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1600. North Scott County, Old Prior Lake. June 3, 2045.
Hot. Damn hot. Belay that. It was real damn hot. My internal thermos told me the outside temp was climbing up to 116 degrees Fahrenheit. The summers here really sucked, but it had an upside: women showed skin. The down size it made it hard to conceal anything larger than a pin cushion. Heading up Old 13 towards the now deserted Prior Lake Travel I was on my way to meet a fixer. Legs was about six steps back watching my six. I'd rather be watching hers, but I'm always point. This damn heat did something to my mood too, it made me hot and wet. But back to business. We'd taken three subways and cut through the Plaza, which is what passed for a mall out here in the burbs, it was more akin to a shanty-town where people sold their wares.
With not one day (or night) below one hundred ten, the sidewalks and streets had heat waves rising off them that would cook an egg. Kids were out playing in it, running through fire hydrants, hiding in the shade and soaking up the rays. It reminded me of my childhood.
As we walked across the street, avoiding a not-so-smart-car, we came up to the entrance of our meeting spot with the A2. This Mr. Fixer had a serious deficiency of good taste. 'The Weed' proclaimed the blinking neon sign above the entrance. As I pushed open the door the blast of pungent body odor, drugs, smoke, vomit, and hopps made me want to remodel with a flame-thrower. It must have gotten its name from the fact there was nothing wrong with it that a half-million gallons of Agent Orange couldn't fix. Even at four in the afternoon the bodies were packed in here. I could almost make out the bar from where I stood, and it was being tended by this bug ugly troll looking guy. Tinsel adorned the ceiling from a long forgotten Christmas party, as did heads from barbie dolls and different forms of foot wear. The decor was completed by the strands of flashing, blinking, bleeping, beeping lights wrapped around barbed wire. You could cut through the atmosphere with a vibro-knife, in fact I wanted to cut through the crowd with my vibro-knife, literally.
As I pushed my way up to the bar with Legs in tow, I'd managed to take off my jacket shell and leave on the liner so I could conceal my shoulder rig with Ares Predator. I looked at the bartender and said, "What ya got on tap?" A dull look and a shrug told me 'nothing.' "Then make it a double," my attempt at humor was lost on his mono-synaptic brain, but he still put two bottles of the house brew up on the counter and I slapped down a load of cred. I handed Legs her bottle and made my way for an open table. Past the sensie tables, and the crowded dance floor, I found a booth along one of the walls and had a seat in its dark dirty accommodations. Scanning the bar I got no sign of the Fixer, but I expected that, we were an hour early.
Legs had a seat, shed her jacket and plopped into the other side, "So boss?" she asked. I scooted around to the other side, and scrunched her into the wall, "Never let a Fixer sit next to you, its a good way to get stabbed." -- "Ok." I then sipped my beer. Ah, cold. Wait. Yuk. I'd had better swampwater when in the Dragoons. This place must bottle their mop wringing, no that would mean they had to mop. I pushed the bottle away from me in disgust and waited for the Fixer to show.
1700. Out of place would describe our Fixer. Wearing a nicely tailored suit that bespoke a middle manager, he was also sculpted and not a hair was out of place. That was as he walked in the door, by the time he got to us, he'd been bumped, jostled, kicked and kneed as he made his way through the dance floor to our table. Sweating and with his corp. deodorant going into overdrive he said, "I see you're early."
"I make it a habit. Now what's the 411?" -- "Well, as you may have surmised, I've got a job for you. It should be easy enough, and will give you ample reward."
I subvocalized to Legs, "If they say it should be easy enough, that means it'll be a squeaker. i.e. a real tough as hell job. High SPF."
"Ok," I said, "now how about the 'tails? Being here means I'm interested." -- "I see," he said looking like he was mustering strength. That was when I guessed it was gonna get bad. "The objective is files on Robert Davis' office micro-frame hard drive. I represent Allied Medical Technologies and wish that data to be ours. Mr. Davis works on the 78th floor of Boeing-Northrop-Gruman here in Seattle in that corporation's archology. Then we want him erased. That will have to be done from the Human Resources Department inside the Arch after the physical job."
With no emotion on my face I subvocalized again, "Legs, when they say they represent someone that means they A) are operating under their name but without their knowledge to CYA or B) they work for somebody else and want to throw you off. Here endeth the lesson." Then I said to the geek, "Wait," cutting him off, "I'll get the HD, but I'm not waxing some corp. just cuz you want him dead, no deal." I sub'd to Legs, "He won't let us leave."
Sure enough I was right, "Mr. Sharkman, sit down," he said in a voice sterner than I thought possible from a dweeb of his spinelessness. "Before you leave, I want you to know that there are good reasons to kill Mr. Davis. They are in this file." He reached in his jacket, and before his hand was a half inch retracted, I'd drawn my suppressed Beretta Light 5mm and stuck the barrel under chin. "Slow there sport," I said.
"My apologies," he said. Withdrawing his hand slowly, empty, and then drawing back his jacket and allowing me to recover the file. It was a large manila folder, with I'd guess thirty to forty pages of photo paper in it. I pulled the Beretta away from his throat and put it with my left hand under the table. Legs hadn't drawn a weapon because she had a .177 cal compact machinegun built into her Bionic Right arm. Then I set down the file and flipped it open. My attempts at self control must have failed, cuz the dweeb smiled, but I couldn't help it; the first picture was of me with my arm around Zona. My head turned down to fully examine the picture. Yup that was me. Oh yeah, that was Zona looking good as always showing her good side to the camera. I flipped to the next pic which was of me opening the door to my place for her. I turned my head back up to the geek, "So what's the pay?"
With a truly evil looking shit eating grin, he said, "The original negatives. You have thirty six hours to get his HD and pacify Mr. Davis. We know who she is, who wants her, and what they'll do to you if they find this out. I should also mention that GenTech isn't above lobotomizing people and then rewiring their brains to correct personality conflicts."
