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1300 Local. MSP March 20, 2045.
I sat at a small round table, way in the back. Georgenio's was a nice restaurant, especially if you liked wine, smoke and Italian food. It had a clean crisp atmosphere, as opposed to burning tire type atmosphere's like The Weed, or Jack-O's Lantern. The soft light from green hooded lamps gave the building a warm glow. But tonight I wasn't there for any of the above, I was there to meet Nixi. As that thought passed from my one brain cell to the other (the rest having been killed off by alcohol, combat drugs, concussion, gunshots, and auto-erotic asphyxia... oops. Did I say that out loud. Sharkish grin.) she walked through the door.
Jill Nix is a reporter, correct that, young reporter for SNN (Satellite News Network) and we first met in Brussels. About two years ago I was still with the Dragoons, and we the 10th Dragoons were stationed in Brussels Belgium as a security force. Granted we make pretty heavy security but when the five largest Endo/Exo-aerospace corporations are meeting there for some convention (and footing the bill) we'll show up and do just about any thing short of skull fucking. She was there covering the story, just out of whatever Corp-school corporators go to, and we hit it off pretty well.
She reached the table so I stood to pull out her chair, "Thanks Shark," she said. Her white silk blouse and black cotton skirt with matching jacket made my raddy, cut up, worn out black jeans and old combat boots seem somehow slummish. The holes in the elbows and the threadbare state of the neck my Commando sweater was in didn't help things either. Nixi was of moderate height, just pushing six foot, with a real head of Auburn hair (not dyed, I had proof), and a suitably curved figure to draw looks, but not enough you would think she was a sensie star or a model. But it was all real hardware.
The waitress was there in a second, asking what we'd have to drink. Another beer for me, and a club soda for Nixi. After the young lady left, Nixi looked me up and down and I appraised her likewise but without the need to move my eyes. The cybernetic eyes which replaced my own, were a permenantly set visor like a pair of sunglasses. They were tougher and more durable than the originals, if somewhat less aesthetic.
"How's married life," I led off.
"It was nice while it lasted." She seemed curt today.
"Seeing anyone?"
"Can we get down to business." She said it as a statement but I took it as a question.
"Sure, there's a broom closet in back."
Nix remained silent.
"Oh, about the meeting. Yeah sure." She nodded and I continued. "I thought that since you were an aspiring investigative journalist that a good tip would interest you."
"Ok, I'm listening," was all she said in a flat tone.
I could think a few she would like, one big one in particular, but that's the Alpha male in me speaking. "Well, the murders going on, are related. They're not random as everyone else is saying."
"What's your proof." Again, all business. One would think that after two people shared something special, or even just sex, it could be handled and not be akward. Perhaps somebody should write a manual on this. I bet Raven could. She just stared at me with those big hazel eyes and I suddenly felt very stupid. Nope, it's still akward.
"I haven't found it yet, but I and about seven others have a good hunch. I'm offering you an exclusive." I sat back and sipped my beer and I eyed her, more like visored her. Her chest rose and fell, was that exasperation? But what a wonderful chest.
"Let's say for a second that I consider this." She paused, I nodded. "Then lets say that we lay down some ground rules."
I nodded and said, "No more angry men with shotguns?"
Not even a smile. "Are you afraid of shotguns?"
"Mostly, yes. Professionals are predictable, but the world is full of dangerous amateurs. Have you cheated on anyone lately?"
"Not since Brussels."
"I still can't believe you went behind my back." I took another long pull from my beer while the waitress brought up her club soda then retreated.
"He was my husband."
"Remember how I used to say I didn't like you muddling up a perfectly good argument with facts?" She nodded. "Well I haven't changed."
"Apparently not." Pause; she took a drink. "Didn't you ever think you could maybe have put up a little fight. Go after what you want. Show some intrest? Ya know?" A short pause, but I had nothing to say, so she continued. "You had quite a reputation as a decorated warrior at Ares."
I cut her off, "Still have the reputation. And no, he had a shotgun."
"It's just a shotgun," she said with a shrug of her cute little shoulders. "I remember hearing the 'the boys' tell stories down at the Post Club that you'd taken out Air Tanks by yourself, down in Cuba."
"Yeah, that's different." Damnit it really is!!
A broad smile of superiority, or perhaps that of one who is looking at a person that just lost an argument spread across her pretty face.
The silence stretched out for a minute, while I drained my beer. One nice thing about these eyes is that you don't make eye contact and always win blinking contests. Thus, it follows that I always win silence contests too, just by staring at the opposition.
"How?" She finally asked.
