Hamburg. The sparkling industrial giant. Towers and smokestacks. Factories and plants. Docks and shipyards within sight of the North Sea. Densely packed humanity.
Snow fell on the roof tops and highways outside. Most on the top level highway, but flakes drifted onto the ground level highway ten levels below. Five times the population of twentieth century hamburg lived within the same land area. Immigrant Arabs, Slovaks, and Hungarians packed into sweaty tenants at the lower levels. Ultra rich elite lived amid the finest twenty first century technology could provide at the top levels in glass and steel castle like penthouses.
Amongst the plants, factories, and industrial parks rectangular concrete prefabricated walls old houses sat. Left overs never bull dozed under, and relics no longer inhabited. Wood and brick houses made up toxic neighborhoods. It was the toxic waste dump part of town. Often jammed between two concrete walls of next-door factories, or mountains of packing crates these buildings were architectural derelicts of the Hamburg industrial sea.
Dreary gray winter skies mixed with rust brown landscapes of fifty-five gallon drums. A mountain of wood shipping pallets were buried in snow. An angular, flat faced ski mountain. Grass or lawns were asphalted over or blanketed in concrete.
One squatter shack, two stories, late twentieth century style. Sears vinyl siding. Peel away the black soot, smokestack belched grime, or brown snow, and the siding was an autumn brown. Wood trim long since eaten by acid rain leaked frigid outside air into the houses interior. Windows boarded over once the metal frames were looted for their metal were poor guardians from the wicked winter outside. The brick chimney sat dormant for lack of wood to burn - there was not a forest in Northern Germany. The front door was barred from the inside and the back of the house was butted up against a semi trailer. To either side of the house was a warehouse of scraped corrugated concrete. Bright garrish sodium bulbs lit what was once a front yard. The illumination from the warehouse exterior lights spread both directions at even intervals down the length of the loading docks. Two hundred docks in each direction.
Inside the house there was pirated electricity from the one dock light that was out. Power equal to the light was used; never more, never less. Also inside were a band of squatters. Though they were far from poor and far from normal squatters. They were not there because they lost their jobs, nor because they could not find work. No boss had driven them until they broke, then fired them. They were not labor riot homeless. They were runners.
In one of the five rooms on the first floor a mattress was thrown against a wall. Two people sat on it. One, a giant man in dirty, raddy street clothes and massing nearly two hundred an fifty pounds. Crouched, he looked like an over muscled monkey, with a disassembled assault rifle between his legs which he dilligently cleaned and oiled. The other, a small hard bodied lady in a jumpsuit. She had a blanket over her shoulders and worked at wiping down a gas dart pistol. Her name was Spydr and his name was Sharkman.
They sat side by side on the mattress, but were not the only people in the house. Two were in what had been the kitchen, heating up dried soy-kibble. Four more were in the adjoining rooms sleeping on individual mattresses, bundled against the night cold. Finally two were on the second story taking shifts as watchmen. The others were not in at the time.
Outside the high pitched wine of rubber on concrete mixed with the whistle of the wind. The temperature sat at ten degrees (F) and was headed down. It would be a cold night in Hamburg.
She looked at her shaking hands. The cold was making it difficult to handle the steel-polymer parts of the weapon. Stabbing pain shot through her fingers as she manipulated the compressing coil into the barrel spring, then locked the action down. She reached for the small oil dropper between them and gave the reassembled slide two drops, one on each rail, and then slid the slide onto the bolt. Charging the action once the weapon was ready for action. She quickly slapped in a magazine, charged it again, and fired one shot at the sand bagged wall. A light click of the action and a smack of the impact on the wall was all that was heard. She safed the weapon, and leaned over to houlster it in her vest. Ah, god. Done. Thankyou. She then leaned back, pulled the blanket around her and put her hands between her thighs to try and get blood flowing in her fingers. Then she took them out, blew hot breath on them, and then put them back between her legs. God is it cold.
"You're getting good at that," growled the big man beside her. "I knew you'd catch on fast."
"Thanks. But how come you can sit there and clean six guns and not have your fingers fall off?" She blew in her hands again and repeated the maneuver.
"Hunters fingers." He said simply while cleaning a bolt carrier on his Colt.
She looked over and up at his visored eyes. They were solid black, just like they had been since she first saw him when she arrived in Europe at the Firey Flaggon. "What?"
"Hunters fingers. Your fingers get cold because the capilaries contract to keep blood at the core of your body. This way the blood helps maintain your core body temperature. But that sucks heat away from your fingers, which you've noticed is painful and makes using them in the winter difficult. Well, tribal hunters, trappers, and outdoorsmen in higher latitudes develop the ability to unconsciously keep those capilaries from contracting. I loose body heat faster this way, like from my ears or the skin on my head, but I stay functional." He delivered it in a matter of fact tone, like reading out of a manual. "It comes with time."
"Have you ever had frost bite?" she asked.
"Yeah." He was putting the bolt in the bolt carrier.
"What does it feel like?"
"Imagine your flesh is an ice cube. Then scream. It hurts real bad, and if you're not screaming, you haven't got it."
"Great." Spydr had repeated the hand maneuver twice more. Damn, I still can't feel them.
The Colt had gone togther quickly after the charging handle was joined with the bolt assembly. Shark popped in two pins and layed it down with the other five weapons on the floor. Spydr was shivering under the blanket and concentrating on trying to get warm, firmly convinced she had frost bite. Her thoughts were drifting back to her apartment in MSP, and the magical warmth the heaters provided there. When a red riboned gift box wrapped in green shiny paper was placed on her lap by Shark, she nearly gasped with suprise. His massive paw held it there for a second, then he almost whispered, "Merry Christmas." She looked over at him with a smile on her face. "Now let me see those," Shark said as he took her hands, leaving the gift on her lap. He turned them over, looked at each side and rubbed the skin on both her hands. "Gorgeous. Nothing is wrong with these. If your skin turns a yellowish gray, then you might have a problem," he smiled a shit eating grin he thought he patented. He then let her hands go.