Visions of driving into B-N-G in a heavily armored, tracked APC with me in copula and a gatling carbine in each hand, shooting both of those and the main gun simultaneously, as I crash through the glass facade of the building shouting, 'WHERE'S BOB!!!!!!!! I'M LOOKING FOR BOB!!!' faded and I nodded my head in agreement. Then I decided it wouldn't be Bob, it would be this chump in a dark subway tunnel.
1800. Doc's Studio.
On the way back I didn't exchange any words with Legs. She'd sat there stunned when he flipped open the pictures. Along the way back I'd thought about how they found her (probably that clinic making waves), and that they'd never let this one get away. I had to solve this or they'd have me under their thumb for a very long time. Probably until Zona's knowledge became obsolete. Yeah, years away. So I sat in the kitchen with Mo, Half-Pint and Kid. Zona was on her way back with Pick and Gator. Moriarty, the wonder-boy net-kid, sat on the counter like any fourteen year old. That he was half my age really scared me, cuz he was a GENIUS. Dressed in some form of fashion that escaped me, he was a prodigal of who knows where. But he munched on some candy bar, his blond hair frazzled through lack of maintenance, he'd been quiet the whole time. Half-Pint had just cut off Kid, "I say we light those fucks up. I'm talking big boom." He was somewhat zealous, but always good to have around. The second story of Doc's pad allowed us pretty good security. Kid had just been talking about finding out who this guy was.
"Ok, Zig and Gator stay here and watch Z. I'll go with Kid, Halfpint, Boomerang and Lock. We'll get into Bob's and grab the HD so that we can see what is so damn important and get some bargaining power. Zag, Legs, and Bear will track down this fixer and stake his shit out, until I'm ready to deal with him." -- "What do I do," Mo asked. -- "You are our eyes and ears. You'll be on the Net, keeping an eye on us inside the Arch and getting what you can about this Chump." I'd promoted him to capitalizing his name because it would soon be on a tombstone.
"Is Doc back?" I asked. -- "Nope," Kid said, "he's still in New York. Don't know when he'll be back." -- "Ok, then we gotta be extra careful not to lead them back here. Doc wouldn't like that. Plus it'll just get us shot up." I couldn't help feeling a bit of pride that these guys had agreed to help. Working with mercenaries and street samurai can really make one bitter and cynical but I had to say these were the best bunch I had ever known. "You guys all know this is my fault and that if you ever don't want to go down like this, all you gotta do is back away. I'll never think less of you." They were all quiet, basically telling me I was wasting my breath.
0100. Outside B-N-G Archology. June 4, 2045
The summer traffic was slow (overheated cars do that), but here the roads were good. The water drained off into the sewer without clogging up on the garbage. I stood across the street at the Cedar Street Subway entrance looking up at the one hundred story glass, steel, and concrete behemoth that was the BNG Arch. It rose so high into the night I could only tell it was there because of the lights at the upper stories. Glittering like stars through the heat rising up I still couldn't help but feel a little in awe. Then my eye caught one of the lovelies walking down into the subway and I followed her sculpted self down the stairs. I hopped on the sub and took it to the heart of the BNG archology and got off at their #1 Station. For the last hour I'd made sure no one was following me. Kid, Halfpint, Boomerang and Lock were doing likewise and if we hadn't been followed we were meeting at this station. If somebody didn't show up we'd wait a half hour then go in. We were as ready as we were going to be after the last six hours of reconnoitering the place.
Kid was sitting reading a newspaper, but I knew damn well he was functionally illiterate. Though he did have the good sense to hold the paper the right way. He was wearing a nice set of casual nylon pants-suits in a deep navy blue. Boomerang and Halfpint were hitting on a pretty NYL from the looks of things over at the soy-dog bar. Kids would be kids. There was no sign of Lock, so I walked up, bought a paper and sat down next to Kid. "Where's the tech?"
"Inside getting ID's," said Kid. -- "Damn I love working with you guys." Lock had to be one of the most accomplished scroungers on the planet. He always knew where to find everything. "Then lets go," said the big cyborg.
Most of us were unarmed. Going into an Arch on un-corporation business armed to the teeth was a bad way to go. But I for one carried a plasti-steel whip baton and twelve ceramic spikes. I would be willing to bet the others did likewise. Boomerang and Halfpint were up ahead a floor as we kept climbing up the access stairs. We were in janitors suits and carried tool-boxes of gear. Mo opened up the maintenance door and we had gone in, then we remembered the seventy-eight flights of stairs we would have to climb. Moriarty had already disabled the cameras in the stairwell so it was too late to go back. We took the stairs at a jog and in twenty short minutes we'd gotten to our floor. The two point men took guard at that floor and the one below, while Kid and I caught up. We were carrying our cover gear and thus were dragged down.
0145. "Ok," I said after catching my breath and checking everyone for ID's and proper corp. janitor attire, "we go." Boomerang op'd the door and in we went. Inside was a large plush grey-green office. The furniture was an ebony black lacquered finish with cushions that matched the carpet. It had paintings on the wall that were probably by somebody famous framed in the black ebony. We came out a side-door in the hallway that was past the receptionist's area and the main door to the floor. The lights were dimmed and in energy-saving mode. Things were pretty quiet and the security camera on the floor flashed the 'all clear' in Morse code as Mo had said it would.
Boomerang stood towards the receptionist area cleaning windows on guard as did Halfpint towards the back watching the fire escape. Kid was right behind me as I moved through the finely decorated hallway towards the offices. "Number 212," sub-voc'd Boomerang from up front. He'd read the guys office number off the directory on the door backwards. Reading backwards was an art, and I'm glad these guys knew it too.
I looked to the door on my right and the one ahead of it; 245 and 243 respectively. I was going the right way, so I calmly picked up my pace and headed for room 212. As I was halfway down the next hallway, Mo came over the radio, "Sec boy ahead." I saw the bathroom door up ahead opening and out walked a security goon. My pace immediately slowed and I swung the tool box in a leisurely manner.