I changed the subject. "Doesn't matter, I don't steal men's wives."
"Ok, fair enough. Now back to the point at hand, this exclusive, what do I have to do to get it?"
I could think of about three things. Awwh yeah, fond memories. "Easy, just follow me around as I find out who is behind these murders." I smiled my best inuendo smile.
She just shook her head. "You're kidding right?"
"Nope, dead serious. How else are you going to get a first hand account of what is really going on? Are you going to trust a man who seduces beautiful women away from shotgun packing pissed off husbands?"
Finally, she giggled that giggle I'd been trying to elicit from her all-the-while. Her white teeth shone like something too clean to be this far out in the burbs. Damn I missed her.
"Ok, I'm with you on this one. But don't get all full of yourself thinking you talked me into it." My smile vanished. Could the illustrious and infamous Sharkman have just been played the fool? "My boss told me to do anything I had to, to get this story. Especially if an edgerunner was after the responsible party. Makes good NewsFax, as well as having high resale to the sensie and vid nets." My smiled returned thinking of the things she could do.
"I'm glad your boss told you that, but consider what you're getting into." No matter how much I liked her, the street was a very dangerous place for those that didn't fully appreciate it and understand it. Plus no matter how sensitive and empathic I tried to be, most corps don't strike me as street-savy.
As she sat there I appreciated the situation I was in. In a nice restaurant, brimming with atmosphere, a pretty woman at my table, and a few days ahead where the chance of me shooting things was almost guaranteed. I looked back at Nixi, a smile was dawning on her face. Hopefully she was thinking what I had been earlier, and not just now. That would be sick.
"Like I said, I'm with you. I want this story." I wanted something else, but perhaps I was thinking with the wrong head. Nah.
"Ok, then let me put down a ground rule. 'You will not get yourself shot or stabbed unless I let you. So when I say down, get down; and when I say run, run.' Got it?"
"Will do. I'm just along for the ride."
"Good. Cuz it might get wild. By the way, when did you divorce Mr. Shotgun?"
"Two months ago in Atlanta. Took forever. You'd think that a marriage in EuroCom would be easy to nullify in Atlanta, but those southerners are funny."
After we got all the business completed I waved to our waitress, who promptly came over and took our order: a sicilian soy meatloaf sadwich with fries for me and a tofu salad for her. God I hate health food.
As we ate our meal, again my thoughts drifted out of the restaurant and into the section of my brain I dedicate to planning. The two cells which I had used earlier, packed up and migrated there, then got to work. This whole 'hunting down the killers'-thing sounded nice and all but I was no detective or investigator. That left me one option: run it like a military operation. When your enemy eludes you, strikes from the shadows, and then disappears back into the population at large, you have my favorite of all operations: counter-insurgency. This is where you get to perform terror missions against the personel of the opposition, capturing them out of their sleep, destroying their morale, and ambushing them, while they wait to ambush others. Destroying their political and logistical infrastructure is always lots of fun, Bombs are great! but that would mean destroying the civilian infrastructure in MSP since these insurgents work in the city. That would be bad, so lets not put that on the list. As to the former (capturing, ambushing, and destruction) those would definetly be the order of the day or I wouldn't have any fun, but the scale would probably be pretty small since I didn't picture gangs and packs of killers roving the streets.
So, with all this planned out I began the most crucial phase of operations which are designed to counteract insurgents: gather good intelligence. Without that you were bound to just run around like a chicken sans head. So before I would get to capture my enemies, terrify them, and finally destroy them I know learn them as I know myself.
Because as Master Tzu says, "Know yourself and not your enemy, you will win but half the time. Know your enemy and not yourself you will do likewise. If you know neither yourself nor your enemy you are bound to failure, but knowing both will bring you victory nearly every time." Words to live by, unless you were in the first three, then they were words to die by.
"Well Nixi, shall we go?"
She wiped her mouth, as I asked just when she finished her last bite. "Yes, if you're in a hurry."
"Nope, not in a hurry. You know I take my time, but time she is a wasting." So she grinned, we both stood up, and after I threw some cred at the cashier, we headed out.
1600 Local. MSP March 20, 2045.
The next few hours were spent at a little office I rent when I'm away from Raven's. The small room is roughly twenty by twenty, has three four-drawer file cabinets under the single window opposite the door. The translucent bead-blasted glass on the door has no name or title and inside there is but a desk, three chairs and a water dispenser for furniture. I'd talked to her about my theories which ammounted to a new gang moving in from out of town or some cult that was getting geared up for 2050, the new appocalypse. Max, Raven's decker, had left a few files for me to show here when we got back.