Spydr picked up the gift, which was about four inches cubed, and slid over next to Shark. "What is it?" she asked.
"Open it and find out."
His smile had gone away quickly she noticed; back to the sullen mood like normal. She tore off the paper, and set the ribbon aside. "This is great, whatever it is I'm sure I'll love it. With how busy you've been and how hard you've been driving us, I can't believe you got me something," she said with a bright light in her eyes.
"I know, I've been keeping us like that for a reason." Shark was refering to the two dozen operations they had pulled since the last week of November against his shadowy enemy.
With the last piece of paper on the floor, she held a small brown paper box. She looked over at Shark. He returned the look with a shake of his head that said, 'go on.' She slowly opened up the box. Inside something was wrapped in white tissue paper. She picked it up and knew what it was. A christmas snow ball. She continued unwrapping, knowing the gift, everyone on earth has seen one. The water filled glass ball, with plastic snowflakes, so when you shook it it snowed. A broad smile crossed her face. It was a scene of a castle tower, with a maiden standing on the balcony. "Thanks Shark." Shark smiled too.
"My pleasure." He paused for a minute as they just looked at each other. She then shook it and watched the snow fall. She looked up with a genuine smile and saw Shark smiling at her. "I appropriated it while on the last job."
"How did you have time? We were in the Zeiss tower the whole time."
"I know. I appropriated it while on the last job. As part of my campaign of terror, I figured I'd swipe some Corp's gift he forgot on his desk. He had a picture of a lady on his desk, with no kids visible. So I grabbed it for ya. I didn't really have time for anything else." His normally sharky grin was replaced with a sheepish grin.
"It's great. I love it." She leaned over and gave him a hug which he semi-reluctantly returned. She felt his tension and stopped quickly. Sitting back, she shook the trinket again, as he sat there akwardly. "I got you something too." She reached under the mattress and pulled out a encyclopedia size brown paper bag.
"I'd ask what it is but then you'd just say 'Open it and find out.'" Shark said. "How'd you remember? that's a better question."
"I'm a woman I never forget these things." Spydr sat there looking infinetly content and basking in Shark's happiness.
"Hmmm.. I should have known. Another universal constant I almost forgot: 'Women Never Loose or Forget Anything. The best I can Hope for is to Break Even.' Damn." Shark chuckled a little. "Zona remembered everything. I swear I never won once." A long silence followed.
"Yeah, now open it."
"Ok." Shark picked up the bag and with one swift rip its contents were spilled onto his lap. "WOW! Cool!!" Shark spit out. Spydr watched as he spied his new black Gortex jacket.
"It has Syntha-Web lining-"
"Cool."
"Fourty five pockets-"
"Sweet."
"Cellular phone pockets-"
"Tough."
"Two."
"Ghetto."
Spydr rubbed her hands togther as Shark held up the brand new Field Jacket style of outerware. "I figured it was time to replace that rag you were wearing." Shark looked dejected for a second. "That's why I bought the manufactured wear model, it looks like its been worn, but they just make it that way. The Syntha-Web armor is the latest Gengineered Spider silk to keep you protected."
"How fitting." Shark smiled, "It rocks." He stood up and tried it on. He took the old jacket and began removing the myriad of shit that was in the pockets. Spydr sat there amazed at the sheer quantitiy, not to mention the variety of crap he carried. He then sat back down next to her and began restuffing the pockets. Finally finished as she was again blow on her hands for warmth, he looked over with a child-like grin, "Wow. It all fits. Now I'll have room for more!"
"Great," Spydr smiled her best smile while trying not to look cold.
"Cold?" Shark asked. A nod from her. "Time to hit the sack?"
"Yeah, I sppose it is," she said. He stood and took off his new jacket and boots. She threw off the blanket on the bed, then kicked off her shoes. Spydr then hopped in bed beneath the mountain of covers, and Shark slid in after her. Both slept nearly fully clothed for warmth. Shark pulled the blanket up and curled in beside Spydr.
Ahhh. Warmth. I'll never take a heating bill for granted again. Glad to have the warmth of Shark, she cozied in to sleep. Then she started to think about how she got here today and what had let up to this. Really it had been her bar. She owned it and had to maintain it. That took cash. Graft money to the Zetatech security, and underworld types. She had gotten the bar because it was always sort of a goal of hers. With his arm draped over her she welcomed its warmth and thought back to their first meeting. In that laundromat that played stupid Beatles songs. Damn, that seems like ages ago. Thinking back, it was even before that that she got her bar, The Web. She bought it after her first big score. She then sought Shark out to provide protection on another job that was nearly as lucrative.
MSP 2042-2043.
Early fall. The newsFAXES called it The Great Train Robbery. Though she didn't think there was anything so great about it. It wasn't the biggest, or the first, or even the one with the biggest load. It started one night when she was on the MSP waterfront with a young corp.
He was a regualr on the bar scene and they had seen each other on many nights across crowded dance floors. Three days ago he had caught her when she was dancing at the 'Yellow Crucible', St. Paul's most gauche nightclub. He asked if she wanted to go dancing, she said yeah. So that put them at the waterfront, at Sau Paulo's. It was a restaurant and dance club built on the end of the pier. It was built to look like an authentic Brazillian long house. Artificial thatching made up the roof and synthetic wood built the building. The inside was lit by flaming bulbs that looked like torches. The food was about the only thing authentic, if you didn't count the Mambo band. And oh the Mambo. It would play til four in the morning, or until the last dancer quit the floor. The corps said he was from Brazil, part of one of the giant Argi-Corps, but regardless he could dance. The two burned the wood floor in a flurry of hips, heels, and spins until they were drenched in sweat.