The security cop halted us with, "Hey. What you doin' here?" -- "It's cleaning time," I said in my best corp. voice. He was about to question us further, and I was afraid I'd have to hurt him when his beeper started going off. "You two stay here. I'll be back," he said and departed for the elevator. I look at Kid. His eyes said he wished he'd been able to take a swing at him but was glad to not have to clean up the mess. I jerked my head in the direction of the room and started off. At the door to 212, I turned to Lock who was behind Kid, "Ok, time to do your stuff." He stepped up to the door and ran several sensor heads over it and then examined the corners closely. He looked up at me and said, "Zis should tek ten menutes." I don't know what for, but I nodded assent. He began to tinker with the hinges and uncovered the press code lock on the handle. True to his word, nine-and-a-half minutes later the door was open and he was smiling his big German smile under his dark Germanic brow. Lock stepped in the door and flipped on the lights, then went over to the Micro-frame sitting on its own table in the center of the room. This one was decorated just like all the rest on the floor, except it had personal touches. Diploma from Boeing-Northrup-Grumman School of Aeronautical Engineering, picture of family. Wife wasn't that good looking, but must have been to him since they had two young daughters. Oh well, there was no accounting for bad taste.
Three minutes later Lock stood up and held the paper back size hard drive unit. "Dere vill be no dout where zis has gone in hiz mind." -- "Yes, there will. He won't have known who took it. Knowing that somebody took it does him bunk," I replied. "Now lets get out of here," Kid said. We walked back out into the hall, Lock closed the door and killed the lights. Then the three of use headed back to the stairs, with the HD safely under my coveralls.
Back down the stairs and into the subway. Going down the stairs was much easier than going up so we made great time. I patted Lock on the shoulder as we walked out of the janitors locker area back in our street clothes. Just the subway ride left.
0220. Doc's Crib.
After again being sure we weren't being tailed for an nearly forty-five minutes, we made it back to Doc's sans a tail. We went in the back door by the porch that held the barbecue. Zona was standing in the spartan and stainless steel kitchen leaning against the counter, gravity allowing her dress to show me the shape God had given her. Very glad to be home, I walked over to her and she turned with her arms open. There, with all my might (well not all), I wrapped her up in the biggest hug I could manage. The rest of the guys came in and went for the fridge to get some purified water out of the coolers. As I embraced Z, they cracked me one and set it on the counter. I leaned back and pulled her with me as I reached for the water to replenish myself after the run. Yeah, there had been no shooting, no running, and no heavy danger, but it was still nerve wracking and frightening. You sweat alot and get really tired, even from just nerves. If any slick boy tells you he never gets afraid, go hire somebody else. Gentle reader, fear is what keeps you alive, it is what motivates you and empowers you. Those that don't have it either have gone through a frontal lobotomy (don't hire them) or are psychopaths (don't hire them either), thus endeth the lesson.
"What next?" Kid asked. For all his superlative skill as an assassin and a street sam, he never put forth his own agenda. Whatever he wanted he must get somehow else, cuz he was always willing to just deal in hard facts. He was more than willing to let everyone else here, including me, to do all the conclusion drawing and jumping necessary.
"Well. I figure we track down Legs and see what she's found. Then all that is left is to do a number on this Fixer." I contemplated his misery and suffering and it brought me much pleasure.
Twenty minutes later we'd suited up and grabbed our heavy gear and were back out on the street. Most of the guys had taken a shot of 'wide-awake', me I took two. Drugs. Drugs. Drugs. Know your dosages. Know, your, dosages! At this time of the morning guards would be getting tired and lazy, we aimed to take advantage of it.
0359. Radison Hotel, MSP.
Legs and Bear were on opposite sides of the building watching the sub-basement exits onto the street, while Zag covered the subway. We were with Legs. "So, what's the scoop?" -- "He went in three hours ago after a run to a soy-straunt and hasn't left since." -- "Ok, thanks. Good work Gal," I said. Then I called Mo, "What you got on this guy?" We all sat outside a bus stop and loitered. Mo came back, "He appears to have a room rented on the thirty-first floor, number 3145. He is connected with Allied Medical Technologies under the office of Field Support, a very ominous job title if you ask me. He flew into town from the New York office day after yesterday on a supersonic VTOL. This guy has money. Not married, fast mover, connected, doesn't seem like the kind of Corp. to get his feet wet. But if he is, sir, I'd watch out." -- "Thanks, Mo," I said, "let me know if you find anything else." -- "Will do."
The building was in pretty good condition. All the street lights on, valet parking in full force, even the lights in the parking garage were all on. That meant the entire block was bathed in the yellow-white light of sodium-halogen bulbs. Not much sneaking going on here. The Radison was very nice infact, we were in one of the nicest sections of town, well nice if you weren't in the street. It was still hot and we were out in it. Zag, Bear, and Legs had been out in it for over six hours. Legs' pretty brown hair was matted down on her head underneath the sweat of exertion. Kid looked frazzled and even sunburned; that or the drugs were really in overdrive. Halfpint could almost ring the sweat out of his shirt and jacket while Boomerang was outside in a long wig, sweltering, pushing a grocery cart. He hunched over in his best 'poor-old-lady' impression to pick up a soy-cola can. Boom was our gun guy, for in that cart there was enough firepower to take on a platoon of security goons. So, not wanting our opponent to get a full night sleep, I decided that we'd go up and give him a visit. Now no self-respecting hotel like this would make reservations for us, much less let us in the front door. So that left me with one option: go up the outside. "Boomerang, head around to the west side of the building, meet us there in fifteen," I subbed to the old lady. "Everyone, lets go for a climb," I said to the team. "Mo, I need cameras off on the west of the building in fifteen for three. Also call Gator and Pick down here to take up the surveillance." -- "Ok, will do," replied our young companion, his voice even crackling once.