"These names that I just got, are all the people listed as missing as of this morning by General Mills, 3M, and Arasaka." Which handles the Star City of Saint Paul's security as well as many of the independent burrows that surrounded Saint Paul. Plus they patrol the Burbs at the behest of all the Corporations to keep malcontents and troublemakers out, but they don't patrol hard, and ignore anything generally heavier than a Class II riot, anti-aircraft guns or missiles or Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD). If you leave them alone that is.
We spent some time looking at the maps and I used a little time and the fact I have no eyeballs to betray where I'm looking to look at her. But onto the maps. The maps Max sent had oodles of info on them. He'd set them up just like I asked. When running a counter-insurgency mission like I said earlier you need intelligence. That intelligence must be easy to interpret, carry and use. If not, and you're out in the field, it will be easy to read it wrong, get confused and make amateur mistaks. So I had Max set it up like we used to back in the Dragoons. This was a real KISS system that Roy developed. You take a topographic map of the area (in this case add roads and borders) and put a series of coded dots on the map. These dots represent the activity, location and results of your enemies activities in any one grid area. As an added bonus they're very simple, following a child-like mnemonic (so they're easy to remember) and can't be interpreted by the enemy should you get dead.
"Shark, what are all these dots?" Nixi asked. -- "Well, that is the key to our success." I paused for a second, if only to let her discomfort build. Sometimes I hate being me. I proceeded to explain the color and shape coding (five of each) but will spare the gentle reader this detail to ensure that I keep their attention.
"So, now we know where we need to go." She looked at me with a very puzzled look on her face. "Don't you?" I asked.
"No, it's just a bunch of dots." Tossing up her hands from the notepad over her crossed legs, just a little, as if to emphasise the point.
"Well then you just trust Old Mr. Sharky and I'll get these bastards for you.
1900 Local. MSP March 20, 2045.
Truth be told, Raven set me on to this job and the News demon set me on Nixi cuz it noticed her name on a story on the MSP News Net. So I manipulated the biggest bitch of them all, Fate, to set this up so I got the badguys and the girl...
Cliche' yes, but I'm old fashioned and not a good writer.
But I'd been thinking. First about the mission, and second about Nixi.
Sharks exibit one. The bodies. Bodies had been turning up in odd places; water treatment facilities in the river, in the archology, in laundry outfits, in steam tunnels, jammed in sewer gates, all in places that is basically inaccessible, but is at a choke point. No bodies had gotten further north than the Mississippi or the Minnesota River (I still liked the old names, as the 3M river and Green Giant River not only had no ring to them, but they were anti-ring.) Perhpas a dozen bodies in the last three months, but when you counted in the missing people reports (and be sure to include the missing persons reported without SIN's cuz the Corps and the NewsFax's will skip over them) the number peaked at just over one hundred: 107.
Sharks exibit two. Gnawed on bodies. Not little bitty rattsy-wattsy bites, or even BFR's, but full size human size bites. Human's with consistent bone structure of someone just over seven feet tall. Not cats, or dogs, or bears, or goats; all of which live in the city and will eat the recently dead who find no grave after the battlefields of the Burbs.
Sharks exibit three. Lack of gang warfare. Araska had a dim view of gang warfare that escalated to be noticed by the news media. It tended to impinge on the happy smiley view of the world that certain Trid Networks, Sensie Studios, and NewsNets like to propogate; as if everyday life didn't do enough of that. But open warfare definetly screwed up their rosey view of things, so they treated it like target practice and sent gunships and "Law Enforcement Squads" to quiet things down. They shot at both sides, were equal opportunity employers, and peace makers. Not peace keepers. Important distinction there, don't let it get past you.
Closing argument your honor. As the jury can see grid 16 centered around Old Hastings and grig 15 was just over the lower right corner of Dakota county, east of Highway 52. So this little shark was going hunting for some baddies and would have to plan his ambush carefully. Needed to watch the enemy move around, see if I could see the enemy move around. Needed to coordinate with Kid and Tom Electric. The colored dots don't lie, and that is where they said the enemy's supply depot and HQ would be.
The second thing on my mind during this driving around getting food and cruising the strip down in Hastings was Nixi. Sweet gal, now divorced, an apple that screamed to be picked. But was she ready? Are you ready dumb ass? Shut up conscience. One point of view for this story is enough. All this didn't garner too much of my attention, cuz I did have to talk to her while we drove around.
"Shark, how long will we have to sit up there and watch?" Her voice didn't sound like it was fully in that question.