He led her outside, past the coconut palms, and the tiki light bar, to the waterfront. The waters of MSP are nothing great, but that night in September of 2042 seemed magical. She knew he just wanted her body, but Spydr just wanted to dance. If you asked her today, she would never have quessed that it led to her biggest criminal exploit to date.
Just upriver was the Norther-Pacific E-Rail bridge. Vaulted stone construction crossed the Mississippi river two hundred feet in the air. Blasting across it at nearly a hundred miles per hour was a bullet train. She glimpsed for a second a door open on the side, and two men gripped in the throws of mortal combat. The corp behind her didn't notice a thing, he was holding her because he thought the cold september night was making her sweaty body shiver. She knew she was shivering because a life was about to be extinguished.
Right then, as she cosciously knew someone was going to die, one body arched down and away from the train. It impacted with a raucos BOOM on the surface of the water. She knew there would be no survivor. The corp had said something or another, but she can't remember what today. All she remembers is that someone would pay for that. Soon after it started to rain and they went back to his apartment.
Three days later.
The Star's End was an old warehouse in Lakeville. It sat across an old worn out backroad from a pair of old worn out 'mom and pop' type restaurants. They both had names, but they could only be read during the day, on account of the neon lights being broken out. The warehouse sat in a constricted section of the old industrial park. It was a hotel.
The front office was attended by a man in an unbottoned button down shirt. His hairy sweaty chest displayed above a ponderous beer gut. His cigar stank. Spydr looked at him with mixed emotions as she walked in the door and a tinny chime rang. "I need a room."
"Five creds," the man said without looking up from an old three inch TV black and white. Spydr would have expected him to take note of her. She was one of the five or six most beautiful women in MSP. Today though she was dressed down. Makeup can make you look as bad as it can good, and this was a rare occasion when she wore makeup. It made her look plain at best. He looked over, "No drinking, fighting, druggin' or guns allowed." The grizzled old man used a tone somewhere between scorn and beration.
"Right," she said and slapped down five creds in 3M script.
"Take a top bunk, they're best." He said with an almost-smile.
"Thanks." Spydr walked through the plywood sheet on hinges that had replaced a door. She was immeadietly in back. Whatever front office there had been was long since torn out. In its place were bunks. Hundreds of them. It was a sea of bunks. The Old Man and the Bunks. Spydr thought to herself amused.
The bunks were constructed of plywood and two-by-fours. A weak semblance of a matress was layed out on each. Some had curtains to pull shut, for the modesty of some. Many were inhabited, mostly by old, sick, or the drunk. The auroma of the room assaulted her; a vile mixutre of feces, urine, cheap booze, stale sweat, and smoke. It's a good thing this is important. She began slowly making her way to through the isles with caution. A person could come to quick ends here. A woman more so, and being attractive only would make it worse. Fights could break out for the top bunk, robbery was common for drug or alcohol money. Life was fast and cheap, but by the time you ended up here, you were usually long on the tooth and spent. But she had a purpose. She was looking for her man.
Ace Walters was a retired E-train brakeman. Not a brakeman in the old sense, now the brakes were computer controlled and hydraulically actuated. He sat at the computer and worked those brakes. He better not be dead. He had worked the brakes on a Northern-Pacific Iron Chief for ten years. Until he was retired two weeks ago, in a viscious downsizing move by a young corp exec that left him penniless and pensionless. She held a photo of him in her hand and made her way further into the labarynthine construct of bunks.
After walking around for half an hour, she found him. Almost by accident. She had walked by what seemed like a deserted bottom bunk, when five steps past she heard a rasping cough. Spydr stopped, turned around slowly and crouched down to get a look at him. It wasn't until she pulled back the curtains she acutally saw it was him. He looked drunk.
"Aghh! Hey Hunee! Watcha want?" he stammered.
Shit, this is going to be hard."To talk mister," she said with a girl like raising tone.
"Well cummon in!" He swung his hand with a drunk wave.
"Tell me about trains!" She sat in real close so he could smell her.
"Byyyy Gollie little lady, you've come ta the right place." His slur was obnoxious. "That's right. Chew haf." His head lolled back and forth. "Why I used to work on a bullet."
"Tell me about it?" The high pitched tone was intoxicating and utterly unresistable.
"I kant. It's a seee-kret."
Spydr got real close, almost face to face with the man who was in the later stages of liver failure judging by the yellow tint to his jaundiced skin. "Why?" again with the girl like tone.
"Well," rocking back away from her, "for you!" he said jabbing a finger in her direction. "Iiii, jussss-t might. Tell o00-ld Uncle Ace... whatcha wanta kno."
"Did you ever work the Denver run?"
"Pass me my bottle girlie." Spydr reached to the foot of his bunk and pulled up a bottle. It smelled like rubing alcohol mixed with year old chinese mustard. "Thatta gal," he said before taking a pull. "Yeah, daaaa-rnright I worked it. Sat the seee-cure car and drove. Theeeere wazznt a bitabout thatold.. trainIdin't know."
"Tell me about the doors."
"Ohhh, they're thick. Locked from the outside they are. Ikuld onleee openem if I blew the bolts, which would halt the train and," he took another long pull, "and bring the biiiiig men wit shotguns."
"The doors didn't get opened from Denver to MSP? How many guards were there?" The Denver Mint had been taken over by the corporations and used to manufacture the electronic cred sticks. The kind that are just imprinted with a monetary value and certified. Use once and discard.
"Ha!!" he shouted splashing the fould alcohol on himself. "Yadon't nee-eeed no gards. Itszzzz impervious." He paused for a long time. "No guards ever rode with old Ace. No won ever opened that door neither tile we'uz in the National Bank uz St. Paulie."
"Do go on!" she said with well acted excitment in her voice.
"Camera's watched us the whole time. Taped everything." Sobriety was returning to his words. More likely he was just used to being this drunk. "Only one man in there, just monitoring the systems. They couldn't crash, but Corporate wanted a set of hands in there just in case."