After ten minutes of sitting around waiting for Boomerang to get in position, we moved out. Leaving at short intervals and cutting across traffic through the semi-clean streets we made our way to the west side of the building. My radio clicked three times fast, telling me Mo had cut all the cameras. We ran across the street at a slow job and hit Boomerangs cart. I grabbed my sling and gear vest, plus the rope and gloves. Climbing the outside of this concrete beast could give you a bad case of instant deceleration, and Zona wouldn't like that. So I strapped on my gear and got to the drainage pipe that was built onto the support web of the building. It ran all the way up along the outside where the balconies were. I immediately began climbing, inch by inch I made my way up to the third floor then climbed over the rail and lowered the rope. Halfpint was on the next balcony over holding a rope too. As the three minute window was ending Kid, the last person, had just gotten high enough up on the rope.
From the balconies we began leap-frogging up the outside. Now was one of the times it would have been nice to have Lock, but there was no way he'd make the climb. Halfpint was our only means of getting in; oh, and Moriarty. We could see the sun trying to poke its way through the poluted clouds to the east as we were getting up to the thirty-first floor.
0553. Hot, sweating, muscles aching, and loving it we opened up his balcony door. We'd stacked up: Me, Kid, Halfpint, Legs, and Boomerang last. Halfpint had gotten in line after he made a few hardware corrections on the door that Mo told him too, then Mo gave us a count down. I slid the HK entry gun into my palm and gripped down with the foce of a small machine press. The door popped open, and Kid reached around to open it. As it was swinging open, I darted into the room. I cut left and headed towards the bedroom with Kid as Halfpint and Legs went for the bathroom. I came up to the door and went right in. I heard the action being unsafed on a Sig (I would guess) and tucked my run into a roll. As I did I heard the trigger pulled. The impact was just over my head on the wall. I came up and fired three fast pump shots at the shape on the bed. The silinced rounds popped out the side as the Jel-Pacs slammed into their target. Mr. Fixer let out a groan that I thought for sure would awaken the neighbors. As I came up covering him, Kid was on him in a heartbeat clearing away his weapon.
"All clear," over the radio came Legs voice. -- "Bedroom Clear. Make for the main door, watch traps. Boomerang, shut the outside balcony door," I said. -- "Gotcha boss." As I was talking into the radio, I'd jumped up on his back and pulled both his hand behind his back and wrapped his wrist in cuff-tape. Then I duct taped his hands shut to be sure he wouldn't try anything, and his mouth to make sure he kept it shut. "Clear," I said to Kid who got behind me. I rolled him onto his side with his body shielding me in case he had put a grenade under himself. Not that I though a limp sac mouse like him would, but I didn't get here before you by being careless.
Nothing went off, so I looked over and saw it was clear so I rolled him over and sat him up on the edge of the bed. There I held him in a ten ton iron grip, while Kid cuff-taped his thighs, knees, calves, and ankles. I tied a garotte around his neck and lifted him up to his tippy toes. "So My dear Fixer," I said my steely visor an inch from his nose, "we're gonna play a game like truth or dare. Except it's called question and truth; I ask a question, you give me the truth." I spoke with the testosterone flowing from my body, and with an anger that was palpable. "There are no points for second and you can't buy vowels. Now I'm gonna remove the tape. If you yell, I'll break your jaw, crush your larynx and then take you to a neural doc where we will continue this interrogation." I could smell his fear as he broke out into a heavy sweat as he tried to stay on his toes without choking himself.
I ripped the tape off his face in one fast motion, and the good little corp stayed quiet. "You're in deep trouble," were the first words out of his mouth. "Yeah? but you won't live to see me in it unless you start talking fast before my companion here spills your guts," I said motioning to Kid who flashed the eighteen inch razors out of his forearms.
"First, where are the originals?" -- "In my briefcase by the chair behind you." -- "Too easy, where are the digitial copies?" -- "I don't know what you're--" I cut him off with a sharp hard blow to the face that splattered blood from his lips all over the bed spread as my punch followed through, "wrong answer. Where are they. You don't want to make me more mad. I've only been mad six times in my life, and the last five that made me mad are now living impared." -- "At Allied Branch Office in St. Paul," he said as his eyes got very big. -- "Who has them?" -- "Nigel Tucket, Senior Field Projects. My boss." -- "Which office, floor, desk, drawer? Common, gimme the 'tails." -- "I don't kno--" I cut him short again with a upper cut to the stomach that made him spit blood as it knocked the wind out of him. "You're not helping yourself. You'll never make it out of here unless you give it to me straight." -- "Basement archives. Terminal 23. Macro-frame 111. Under my directory." -- "Password?" -- "Adams Whisky Testerosa. Now don't kill me, there is a lot I can tell you." -- "Too late. Before you go swimming little fish, make sure there are no sharks in the water," I said as I drew the Ares Predator and pressed it to his forhead. "But you said I'd make it out of here!" he yelped. "You're right. I did, and you will. Feet first," and pulled the trigger.
"Mo, we're coming out. We'll need a minute of static to get away from the building." -- "Gotcha chief." Ah, I loved young enthusiasm. "Kid, check that briefcase, careful for bombs. Legs help me turn this place over for tips. We did a number on everyting. The sofas, the chairs, the trashes, the mattresses, sink, entertainment center/trideo, behind the bedstand, and in the closet. Nothing. Good. I turned to Zag and Boomerang, "Ok, we're clear. Lets go." Boomerang opened the door and we all got set up to rapel down. Using mono-wire to pull the carbiners loose after we were down, we made it in about 54 seconds, that left us six to spare as we got into the subway and split up for home.