"Well," I said as we took the ramp up onto 55, which would turn into 52, as we headed out of the Star City, St. Paul. "We wait patiently until they show up or 24 hours, which ever is first." Her head and shoulders sagged at that. "What? You thought this would be easy? We may have to do it like six or seven times before we get anything." I let the unsaid just hang. "There is no guarantee that they'll march down our alley on their way to feast on somebody's flesh. This also assumes that these cannibals are organized. They might not be, but then you picked the wrong man. Kid will have much better luck hunting down individuals."
"Don't you mean capture?" I let the blank visors and my slate expression answer that one.
Then I turned my attention back to driving. "Men with the nickname Murder Machine didn't get it by capturing people. But fear not!" I said with a little wave of my index finger, "I know I'm right." No, Raven told you. I thought I told you to shut up...
So that night I parked the old Beatle Van behind a tennet building and we both climbed the stairs up to the fourth floor. The fifth being burned out, it offered us a pretty good view of some choice urban sprawl. I had a pair of Televiewers that let me see through just about every wall up to half a foot of concrete or equivelent. The space blankets kept us warm and Nix slept on an off. My hide was set up grand. Two canteens and a table. I sat on the table far back in the room and observe the outside without being oserved because it was dark in here and light out there. The shotgun never left my lap, and Nix never left my sight. The surveillance gear recorded everything.
Every morning it was the same:
"Shark," came a winney voice from under a space blanket. "Did you catch them last night?"
"No, but Tom Electric found three gnawed bodies on 150th and Goodwin." or "No, but Arasaka internal reports indicate two, four day old bodies turned up in a newspaper recycling plant." or "No, want some soycaff?"
For three nights nothing. Then Tom Electric showed up. Tom is an interesting guy. About six foot, heavy build, totally self taught, grew up in the slums of New York and moved here under "adverse conditions" as he put it and got a job working for Raven. He's about 32, so he's the oldest around, and has an ex-wife. Something I aspire to have many of in the future... But Tom gets it in his head about a week after she leaves him that they can patch things togther. So he goes out and buys "Men are from 3M, Women are from Revlon-Adidas" or some such self-help learning chip. Tonight it was no different.
"Super!" I shouted as he came up the stairs. I knew it was probably him, I'd seen his car drive by once and heard an engine shut off out back.
"Duper!!" he counter-signed and continued walking up the stairs. "How's the hunting?"
"Not that good, what'cha got?" He was carrying a book in one hand and a auto-shotgun in the other.
"Oh, but a Kalashnikov 108, bored out to Twelve Gauge." I pointed at the book. "That. I found an old copy of Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. I thought I'd see what spawned all the hubbub. Bub."
"The misses coming back in town?"
Grunt of acknowledgement. Then he plopped down just inside the door but out of the field of fire, and opened it up. Most of Raven's crew before me, Half-Pint and Boomerang, were illiterate and Raven taught them all to read. So Tom needed the time to read before his Input got here. I admired his dedication. To the book, not the woman.
After the night Tom stopped by Nix started to get impatient, but I always managed to subdue her desire to ride around, attract attention and then get shot. At least for a while.
"Shark, you know ten more bodies have been found since we started looking." She glared at me over the DataTerm we were leaning over eating our SoyDogs.
"Yeah, but it's been eleven days. They're down."
"I think they're due."
"Have you been watching the Twinkines?" I made a snide reference to the Minnesota Twins. Since they were bought and sold a dozen times in eight years starting in 2020, then finally going public, they had lost alot of fan support and underground fan clubs had be promoting the name "The Twinkies" since then.
"No, I haven't."
"Then I don't want it to be us. We've been covering alot of ground and soon we'll come across them." By interviewing people during the day and setting up an OP at night I'd learned things by process of elimination. I'd learned where they didn't do all the things I thought they would. But I still hadn't deviated from my handy dandy intel planner and was still in grid 16.
"Well I'm getting sick of this."
"Just remember I'm not the one keeping you here. I don't want that interfering with our relationship."
"What relationship?"
"This professional partnership that is budding around us." Sometimes I think I should have been a poet. A literal gangster...
"That's fungus. We're outside a Natural Vat corporate shop." Shit! Score one for Nix.
"Well. That sucks. I thought we were doing well togther."
"We were, but then you tried to rhyme or something." Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled. I hope I didn't have a piece of soy relish in my teeth.
2300 Local. MSP April 2, 2045.
It was approaching Oh-dark-hundred and my mood was sinking deep. Having not shot or fucked anything in the last few days, I hoped those whatever-they-were's were due.