"What gadgets did they have in there?"
"Oh, all sorts. Laser trackers on us. Pulse meters, physical and sub-sonic." Ace was back in the zone. The technical details flushed the booze from his brain. That or he was having a 'moment of clarity'. "Motion activated cameras watched me every second. Even in the pisser."
"What was so valuable? I hear they got" long strategic pause. "Gold?"
"No corporation wants that old money. It's a broom clozet or three of certified unused clean cred. A pretty penny I imagine, but they'd miss even just one milicred. Rat bostods." He took a hefty pull, easily twice the length of the last few. He must have noticed his buzz wearing off. "The locks they got on them doors is grand. The size of my head! Like a big planetoid. They got their uwn weather systems!!" Spydr giggled along with his insane chuckle. It egged him on. "A few days back I heard from an old friend buying me a can that a lad tried to break in. He threw him from the train. Blew the locks and tossed the body." Ace had a pull. "Gave him two hours to try and pick those locks. Then dumped him in the river."
I know. I was there. "How fast did the train go??" the gleam in her eyes was a siren deception.
"Oh, gal. We'd cruise the lines at two hundred miles an hour. Not the fastest for sure, but we were the grandest. The silver exterior was never dirty. The chrome was too hard for dirt the chemists said." He layed back on the bunk and looked up at the one mere inches above him. Wonderment and loss on his face. Spydr started to feel bad for him. "Speaking of hard! Old Ace has got one on. Wanna roll?"
She must have given him the wrong idea. Pig. "I gotta be going. Thanks for the story." Spydr then got up, and walked off. One step closer to her goal.
"Are you still awake?" he asked. "We've got a long day tomorrow. The toughest job yet."
"I know." She said, his tone was fatherly. A development of late. "I was just thinking." As his breathing drifted back to the rythmic patterns she knew meant he was sleeping, she tried to remember where she had left off.
October 2042.
Traveling to Baldwin Wisconsin in the winter was somewhat dangerous. The snow on the multi-lane highway was treacherous and a spin would mean a collision as one of the other vehicles slammed into you at ninety miles per hour. Taking 94 east towards Eau Claire, Spydr was tempted to take the slower and safer side roads, but they held bandits and highway robbers, so she stuck with the high speed eight lane traffic and the semis.
As she drove through the burbs that streached across the old state borders, the snow started to get heavy, and she was glad for the Jeep Cherokee's good heater. Yeow, it would suck to be outside today. She thought about the job ahead and what she would need from Earl. That crazy texan who was her black market technology dealer of choice. Some Sonabouy hulls, Parachutes, and an Emergency Exit. Easy enough, she thought as she was leaving the Hudson exit behind.
Twenty minutes later she saw the Baldwin exit and pulled off. She took the bright, nicely lit, broad throughfares into town. The street was already decorated and shops already carried advertisements for Christmas, although Halloween wasn't even here yet. Agh. It gets earlier every year! As she drove through the wide streets, passing the A&W, she took a series of turns that left the roads narrow, the alley's dark, and the Zone wall just ahead. She stopped at the checkpoint and showed her ID. The guard accepted it, logged her passage (under a false name), and allowed her to pass. As she drove out into the Burbs she looked in the rear view mirror and again found the searchlights and barbed wire both frightning and bothering.
After an uneventful five minute drive through the burbs she was behind Acme Casket. She looked around, and seeing no danger, exited the car. She quickly made her way to the door and knocked three times. The peep hole opened and she heard Earl's voice, "Whatcha want there?"
"You got my list. I'm here to pick up." Her tone was powerful and commanding, but not threatening. She knew her business and it let others know it too.
"You alone outhere?" His Texan accent was as thick as the armor plating on his security door.
"Yes. As always. Now open up, it's freezing." Earl opened the door, lowered the shotgun and waved her in. Once she was fully in, he slammed it, and commenced locking all eight bolts, and a floor club. I wonder what he'd do if there was a fire? "Do you have all of it?" she asked as she glanced around at the piles of what appeared to be junk, but which she knew to be piles of treasure yet unexplored.
"Have I ever fail'd ya?" spit. He launched a brown stream of tobacco spit at the floor off to the side, away from Spydr. "Ya don't needta answer that un. I gotit rite over cheer'."
Spydr followed him and was greeted by a pile of stuff that was all her's. Six Boeing Sonabouys; torpedo shaped shells, about as long as a baseball bat and roughly a foot in diameter. These are designed to be dropped or ejected from an aircraft at roughly two hundred feet of altitude and deliver sensitive SONAR electronics into the ocean. Next there was a three foot by three foot square emergency exit door, resting on a pair of saw horses. This was of the kind that are mounted on the roofs of busses or trains to allow quick exit should the train roll. It was the exact model used on the Iron Chief. Last an assortment of palmtop accessories for a scanner, a DEO dubber, a sonic pacifier, and a specialized lock pick kit. "This looks great. Where are the extra explosive bolts for the emergency exit."
"They be intha card bord boxy, rite thar," Earl said pointing.
"Great. What are the damages?"
"Seventy-three."
Spydr pulled out a stack of bills and payed Earl, on time and in person. Just like usual.
In a Rent-a-Storage in Bloomington, Spydr practiced. Despite the cold rain falling outside, she went through the drill again and again. The Emergency exit was set up on the saw horses, with a plank for her to sit on and work. She practiced again and again. Eyes closed. One hand. Off hand. Rebooting computer. Dropping tools. She practiced every conceivable error and how to get out of it. She kept her breach time to twelve seconds. From opening the diagnostic cover to throwing in the stun grenade. The diagnostic cover let her overload the car's computers, then she would cram pick the emergency exit, bypass the explosive bolts (which would make for a rude surpise if they went off) and then drop in the stun grenade. All in twelve seconds. One week later she had it all down pat. There was just on thing she needed now.