0700. Doc Raven's Studio.
Back home it was time for sleep. Running around was a young kids game and I was pushing thirty. Sometimes it was hard to believe I'd lived this long. Having grown up in the burbs back in the twenties things were rough and lives were short. Laying awake tonight in the upper floor room at Docs I wanted to never go back out in the world, but knew it wouldn't happen. Knowing that retirement was a thing of the past didn't ever make me feel good. But here was home. My room was small, spartan, and bespoke military neatness. One standing cabinet for clothes by the closet door in the center of the wall. A small chest sat on the opposite side of the closet door; the hard plastic locked military kind -- for guns. The next wall had a window on it; a laser opaque, 6" refractory (makes things inside look 6" out of place. enough so a sniper misses) glass, and with black out shades (so no light gets in). Under the window was a small desk with a little safe on it. The wall opposite the desk had the door out into the hall and one hanging rack for jackets, my 2040 North Face Parka was there. Then the last item in the room was my bed. Double bed, pretty small, not even a king size bed. But it was a comfortable matress and box spring; and well broken in. This was home, nothing much adorned the walls, the desk was devoid of paper work, and the only things on the floor were my boots and a plastic tub with the cleaning sprays and solvents for the guns.
I had shut off my eyes and was just using 'normal' vision as I layed awake. Depsite the early hour in which the sun was just starting to poke its firey hot head through the clouds of pollution, the room was dark due to the black-out shades. One nice thing about the burbs was that you still got normal sunrises. In the plexes you might have to take a subway ride just to see the sun; and not seeing the sun was a 'total bummer' as the puke surfer would say. I remembered stories my fater told me about England during the dark ages when it went for seven years without seeing the sun. The bottom levels of the Plex hadn't seen the sun in twenty years. Tells you a little about the world.
Gentle stirring at my side broke my reminisce. Even in the darkness my natural nightvision could see the blazing pink/red hair beside me. She lay curled up next to me facing away at the wall, while I layed on my back closer to the door. Coming alive, Zona rolled around to me and over my left arm. She slid an arm across the center of my chest and layed with her body up against me. With her head gently on my shouldner I could feel the warm breath from her mouth. She sighed gently in her sleep and moved a silky soft leg over mine. These were the moments that made life worth living. Soft and delicate she russled a bit in her sleep then became still again, lost in her presence I drifted off to join her.
1200. With Zona still asleep I slipped out of the bedroom not disturbing her. I threw on some Kevlar lined clothes and cruised into the kitchen. Going downstairs I found the crew lazing around in the lounge. Pick was laid out on a couch as was Halfpint. Boomerang laid on a big duct-taped bean bag he called 'The Curl', and Legs had her fine ones up on a foot rest in a recliner. Gator tried not to stare from his rocker chair, and there was no sign of Kid though. Bear must be out in the Garage, so I asked, "Anybody want lunch?" A quartet of 'yeses' and a 'sure thing Dude' motivated me to make eggs and kibble. Kibble was that nasty counterpart to soy-stuff. It got its name from the dry mass-produced dog food it tasted like, but I found that if you put enough eggs, salt, and jalepenoes on it, it tasted just like eggs, salt and jalepenoes. So I set out to cook up some eggsandkibble, thinking about what we'd do next. Getting into a corporation meant the matrix, and the matrix meant Moriarty.
After a satisifying and filling breakfast, I headed into the basement and found Mo. Sitting at a recliner with two small bedstands on each side, he looked jacked in. That or he was napping cuz he just laid there with the deck plugged into his head. On one stand he had his deck and on the other there was a pile of peanuts and a big tall glass of soy-milk. I couldn't see how he could drink that crap but the kid said 'It did a body good.' Whatever that meant. I walked in a sat on one of the folding metal chairs. "Yo Mo? You awake?"
He opened his eyes and rubbed them with his hands in balls, "Yeah. Now I am, whatcha need?" -- "So I only come to you when I need things?" -- "Yeah, when was the last time we hung out at the bar?" -- "You're fourteen and don't like the bars." -- "Don't bring facts into this. No good reporter lets facts get in the way of a good story." -- "Spending a lot of time on the NewsNets?" -- "Yeah, how'd you know." -- "Well when you spend a lot of time in the PoliSci or Eco rooms, its either government bashing rhetoric or save the last bird squawking..." -- "There you go again," he said with a smile, "more facts."
The netboy definetly had a lot to learn for a genius. Though he was a prodigal and a prodige, he lacked identity yet. Not that I was much better at fourteen, but people expected a lot out of Mo. "As a matter of fact, to get back on track, I do have a request to make." -- "And that would be," he said inquisitively.
"Allied Medical Technologies in Saint Paul, heard of it?" -- "Yeah, seen it on the NewsNets and been near its nodes on the Matrix. This gotta do with the run this morning into the Radison?" -- "Yeah." -- "and that guy and his boss, Nigel Tucket." -- "Yup." -- "Ok, I'll see what I can find," he said with an excited look in his eye. The sleepy look from a second ago was gone now as the excitement of the chase took hold. Mo took a long swig of his soy-milk and licked the moustache off his mouth. "I'll give you some options in thirty minutes."
Back upstairs I walked into the lounge. "Anybody seen Kid?" I asked. "Nope, he took off an hour ago. Just before you got up he started pacing uneasy like," Legs answered.
"What's up, like Mr. Boss Dude?" Boomerang asked as he floppy blond hair cascaded off his head and onto the beanbag. "Mo's looking for an option that'll get us into the AMT building in Saint Paul and I'm not talking about the gun manufacturer." The old AMT Manufacturing warehouse (the AMT that made lots of guns back in the teens) was a well known gang hangout of one of the most powerful gangs in the South Saint Paul Burbs; the Flesh Puppets. Around here we had a bunch of wannabes like the Weenies. Well they demanded you call them the Halloweeners, but having grown up with half of them or known them from my corp days when they were starting out, they were just like your old drunken uncle bobbo that you never invited to reunions. You couldn't really take them seriously. Back on track. "I need to get in there and get that digital copy of the photos of me and Z."