"What time is it?" came a soft voice from under the space blanket.
"Eleven P.M." I translated back into civspeak for her. She grunted a something and rolled over.
I just sat on a chair looking out onto the street from inside a boarded up first floor convience store. Then it happened. The van was rolling down the street about three blocks to the west from the sound of it, as a punk in green leather, rusty chains and some big cowboy boots swagered out into the nighttime sidewalk traffic across the street. What the hell passes for fashion these days? But he kept walking, staying close to the wall. The five other people on the street didn't notice him, but he must have picked his target by then. Cuz as the van passed it slowed to toss out a big bag of garbage. That wasn't uncommon out in the burbs. I used to do that when the walk was too long or too cold to make it to dump. But the green leather punk dropped his prey with a kick to the head. Then dragged them as the echo's of the garbage bag were dying.
Holy crap! That guy just got nabbed. As he dragged him into the van, I would have thought this a everyday kidnapping except for the fact he carried the walker in his jaws. The van started to roll, and I was on my feet.
"Nix, get up, we've got action." I shook her and grabbed my bag and gun.
A few "Huh? Wah's? were uttered as I all but dragged her out back and threw her into the passanger seat. "Max," I said as the phone completed dialing. -- "Max here. What is it Shark?" -- "Activitey sighted. Persuing. Notify Kid and Tom." -- "Roger but Tom is out with the old ball and chain." -- "Ok, Kid will do."
I pulled out into the alley and took up a course I thought would intersect them, and just as I pulled up to a stop sign, they passed right in front of me. I hung back a ways, and then shut my lights off as they went over a hill about a quarter mile in front of me. Then I closed the distance and stayed a little closer. The visor again payed off and gave me thermal and nightvison. The thermal didn't get anything off the van except the exhaust. Nightvison worked wonders. In the pitch black darkness I was less that thity yards behind them, but thanks to the lack of civil servants which adversly effected the street lights, it was almost country side dark down here. We were well south of Hastings at this point.
"Shark, how far do you think they'll go."
"Hopefully not the Gulf." Actually we were only just south of Hastings and still in Grid 16. "But I bet they turn off soon." And sure enough, they did. I turned off one street before them and then got behind once they drove by again. This was a simple game of cat and mouse, and I was one mean shark.
After about a thirty minute drive they pulled up to a stop outside a squat factory, just over a story tall, beside a rail yard and across the street from a high density graveyard. The damn thing had graves on top of graves, tons of headstones, and a four score of mosuleums. I drove past and then parked out of the line of sight of any piece of the warehouse. Thus thought myself safe.
In retrospect, investigating Old Hastings which is totally gang territory and well outside of even the burbs is a bad idea. Note: do not repeat this ass-brain. You will be quized on this. You will see it again.
I thought finding the three standing buildings, with all their four walls each intact was a good omen. It turned out the warehouse was actually three buildings in close proximity. I should have known better. Just like being taken by surprise while sitting in the car. What amateur crap. I say surprise, but I did spot the group of five at the end of the street. As I spotted them I looked around. Nix barely noticed me shift into high gear, then the windows were smashed in and arms grabbed us by our throats. I got my hand up and ripped the grip away, but claws gouged at my throat. Nixi just screamed. I kicked open the side door and was thinking about standing up as the rear window was busted in an a small explosion popped in the back seat. Small like a fire-cracker, but enough to disperse some airborne toxin. I wished I had a air filter implant as I swung at the two bad asses in front of me. Even with Nightvision on I could see how scrawny these buggers were. Street people don't exactly have great diets, but these were well beyond anemic. Their clothes stank and they looked rotten.
As Nixi's scream died out, I swung at one and connected soundly with it's jaw. (I couldn't tell a he from a she, they looked so bad.) But it went down only to be replaced by four others. Something hit me on the shoulder sending a spike of pain up my back as another paid close and loving attention to my kidneys. Again I must say, being a pain-loving individual, it's times like these that make me want to forget having a heart. Being street bums I hadn't immeadietly used my claws or drawn a gun. I assumed a few busted teeth and a broken jaw would send the rest packing, but it didn't. Infact these things hit harder than Kid Stealth from the one or two times we'd sparred.
I casually wondered what had happened to Nixi and tunnel vision crept in and the drugs really began to affect my system. Two more swings and two more went down. I tried to draw on that last bit of strength way down deep to get me and Nixi out of this, but the drugs beat me there. That and there were too many of them, so they just beat me. I felt my knees hit the ground, then pain as a few ribs were broken, then nothing but blackness.
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