"You're awake again." His tone was almost displeased, mixed with concern.
She hadn't even felt him wake up. Thinking too hard. "Yeah, I know." She smiled to hide the trace of tears these old memories were bringing up. Rolling back on her side she hoped he hadn't seen the tear; it would only make him worry more. "Do you know Black Bart?"
Shark was suprised she could tell by the delay. "Yeah. Where did that come from?"
"Thinking of an old run. You ever work with him?"
"Once, right after getting back to MSP. In my personal and professional opinion he is a no account worthless scum bag. Though he is one of the best three or four runners - not counting you and me - in the city. Why? Has this got something to do with tomorrow?"
"No, just wondering. I'll go to sleep now," she said at last.
"Good," Shark said putting his arm over her as rolled to sleep too.
January 2043.
Fredrick Protection. Big blue letters adorned the universally known concrete walls of the medium size industrial building. A simple square glass and steel three story building was centered in the building and was the office section of the business. Its facade was smokey black glass which contrasted remarkably with bright white of the concrete walls of the plant. Fredrick Protection built the safes that the corporations used to transfer the cred sticks. She had to find out more about them.
The chauffeured limo cruised into the parking lot and the big brusque man behind the wheel got out and opened the door for her. His broad back and thick arms marked him as a working man, but his perfect manners and stoic quiet bearing marked him as a servant of the highest grade. Few would guess his street name was Orge.
Taking his proffered hand, Spydr alighted from the limousine. Her dress was long and went from her neck to her matching-sandled feet. The material was a golden orange with luminiscent particles of golden brown. She wore her hair up in a cutting edge Star City style, and wore no makeup. "Thank you Edgar." She walked towards the main door in the smog clouded afternoon haze with purse in hand. This section of Bloomington was upscale enough, and the front office accepted walk ins, so this maneuver might work. It'll work. No man can resist my charms, Spydr thought to herself.
Inside the front office, with the automatic doors closing behind her, Spydr surveyed the office. This was a reconisance. The receptionists desk was about twelve feet back from the door, with two headseted young girls working the phones. Fake ferns decorated around the couches and chairs meant for waiting guests. All of which were empty. Spydr approached them with measured dignity, "Hello. My name is Deborah Ross. I would like to buy a safe."
"We at Fredrick Protection would be glad to be of service, I will ring our sales VP who will take care of you immeadietly." The girl made a few clicks on the phone and then finished, "If you would like to take a seat, Mr. Forsell will be right out."
"Thankyou, but I will stand."
"Have a nice day." And with that, she went back to punching buttons on the line board.
"Greetings Deborah, welcome to Fredrick Protection." Mr. Forsell extended his hand in a friendly handshake, which Spydr took. He was dressed in a dark brown pin stripe suit, with the double breasted and athletic cut that was popular. He was easily middle aged, with specs of gray over his temples, but wore glasses and was perhaps a bit overweight. "How can I help you today?" he asked. She hadn't even gotten to make a peep. Immeadietly she knew he was over bearing.
"My husband has taken sick, or he would be here now. We live in Star City near first ave, level twelve. But a rash of vile Runners have made the security a laughing stock." Spydr paused a moment, she spoke in an excited tone, barely pausing for breath. She played the part of an excited and overly emotional woman. "We have need for a good strong safe to protect our most valuable belongings."
"Well then!" Forsell said sensing a sale, "You my fine lady have come to the right place. If you would care to step into my office I can offer you a drink and we can talk of your immeadiate needs."
"Thankyou," Spydr said and followed him into the huge executive office two doors down the hall on the left. To the right was a huge panorama window that looked out on the assembly line floor. It was tinted blue to block welding or arc spots and cast an eerie strange light on the hall. Forsell's office had a view of both the assembly floor and the front parking lot. The picture windows were large and let in lots of sunlight, a sign of high status. There was a broad hard oak desk, judging by the looks of it, a low line of file cabinets on the back wall, and a computer console behind his desk. His desk was on the right as you walked in, and the cabinets the left; they also doubled as a wet bar.
Mr. Forsell walked over to it while motioning to the two chairs. "You can have a seat, would you like something?"
"Yes, a Vodka on the rocks." Spydr moved gracefully, with a slow elegance to the chair and sat. Her back was absolutely straight, showing off her lines as well as elite breeding (or status). When Mr. Forsell was finished pouring two, he handed her one and sat down behind his desk. "Thankyou Mr. Forsell."
"Please, call me Jason. Now how can I help you. What exactly are you looking for." He was reaching for a pile of catalogs.
"I understand that Fredrick makes the best safes, and my husband and I want one. Protection against common theives you see."
"Yes, of course. Our safes are the best. Double walled, half inch, Boron-Nitride coated to prevent drilling. It is lines with the best fiberglass for insulation against fire, and banded with titanium polymer to protect against explosives."
"Oh my!" Spydr exclaimed in an admirable rendition of a ditz, "They use bombs to open your safes!"
"Yes, quite crude is it no?"
"Doesn't it destroy the contents of the safe?"
"No, they know they can't do that. And using the ammount to open one of our safes would most likely destroy the floor of the condo."
"How smart!" she said in a high pitched voice.
"We have one or two key models, with or without computer codes. All safes feature, true-lockers, and interlocked dead-bolts." Jason looked at the almost blank look on her face and elaborated. "That prevents the locks from opening even if the keys are drilled or torched out, and makes it nearly impossible to cut through the locks."
"Wonderful."
"How big does the safe need to be?"
"Excuse me?" Spydr asked.
"Yes. Fredrick makes many sizes of safes. Fom half a cubic foot models to be placed behind a picture, to twenty or more cubic feet for small banks." The confused look was acted perfectly and Jason stammered for a second.
"You must excuse me, my husband would be here were he not sick, but I am not a technician and you are confusing me terribly."
