out of herself, yet the woman likes dive bars and is happy when it is time to go there. She dresses accordingly and arrives on her Morgan. She is wearing tight blacks, an armored leather jacket with a large tree on the back, and matching boots. Her hair is cut marine style short, and her impressive build is visible under the tight clothes. She is stunning but few men would dare to approach that tower of physical perfection. Becky is armed with a small crossbow, and with her distinctive Katana hanging from her back. She rarely uses the sword for combat as she is just as lethal with fists and kicks. Though the Katana is more visible than her extensive training – it sends a message that reduces the chance of random violence.
Becky arrives early and is quiet. She nods at the guards and just enters with confidence. She does not want to break the diet, so she enters one of the Pool games. Where she uses her verbal skill to make some impressive verbal jabs at her opponent but she keeps them with a smile and the two seem to be enjoying themselves. Game over, Christos as she then learns buys Becky a drink and the two talk about that new AAA horror game, Darkness. Still, since despite his charming ways, and Becky’s slightly flirting body language the handsome biker is not much more than a disguise. Becky’s awareness wanders as she tries to pick up people she may know.
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Tanya/Song Ai
Saturday, June 4th, 2078, Zero’s Bar, Near the Puyallup Barrens, SeattleTanya is lounging against the large thigh of the man perched next to her on a high chair. It seems that Gregor is the king of this small area, the tables his domain and the people here his subjects. At least that is how the others treat the man. Right now, he has an arm loosely about Tanya’s shoulders, a meaty hand draped across her right breast, fondling it through the leather material. He has not yet tried to get the hand inside her nearly open vest and Tanya wonders how far to let his hands roam if he decides to go for it, after all, the sensation is not unpleasant.
She is mainly in the shadows, but the line of metal studs under her right eye and the larger one in her right nostril glisten in the glow from the lights hanging over the three tables when she moves a bit. Otherwise, she is nearly invisible to the other patrons. She watches carefully as each new player steps up to a table and thus is aware of the arrival of the new woman, a very pretty Elf. It is apparent that she does not know her opponent, yet both trade verbal barbs in an attempt to rattle the other. They keep the words mostly friendly and they are both smiling. The woman moves with the grace of a trained athlete and displays enough skill to win the game, although Tanya suspects that she could have beaten him quite handily. Uncharacteristically, both players move away from the table to get a drink rather than let the winner remain to take on a new challenger.
Tanya is particularly interested in the woman’s sword on her back, but does not discount the crossbow hanging at her side. The agility displayed in the game could easily be transferred to either weapon and Tanya files the information away that the woman is probably more dangerous than she appears to be. But then, so is Tanya.
From her vantage point, she keeps a wary eye on the rest of the bar, trying to see who is present that is here for Silk’s meeting and who is newly arrived. She is a bit concerned about Bronwean. The girl’s overall enthusiasm might not stand her in good stead here, and Tanya hopes that she dresses to fit in.
9
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Zag
5:14am, 4 June 2078, 14402 S. 34th Lane, SeattleZag lay in bed, reminding him of all the good points about where he lived:
– Solid concrete floors under his feet
– A large garage, with space for his van and his bike and room left over
– An area where he can go for a run, or just a walk to get tea, without much chance of being stopped for walking-while-tusked
– But yet it isn’t so lawless that he can’t go for a run or a walk
– Dino’s Diner might have the best Soywarma in the cityAll good reasons to live here, he reminded himself, as the morning call to prayers from the nearby Shia temple finally subsided. Moments later the air shuddered as the morning sub-orbital from New York came in to Sea-Tac. Eventually quiet descended, but then like clockwork he started hearing the squeaking springs from the Mendelsons, who lived on the upper floor of the ‘terrace home.’ How a couple of scrawny humans could work the bed into such symphony was a mystery Zag wasn’t at all sure he ever wanted to solve. Where they got the passion to make such music almost every morning at their age, that he wouldn’t have minded knowing — he couldn’t even seem to keep a boyfriend for more than a few weeks, forget about finding one that wanted to bang on the daily for decades. Not that his family would tolerate him settling down with a boyfriend when they wanted more children for The Cause.
Ugh, that was enough thinking; thinking always brought him down. He sprung out of bed and ran through some quick steps and spins to get his blood flowing. Half a minute to pull on shorts, a harness for his link, and a respirator, and he was ready to head out for a dawn run. He had a meet later on, best get training in early today.
Evening, 4 June 2078. Zero’s Bar, Puyallup
However much fun it had been racing down highway 5, he almost enjoyed the last stretch through the dilapidated streets of Puyallup more. The near silence of the Mirage’s electric motor at low speeds, lazily looping around the worst of the pot holes, knowing that there were predators sizing him up, it all came together to remind him of the warm-up just before a match of any sort. He could feel himself settle into the zone as he approached the bar.
He killed the light on his bike for the last couple hundred meters and rolled up softly enough to startle a couple of the guys hanging around outside. One started saying something about the racing bike, but then Zag straightened up and rolled his shoulders, and the loser babbled to a stop. Zag took off his helmet and respirator, then gave his best attempt at a friendly smile and admitted “It’s a bit small for me, but the Pawns won’t stop a crotch-rocket as often as they will a hog. Leaves my back tight after a while though.” He suddenly spun into a combination of air punches, foot sweeps, and finally a standing back flip then added “There, that got the kinks out. You boys have a good evening now.”
Had he been showing off? Of course. But the size he was, at a place like this, someone would feel a need to challenge him if he didn’t make an impression first. It was just the way things were. There was no question of sliding through unnoticed, it was only a question of guiding the noticers to the conclusion that they didn’t want to frag with him. To that end, he unzipped his ‘Urban Explorer’ jump suit far enough to expose some pectorals, then commanded the nanites under his skin to form armor plates. The jump suit was going to grab attention, being in the green and yellow of the old Brazilian flag, but hopefully people would next notice the obvious cyber, and think better of tangling with him.
If any pretty guys wanted to get an eyeful of his pecs, he wouldn’t complain about that either. Pretty guys didn’t seem likely at Zero’s, but then again he was here so who knew what other miracles might happen? So he strode to the bar like he was walking under a spotlight, and made sure to stand straight even though that forced him to step around a low hanging lamp and to raise his voice to call his order down to the stunted bartender. Made him glad he wasn’t a troll; he’d have ended up wearing those lights on his horns and would have needed a telegraph to place his order.
Then he leaned back against the bar, holding but not yet drinking a glass of whatever rotgut they were passing off as whiskey in this place, and let people take his measure while he took the measure of the bar.
<<Tanya [Zag] In your impressive array of implants and gear, do you have a chem sniffer? I’m wondering if this stuff is safe to drink without getting a nephritic screen implanted first. And did you see, there is a fragging dryad in here? Has to be another runner, right? Hey, how come you never see any male dryads, do the women lock them all up at home or something? Although I’ll admit that this one looks butch enough that even I am almost interested.>>
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