"Ach! my leiber hus tachen einshteiner." Lock the team intrusion and tech specialist walked in gabbering machine-gun german.
"WTF! Lock," I said as he walked in. -- "Ah, mein car has been upp graided into vere vast motorvikle." His english was bad, but this guy could get into anything. "Well great. Your car is faster," I said paraphrasing to make sure I heard him right. "Yahvol!"
I continued my explanation. "I'll be going in tonight, and I know the plexes are dangerous--" Boomerang cut in, "Boss Dude, if you're goin' I'm like goin.' No way in Waikiki you're having all the fun by yo self." Pick smiled and added, "Plus I hear the nurses are pretty at AMT." Oh to the devil with it, they were a great bunch to work with. And I'd owe them another one.
1301. Mo had just walked in waving a printout in his hand, "The Minnetonka Paint Co. is scheduled to paint the basement of AMT tonight after the corp-squid go home. I got paint colors, schedules, payrolls, and details." A smile dawned on my face, "Ok, so we impersonate painters. Lock, can you run painting equipment?" -- "Kraichen en veri uchta leibenheimerschmitz!" -- "What?" -- "Does a .001" feeler index up a magnetohydrodynamic pump?" -- "I dunno," I replied totally missing his reference. -- "Yes, puddenhead. Ov korse. I am ze kaiser of teknolugies." -- "Great. Who else wants to come along," I said to the rest of the group. Everyone's hands went up.
We had until 0500 this morning to get the digitals. Even though the man that had made the threat was now sans life I wanted to make sure it didn't get mailed out or emailed out under some contingency plan he had set. Since toady was saturday I wasn't too worried about his coworkers finding out about his expiration until monday, but the mother corporation would know. That meant we still had to get in there fast lest anyone find out about my situation through idle browsing when cleaning up his space on the corp mainframe. Lock had prepared three bogus paint carts that had enough paint to fool anybody except a continuous observer. In the carts were mostly tools and trios of HK MP-20's with eight mags each. Cart One would be me, Mo, and Lock; we were going into the archives and would do the work. Cart Two would be Kid, Pick and Halfpint; they had explosives and would sit by the main elevator bay and be ready to blow the lifts if things went bad. Cart Three, the last cart, was Legs, Gator, and Boomerang; they would start painting in the back corner of the floor near the emergency fire exits to secure them in case we needed to make an emergency exit. Outside Zig and Zag would both be on an upper story window, facing the front door and emergency exits with high powered rifles, respectively. Bear would have a souped up SUV hot-rod for our getaways. By 1500 we were ready to go, Carts Two and Three would be going with Kid to delay the real Minnetonka Paint Co. I stayed back and helped out with the finishing touches on our Minnetonka Paint Co. van.
1900. Everyone was in the garage ready, the newly painted vans were loaded, the carts were loaded, guns stowed, radios checked, but I had one thing left to do. I walked back into the house and upstairs to my room. I can see you there in the back waving your hand, you're about to ask, "What are you doing now that your team is all ready to go?" Let me explain: priorities. Now, back to the story. I knew Zona slept alot but had heard her moving around the house earlier. Having not seen her in the house on the way in, I was now going upstairs. I walked past her room and she wasn't in there, so like I said earlier, I was going to my room. She was sitting on the bed with her feet slightly apart on the floor facing the closet sideways to me. Her pretty little face was balled up in a knot pouting, wearing a pretty concerned look that was none too happy either. She had on a real wool icelandic sweater that was big enough on her to come down to the middle of her thighs, but sitting down, it rode quite a bit higher. The gorgeous pink mane of hair was pulled back and she had her hands between her knees. She was slumped over a little with her forearms on her legs, when she turned her head and asked, "Where are you all going?"
"You really want to know?" I asked, convinced she didn't. -- "Yes." -- Damnint. "Into harms way," as I tried to skirt the issue. -- "Doc hasn't been around to set up any jobs and Mo's been too busy to talk. That means somethings up. And your case is unlocked, which means its empty." -- Smart girl, "Yeah, we're going on a run." -- "How come?" -- "Because I have too." -- "But you don't need the money." -- "This job isn't for money and I don't need the money, I like money." -- "Then what for?" she asked, nearly pleading.
I sat down beside her and instatly she wrapped around me. Her head went on my chest as her arms wrapped around the trunk of my body almost instinctively. She squeezed tight and looked up into my face, "I have a bad feeling about what you're doing." -- "The bad feeling is right. The job is about blackmail. Us. We're being blackmailed. Someone has pictures of you and me. They'll turn them over to GenTech unless I do what they say or get the pictures back." I held her tight with the one arm she was under. "Then you'll be careful?" -- "I didn't make it this far by being a clutz," I said standing up with her. "Now put on your strong face and be patient. We'll be back in six hours or less." Then I hugged her once more tight and brushed an errant hair out of her face. Then I turned and left the room.
1912. Streets of MSP.
The van pulled away and got out on the old pot-holed burbs road. Heading into town we drove through some of the worst burbs in MSP. I was shotgun, literally since I had the Ithica 10 gage pump entry gun under the seat, and kept my syes pealed for any signs of trouble. Not that I thought we were being followed, but normal everyday trouble. Like gang 'toll roads', caltrops, brick-throwers, or bandits. Plus a corp patrol or sweep could mean trouble too. We headed through the burbs as long as it would take us, so that we could stay out of corporate territory as long as possible. As we got onto the highway after a real toll booth, Bear said, "Feet Wet." Using old milcorp talk for saying you were over hostile territory, he told us we were inbound now. We kept to the lower roads, not using any of the higer roads that were just hung between skyscrapers. Down this far the pollution kept things in an almost continual state of fog, but headlights were made for that. He turned off onto old 35W and took us down to the cross town. We passed only about twelve smashed up cars, none even on fire, so it must have been a pretty slow night or the MPD. Crossing what they called 'the River', but it was nothing but a huge open air sewer pipe, we got into St. Paul. Then it was about ten blocks to the capital, around the Gov mini-archology and onto the Allied Medical Technoligies Pyramid Office building.