"Pardon me," Jason said in a most appologetic manner. "Let me show you our catalog." He stood and walked around to sit beside her. He placed the catalog on the tea table between them.
"Each model," he said while flipping through the pages, "is made to order with the same quality and craftsmanship that have made Fredrick an industry leader for three decades."
"These all look very nice. But are far to small!"
Jason looked dumb struck. "These are pictures in the catalog, the dimensions are listed here." He pointed to the graphs and charts and small black type in columns, just as he noticed her eyes glaze over. "Mrs. Ross, perhaps you would like to view some of the safes we are manufacturing at the moment. That may help your decision."
"Wonderful idea. Let us." She stood once Jason was on his feet and followed him out the door. She was looking around with a wide eyed girl-ish sense of wonder which merely masked her burglar eyes working over the premesis.
At a big red door marked 'PRODUCTION FLOOR' he stopped and handed her ear plugs and safety glasses. "Please wear these for your own protection. It can be quite loud and abrasive out here," Jason said as he was putting on a set of his own. Spydr complied wordlessly, acting deferentially, internally amused that her ears would protect her in an artillery barage, and her eyes were rated to protect against Main Battle Tank lasers.
Once she had donned the semi-protective gear she said, "Please lead on."
Jason led the way out into the plant. There were huge overhead gantry crain moving sheets of steel. Laser robot welders assembled, held, and welded cubic structures. Wrappers and banders, insulated and packaged. Milling centers changed tools, bathed parts in coolant, and spit out
gleaming hot red silly string like chips of metal. Spydr looked around in amazement, part of it was genuine; she had never been in a micro-fac on the cutting edge of twenty-first century technology. It was quite grand.
"How many safes you must make here! This is amazing."
Jason seemed amused by her manner. "Yes, it is. We manufacture over a hundred safes a day, and we run two shifts seven days a week. We do it much like it was done in the old days, though. You should see how your cars are made. That is a sight to behold."
Spydr say the model that was on the Iron Chief. It was the size of a closet door, and half as deep. Three massive spindle locks as well as a computer key pad rested on its door in a vertical column. This could be a tough egg to crack.
She kept her eye on it as he led her down the production line towards it. Each safe along the way, she said was 'too small' 'ugly' 'unasthetic' or 'not quite'. Jason's manner soured, but he held it in check, and Spydr played absolutely clueless to a tee.
Once in front of the Giant Model X SureSafe, she exclaimed, "This is the one."
"Why, this is far larger than I would have expected. You're quite sure?"
"Yes, yes. This is the one. In fact, I may need two. One for each house. I shall call our trucking line right away."
"But, Mrs. Ross, all of our safes are made to order. This one is already sold to another customer."
"You have safes for sale don't you?" Spydr said with a look of pure bewilderment on her face.
"Yes."
"Then I'll buy this one." It appeared quite plain to her. Plain as day.
"Fredrick manufactures each safe, exactly as needed and then delivers. We have a lead time of two weeks on all new orders."
"My Lord! By then our house could be bare on account of the Runners!!" She seemed to go pale at the thought. "You are a fraud and a briggand for taking advantage of lady such as me." Spydr then turned around and made her way out. Timing and counting the steps exactly as she went.
Jason stood there beside an operator in a blue button down with his name on the shirt. He quietly exasperated, "Women."
Later that night.
The plants had shut down and the delivery trucks had left. The last foreman had long since gone home, and it was only hours before the first would come back in for the morning shift. Spydr had returned shortly after her earlier visit, and crouched down in a bush outside Fredrick Protection. She had gotten in her hide just before moon rise, about 1800 hours. It was now well after 0300 the following day and she was tired. The stary sky, or actually she knew it would have been stary were it not for the yellow haze, was her only companion. The back door to the plant wasn't locked, nor was it likely to be. The handle was broken and no chain was in sight. Not a creature would be stiring this late at night.
It seemed to her it was the smoker's back door. It made it almost too easy, but that was life. The podunk company obviously didn't take security seriously.
Never hire amatures. Seasoned veterans always get the job done. Also in the night was Black Bart, a fopish, partly crazy, but very business like Runner from MSP. Spydr hooked up with him for this job. She said she just needed the accounting data off a hard drive, and she would split the thirty kilocred check with him. All he had to do was stay on the roof one building over and make sure no guards or watchmen caught her. He was also there as a spotter to tell her when it was clear to go in. She didn't really need him for any of that, but did need a Solo like Bart for security. The building had little security of its own, which meant it must still trust the police. Foolish at best, but it means I might get shot at.
Bart wasn't very interested in the money, he just wanted a piece of her. There weren't any other good runners about, Arasaka had literally made a killing in the area cleaning up runners. Now it was Bart, or some newbie. It sickened her but she gave in in the end. Nothing kinky, but he was pretty brutal. She just layed there, just waiting for it to end. He seemed to enjoy himself enough though. Judging by the Mooing noises.
But that was over now and it was back to work. "Ok, sweet thang. The coast it clear." Her stomach turned over at the sound of his voice.
"Alright. Keep your eyes peeled. It's my ass on the line."
"Roger."
Spydr stood up, well within the sensor ring of motion detectors and took the three steps over towards the smoker door and opened it up. Once inside she tapped a few keys on the entry pad and the system went to inactive internal sensors. This wouldn't show on the logs, though if she had deactivated the whole system the computer would have recorded that. This was one bonus of years of Academy training; you got to know the ins and outs of nearly every system around, and you learned to keep up on that sort of thing.
Once inside she walked with her eyes leading the way, and the pace count doing the rest. She was right back to the Mark X safe, and took the backpack off. Unrolling it she took out her tools, patched in the computer on her thigh, and got to work.
Soaked to the core in sweat, she finished nearly three hours later. She knew that Steve the morning supervisor would come in at exactly 0615, give or take five minutes. She would be at the back door, and when he had deactivated the sensors from the front, she would dash out the back. Bart would be waiting with the car. This was the advantage in staking out a site. She had watched the place for three weeks before going in under the guise of Mrs. Ross. She left once the internal lights came on knowing enough about that safe, that she could do it with her eyes closed. Which she already had, three times in a row, just before Steve came back. It's not bragging if you can.
She started awake. Shark still seems to be sleeping. She rolled over and faced him. He was mostly on his back now. It was hard to sleep in the spoon all night and it had gotten pretty warm under the blankets, so there wasn't as much need now. His body had turned from the lean muscular one she knew in the past, to one tuned for combat. Turned as rigid as cordwood more like it. I wonder how different I look? She stared him in the visor. He'd smile if she kept this up long enough. He just thinks he always wins staring contests, she thought smuggly. After exactly five minutes she knew he was asleep, and she began to recall again the conclusion to her adventure.
March 2043.
The mountains. The name itself conjured up a single place. But that was not so. The majestic rockies stretched two continents, from nearly pole to pole. From the Canadian Rockies above the arctic Circle, to the Andes in South America. The blue snowy peaks stretched up to the sky. Looking up at them from a mile below, made Spydr want to grow wings and fly. Their beauty was undescribably. Green lush valleys rose through treeless tundra, to the snowy white tips of the world.
Riding a train magnified it all and made it vastly better than the sum of the parts. Seeing the country on a train was somehow more real than driving a car. It wasn't as manacured or publiscised. No signs dotted the landscape and no contoured terrain lined the roadways. On the train there was nothing but the hills, trees, and cliffs that had not been inhabited since the Native American's called the land their own.
Sightseeing was not on her agenda, but it was hard to resist. The most majestic ridgelines and scenery made it hard to concentrate on the job. Ah. It would be nice as hell to retire here. It was second only to perhaps the sleepy, quiet, train rides around the Gulf Coast. Old cotton fields and weeping willows slowed the hectic pace of life down, to where even a ride on an old fashioned steam engine could be enjoyable. That was a long time ago too.
But back to work she thought. She stood up and took her backpack with her. She was dressed in the newest form of outdoor fashion. Boots and a vest, matched her Alpine backpack. Her hair was in a pony tail and she easily passed for a college student on a vacation with mommy and daddy's corp money. She made her way back through the compartments. She was getting the feeling for enemy territory.
Before the train left, she had examined all manner of things. One, the hydraulic lift resivoir maintenance hatch, below the car in front of the security car. Two, the exact length of the car, and when the edges started to slope so she wouldn't fall off. She also did a visual check of the exterior of the cars. Inside she payed attention to how often people came and went between cars. She got a good look at the sleeping car just before the security car. The bathroom where she would stash her gear three cars up, and the ceiling panels were all important to have first hand knowledge of. She also timed the total trip, and would compare it to the three other trips she took and the two Ogre took.
Ogre, now there was a good story in the making. He was a big hulk, with brains inversely related to his muscle bulk. She hired him on shortly after Black Bart skipped town. Ogre was remarkably asexual, a trait she got along with, as well as being utterly loyal. He just needed money to pay his mother's doctor bills.
With the trip taking just about two and a half hours from Denver to MSP, she had some time to walk around before the ridge crossing. When it crossed the Mississippi, she needed to know exactly how fast it was going. She thought through the pile of data she had already and waited for this one last sample.
May 2043.
Delays and set backs. Those things were unavoidable. She just had to deal with them. Like when Black Bart was hauled in on Gun Smuggling charges by the Canadian Mounties. She didn't want to have Ogre kill him, but it was the only real option to ensure his secrecy. Luckily she hadn't had too, he'd escaped the day before she arrived in Quebec. When Fredrick Protection had taken the three safes out of the train one day when she was watching it load up, her heart sank. Had Jason put togther why she was there? No, they were loaded right back on. The bolts that held it too the floor were just sheared off. Once they were replaced and the safes reinstalled, she was back on track. So many little things.
As she boarded the train on what she had decided would be the do or die day, she silently went through every step of her plan even while the annoying corp was hitting on her in the bar car.
Twenty minutes into the ride, she excused herself and headed for the bathroom outside her cabin. She took the ceiling slats down carefully, and pulled out the two bags. One of tools, the other of climbinb gear and her suit. It was a 'No evidence Suit' made by Avail Technologies. "The Sneaker" as they called this model was good, but not as nice as some of the harder-to-get Arasaka suits. It covered the wearer from head to toe, in reportedly a 100% effective method of preventing any drop of evidence being shed for forensic evidence experts to find. It kept in perspiration, skin flakes, hair, and even eye-lash mites. She pulled on her climbing harness over it and lashed the second bag firly on her back.
The porthole. A one foot by one foot, six inch thick lexan barrier between the calm atmospheric conditions in here and a two hundred mile per hour windstorm out there. All she had to do was open it. Any mistake from here on out would mean a 200 mile per hour impact with the beautiful Colorado countryside. Utterly fatal.
Spydr stretched her hands out for it and began manipulating the latches and bolts to open in. Seconds later she was through. The wind howled and blasted. She had to be fast to keep suspicion down. She stuck one hand out and activated the electorthermal pinton. It heated up, melted, became molten, and reset as part of the train exterior. She lashed herself to it and climbed out. Using another as a hand hold, she took a perch on the side of the train. Starting out with another two for safety, she placed these ET-pintons on the side and then started climbing up the outside of the train with magnetic handgrips like astronauts use. Once on top, the sensation was of rapelling down a mountain because of the tremendous wind resistance she and her suit generated in the hurricane power wind. Once she had moved back the three cars to the roof of the Security car, she was panting and out of breath. The suit was hot, despite the wind, and she knew her undergarments were soaked through. Every single muscle ached despite her months of indoor rock climbing. It just wasn't the same, she felt like she weighed an extra three hundred pounds.