Archologies came in several shapes. Pyramid was the most common but hardest to expand onto, though it was incredibly strong and hard to blow up. Dome was another that was very popular in EuroAsia; it was a massive dome like the old Metrodome, except it was big enough to hold a city. Airfoils and vanes kept it from being destroyed by weather, and it kept the air pretty clean under the dome. A deragotory term for dome dwellers was 'dommies' (rhymes with dummies.) The most popular type of dome on the Japanes main islands (not counting the Philipines -- which they bought) was the Skytower; that was a huge tube which extended 300-500 stories high, with individual rooms being cylinders which were attached on the outside. The huge numbers of these add on rooms gave the Skytower it's nickname: pipe-cleaner. When I heard that name though I thought of something entirely different. The last style was the least imaginitive. The Block. Basically a huge block that took up a city block. Consisting of either skyscrapers that have been built into one structure, sort of growing togther, or a massive planned structure that could take up ten to twenty city blocks. But enough of architecture, we were almost at our target.
1926. Outside Allied Medical Technologies Building.
The orange street rapair flag that was ontop of the newspaper stand told me that Zig and Zag were both in position. It wasn't upside down, which was their signal for they were compromised. Good so far. We drove around to the 'back forty' as Dad called it (I don't know why) and into the pyramid parking garage. We got spots on the lower level and caught the moving sidewalk over to the main archology. I was pushing C1 (Cart One) and carrying a 50 pound compressed air tank and compressor while Lock walked lead. Mo was beside me carrying two cans of dye, like a good little apprentice. The two other carts were following as we stood on the automated sidewalk in the enclosed entry tunnel. Outside it was raining like hell and showing no sign of letting up. Once we got to the otherside we were met by a Security Corp in rigid plastic body armor, "Company?" I replied, "Minnetonka Paint Co. for basement job. PO number 55620." I hoped adding the PO had been the right thing to do. "Ok. Enter," he said waving us on with the barrel of his Ingram M13. Four of his buddies were inside which meant that coming out this way would be a tough proposition once we finished our murder and mayhem.
1935. Inside past the goons we were excorted by a corp in a suit (is there any other kind?) to the basement. There he gave us the short, 'Don't touch anything. Just do your job' speach. I assured him thats all we were here for and we began setting up to paint. As soon as he left Mo, Lock, and I headed for the archives room with our cart in tow. I stopped at the door and Lock withdrew a plastic box and a set of tools. He began his open-sesime act on the door and one minute later he was in. I stayed outside painting while he and Mo trashed the old files. "Hey boss, come'ere," came Mo's voice. -- "Whatcha got?" I asked. -- "The digitals, the copy/move logs, and the corispondence memos. The guy upstairs only heard about it in unsure terms according to the memos, and looking at past memos, they confirm the trend. The guy that expired was a real go getter but didn't keep his bosses informed. Just told him he was going to get a job done using dirt from GenTech." -- "I don't like being called Dirt. Erase them and check who else has accessed them in the last twelve hours."
2001. "But Mr. Sharkman you are dirt, came a voice from the doorway." I immeadietly spun drawing the Ares Predator. As I was turning a HV 10mm Supressed Glock round hit me in the shoulder throwing me off balance. Another round hit me in the hip and buckled my leg, dropping me to the floor. Thankfully the armor stopped most of the serious damage, but sitting there on my ass with an eight-on-the-Richter-scale headache forming I saw the silhouette of a man in the doorway. In my peripheral vision I could see the tri-dot from his Smart Links floating on Mo's head. Mo was white with fear and Lock just stood behind him, knowing full well that the gunners round would blast through Mo's head and bury itself in his gut.
"Can't we be civil about this?" asked the chromed up Corp. -- "I dunno, let me think?" I replied. He wore an all black suit with jet black polished shoes and an odd morphing shimmering waistcoat. His face was smooth and pale, and his body long and gaunt. I immeadietly didn't like him. The two bullets he had in me added to my dislike.
"Oh, come now. Surely there is something we can bargain about," he asked not letting the Glock waver from Mo for an instant.
"You're right there is. How you're getting out of here. You had better kill that kid if you want out otherwise you're mine." -- "But I know you'll never sacrafice a child Mr. Solo," he replied with a smug evil look. He was right I'd been Jacqued.
2004. A flash of chrome from behind him caught my eye. Kid Stealth earned his nickname again as he was behind him in an instant. The Corp. was oblivious to the monowire whip enclosing around the barrel of the Supressed Glock. As the whip tightened and cut through the barrel I saw true fear flash through his eyes. Kid had been over 400' away but his amped hearing had still head the supressed rounds. Now he was destroying the guns barrel which he knew had a barrel index sensor. The sensor measured barrel deflection due to heating and wear, thus preventing it from firing if it was too worn. Cut in half qualified as too worn. Kid had disabled his weapon in a second and kicked him squarely in the back the next. He'd kept the 10" razor claw retracted otherwise this Corp would have a tracheotomy in his sternum.
I intended to correct Kid's error.
The Corp came flying at me and I kicked/jumped up onto my feet and planted a knee in his gut. As he came up off his feet a forearm shiver dropped him to the ground on his face. I jumped on his back planting my knee is his kidney. "So Mr. Tucket how are things now?" -- Loud groan, "Bad for you. I just called the building security." -- "Mo trash everything. Kid get everyone out. Tucket, I'm sorry, but I'll have to make this fast." Then he moved faster than I expected. Doom on me. Never assume. Never underestimate you enemy. He rolled me over and was on top of me. He planted his boot in my thigh and the retractable claws from his foot slashed into my thigh. Oh goddamnit. Sharp bloody stabbing pain. My left hand chopped at his groin, doubling him over as my right caught his descending hand that was full of retractable razors too. I bucked him off and used my grip on his hand to throw him into the wall. I rolled over on my feet instantly, feeding on the pain that was burning like the surface of the sun in my hip and thigh. I sprinted at him full speed. Actually at where he would be when he landed. He was still in the air when I caught him and ran full speed into the wall with my shoulder in his chest. I heard a dozen ribs fracture. I kneed into the groin again busting the wind out of him and sending his nads out the back of his neck. My left hand caught his hand that was trying to rip out my spine with those razor claws. I spun it around his neck, choking him in the crook of his own elbow.
Then I took two steps back and delivered a haymaked to his breast bone. It nearly collapsed his chest and broke his sternum into eight or nine piece. His eyes filled with blood as I spun him around and faced him at the wall. He reverse kicked and clawed at my knee. "Oh! that felt good. Do it again," I hissed into his ear as I smashed his whole body head-first into the hard plasti-crete wall. No response. Funny, I wanted to hear his snappy corp banter. Another hard blast into the wall. A little thump but no response. Huh. Maybe the cats got his tounge. After eleven more successively harder slams into the wall I noticed the paste as I pulled him away. Not very talkative, I thought to myself. Twelve more and I saw a tooth hanging in the paste on the wall. I dropped him to the ground as I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned with venom in my heart only to have Mo jump back like ten feet. "HOLY SHIT SHARK!! HE'S DEAD," he squealed.
"Ah. Huh," I said looking down at the body. Lock was pale as a Bonn moonlit night. "So he is," stepping down on his neck and relishing the crack, "so he is."
2006. "Bogies in the vators," I heard Halfpints voice over the radio. "What do I do boss." -- "Ah. Um," gathering my senses, "blow the power boxes."
As I grabbed Mo, Kid darted into the room to get Lock who still stood there white as a ghost. "Nice Shark," Kid said, "not even any claws." He delivered it in such a matter-of-fact tone and devoid of feeling it frightened me. I just nodded.
Out in the hallway we both reached under the cart and put Medium Protection Vests on our charges. Then both grabbed a MP-20/10 from the cart and slung the magazine pouches.
2012. From the other side of the building we both heard the rapid clapping of gunfire. "Everyone report." I called into the radio. Pick met us in the hallway and joined us at a trot.
"CT2. Rear door contested. Twelve bg's. One wounded. We can hold for another minute or two. Loose Zig or Zag." -- "Roger," I replied to Legs. Switching channels I radio'd Zig or Zag, "Back door Z, commence firing." Even in the basement half the building away I could hear the high powered rifle blasting away. Hopefull that would get the corp securities heads down. As we were running at the door full blast, Kid on one side of the hall and me on the other, a door opened in front of him.
Six corp SWAT guys poured out. We let loose a hail of gunfire and their point man went down. I was on the other side of the hallway and stopped immeaditly. Pick slid under my muzzle and trained his gun at them. Kid ran up to the door staying on his side and out of my field of fire. My slide locked back and when Pick heard it he began firing on full auto at the door, just like I was a second ago. Kid got to the door and pulled three grenades out of his flesh pocket. He pulled the pins just as Pick's gun locked. They went in the doorway and he pulled the door shut. He jammed the handle with his whipit baton, and then darted to the other side of the door. Pick and I both had changed mags and grabbed Mo and Lock when the explosions blew. A few muffled screams were all we heard.
2019. Another 300' and we were at the back door. Halfpint was already there looking over Gator who took a 7.62 in the shoulder, seriously damaging his arm. Everyone but Legs came down from the stairs and stacked up. She was at the top with a bag-o-grenades. She was pulling pins and lobing them as we ran up the stairs. As we went by she was still throwing and when the last man passed her, she left the empty bag. At point like normal, when I got to the top of the stair and came out onto the street I saw hell on earth. Two corp security vans were ablaze and ten or more cars were shot to hell. Eight or more bodies were in the street. My guys had put up one hell of a fight. The flash bangs and smokes made seeing without Thermal like me, nearly impossible. I fired low at the six targets I saw as I made my way into an alley across the street. High powered rifle fire was ricocheting off the Arch walls and blasting my ears. Several guards lay dead behind rubble piles or behind cars as we ran out into the street. I got to a van and went to a crouch as the rest of the team went by, I fired off my fifth mag and then reloaded behind cover. Emptying that mag into another corp car I just wanted their heads down. One guy stuck his up in a final act of stupidity though. Bad move pal.
Then I sprinted for the alleyway in an L move to clear myself out of Kid's line of fire. Once out of it he poured more 10mm into the corp goons and we ran down the alleyway. At the end of it was Bear waiting in a souped up SUV hot-rod Four wheeler, hopefully armored but definetly fast. He poured on the gas and made our way out of the corp sector fast. Traffic was non-existant and we hit the one highway and made it to the lower level roads, the smog, and the safety that was the burbs. Ha ha. We'd pulled an Atlas.
2130. Doc Raven's Studio Apartments.
Taking a circuitous route back to Docs now that we were back in paranoid mode, we arrive just after 2130. We pulled in and all piled out of the car as a reaction to being packed in like sardines for so long. halfpint and Kid moved gator imeadietly into Docs Office. As I was giving Mo a big handshake and pat on the back the door to the house opened. Most didn't turn but a few did, Zona was standing in the door with her arms crossed on her chest as she walked out. I handed off my rig of weapons to Pick who turned and walked towards a shelf. She came up to me, "Is everyone OK?" -- "Mostly," I knew she could see the gashes in my suit and the slap patches applied on the way home. -- "Did you get what you were after?" -- "Yes." -- "Are we safe?" -- I looked right into her blue eyes, saw the concerned, fearful look, and layed one hand on her shoulder, "For now."
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