At the roof of the Security car, she scaled down the side of it, to the hydraulic resivoir hatch. She opened it up and took out, one by one, the sonabouys she had gotten from Earl. The time had nearly come.
With each sonabouy she made her way back to the roof of the security car and lashed them down with a bungee cord.
With all six of those tied down, she made her way to the front and the back of the car. From out of the leg pouch of her suit, she took out small black plastic boxes. Unraveling cords from them, she opened an access panel with her power tool kit, and spliced these into the ModBus Highway that kept the security car talking to the rest of the cars. Now she was ready for the hatch. These were her bouncers.
Now she prepared to go through the emergency exit hatch. Her practice from months came back to her in a flash. She placed the surge dump in the socket, and hit go. The computers inside would be going down, and the guard would be wondering what is happening for the next seven or eight seconds. She crammed in the explosive bolt deactivator, hit the door, and tossed in a stun grenade. Not even waiting for it to go off, she swung in and shot him three times with a sonic stunner. She then shut the hatch partway and walked over to the computer. She took out the video tape and put in the one she had duped. Using yesterday's tape she had fingered from the security booth in Denver, she would replay the guards actions of yesterday. This method was far more reliable than 'looping' what the guard had been doing today. Computers were programmed these days to spot pixel patterns. They would not get a pattern from yesterday's actions. She then put in the tape and hit PLAY.
Next was the guard. She affixed the sonic pacifier collar and he just stood there like a baby. He wouldn't remember anything, and he wouldn't be able to NOT remember anything. There would be no omission of memory here. After him, she went back to the roof and brough down all six of the sonabouys.
Finally it was time for the safes. She pulled the specialty tool kit off her leg, and brought over the one from on her back. "Sorry," she looked at the name tag on his shirt, "Fred, but I need this." She took the gaurds chair and sat in front of the first safe. She put in the feeler, blocked each tumbler, patched past the keypad, jammed the laser diodes, and then turned the big handle. Like butter it turned open. It had only been fifteen minutes.
This left her just over one hour to do the next three. Quickly, she did so, each time climbing the learning curve, so that by the time she had finished all four only fifty minutes had passed. Now, nearly frantic she pulled open each sonabouy and tossed the four waxed cardboard boxes out on the floor. These were printed in the Corporation Paint Scheme that matched exactly the ones in the safes, except for the orange ribbon she had them wrapped so she could keep them seperate. Time clicked by. She took six out of each safe and put them in the sonabouys. Then as more precious seconds elapsed, the took the twenty four from the sonabouys and put them in the safes. Lastly she removed the ribbons and stuck them in her pockets.
Now the hours in the dumpsters out behind the gambling halls payed off. Nearly seventy hours were spent rooting through the garbage to find spent cred stcks. Once used up, they were useless. The ceramics molded into the plastic meant they couldn't be recycled. In 2043, these were the Styrofoam McDonalds hamburger containers of the 1980's. Having to collect two hundred thousand took a long time, washing them took longer, they had to be odorless and in perfect condition so they would pass the visual inspections that the guards put them through once they were offloaded at the bank in MSP. After that they would be shipped again to the overseas branches in Europe and from there up the Sky Hooks to the soldiers that wer efighting in the second Corporate War, or the latest clandestine off shoot. By the time they slotted one, she would be long gone. Imagining the look on their faces made her laugh out loud. The high, jovial laugh, of a lady that is enjoying herself.
Closing the last safe, she knew she had only ten minutes before the bridge crossing. Now the proof would be in the pudding. The sonabouys were designed to do this in wartime, be dropped from two hundred feet into the ocean and survive. Hopefully the density difference between the oceans and the Mississippi would be negligible. Otherwise this would just be an expensive joke.
Blowing the bolts would normally set off the alarms, but this merely let in the air. She was cabled into the roof, just like when she swang in. As she counted off the seconds she could see MSP shooting by at two hundred miles per hour. At the appointed moment, she kicked each Sonabouy out. Exactly two seconds apart, meant the six containers were a football field apart as they arced down towards the Mississippi. The drogue parachutes opened and by the time she was on the St. Paul side of the river she saw all six open in glorious fullness. They floated down through the soot filled air to the waterfront where Ogre cruised in a Zodiac raft, collecting each in turn.
Spydr hurridly shut the door and replaced the bolts with the ones Earl had sold her. She then rebooted the computer and started the tape recording. Both would come back on line about thirty seconds after she was back on the roof. She then hopped up through the hole, full of exuberance in her heart, and zapped the guy with the remote control. In five seconds he would come back to normal thinking the whole trip had been boring. By then she was climbing up the rope through the two hundred mile per hour wind back to her bathroom in the cabin. Hopefully the DC of people in the bathroom having sex would keep away any service people. On the way back, she collected the cram picks, the bolt jams on the roof, and the bouncers.
Once she was back in her cabin, she ordered the best Red Wine they had and a sixteen ounce steak. She was hungry; and she was rich. The gear and suit went back in her bag. They would be burned in her apartment boiler furnace.
The Great Train robbery was pulled off with a combination of vision and simplicity in planning; security, repetition and intelligence in training; and shock, suprise, and purpose in execution. Liberal doses of bravery and audacity were added to cause the corporations a loss of all four safes. The authorities never found the person(s) responsible for the crime. Wild allegations still circulate about who did it. Who actually did it! In an age of Hostile (Solo) Corporate Takeovers and CyberCrime of ten times the magnitude, this singular crime was elegant in the manner in which it was completed. Using methods as old as trains, and without out the single defining technology of ther era a single person or group was able to make history. The story stayed in the NewsFAXES and on the Trids for a full year. People on the Moon and on Pluto are as familiar with it as every Minneapolin. Twelve Sensie and Trid networks have made productions and remakes of it. The total cost of those productions, any one of them dwarfs the crime itself in value.
Each safe held six containers of five hundred cred sticks. Each stick was minted with a two thousand nuyen face value.
