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1845. Northopolis Western Pacific Station 144. Jan 17, 2045.
Looking over the other passangers standing in the terminal, not much looked out of place. The gleaming plastic and steel construction of the chairs and widows was apparently untouched by dirt or age. Probably nano-cleaners. Posch young couples with their alloted 1.5 children waited in designer corporate clothes for their trip to corpville. Being in the first class section of the station was almost revolting. I glanced over at the vid screen, and sure enough, the bullet train was 4.5 minutes behind schedule. So I picked up my bags and turned to the principal.
"OK, lets go to the business section," I said to the lady at my side. Mrs. Chart was as maternal as they come. She stood about five foot five and was a little on the round side. Not that she was obese, but she was no runway girl either. Short dark curly hair framed her round gentle face. She wore a plain blue pants suit and a shinny green nylon sports jacket; over a spydercryss vest with trauma pad. The armor was easy to hide over the ample figure (she was probably very beautiful at one point) of this forty something year old.
She'd come to Dr. Raven with a simple request. Save my life, Nokia is after my life. She didn't look like the corporate type and as I watched her from a chair on the side wall of Dr.'s well furnished office (slash war) room, I got the distinct impression she was scared for her life. She wore an ultra-old pattern dress and rain slicker, and looked drenched to the bone. Kat was downstairs looking for some dry clothes for her. I was suprised Kat just didn't hit the street and start scrounging/stealing/appropriating the requisite gear. Kat by the way, was the Doctor's urban specialist. That meant she was a cat burglar and street urchin. But you couldn't argue with her results or her pretty blond hair and always smiling mug either.
As we walked out into the hallway and past the colums of the First Class loading section of the station, the flow of traffic increased ten fold. That made me nervous. I was even more nervous because I was unarmed except for a derringer. Granted Kid had made it special for me. Granted it was loaded with .45P hollow point frangible explosive (silver nitrate) rounds that were wild-catted to the max. Sure that all sounds good, but it only had two shots. I'd feel much better with a full magazine of even 5mmCP (Caseless Pistol); that's fourty rounds with a slight magazine extension. My eyes were working at mach speed to try and watch everyone around me for tell tale signs of aggression. Clenched fists, hands under coats, jackets over arms, balanced stance, or shifty eyes. Nobody had their eyes on me and my principal as we walked. Nobody broke their glance as my eyes met theirs. I used every bit of the formidible wealth of tradecraft at my disposal. It all seemed normal.
OK, so you're asking why I was walking towards business section with this semi-old lady maddly undergunned. Well when she asked Raven to save her life, she also said that she knew of Nokia's plans regarding the extraction of Carmen Phelps. Yup, that's right. Speilberg-Sony Theatre's hugest sensie star. The blond vixen of the action adventure martial arts mystery genre that we all knew and loved was going to be extracted by Nokia Corporation. That made sense, Nokia ran a pretty heavy trade in Sensie slots as well as made a fair share of releases each year. Mrs. Chart said she was Ms. Phelps' voice coach and dramatologist - I didn't know what that was but it sounded like some good drugs. Well after Max was in the Matrix for a bit and I'd made us all my trademark roast beef and pepper sandwitches (without peppers for people who don't like hot food.) He was able to verify that Mrs. Chart was who she said she was with a 95% accuracy.
Damnit. Now you're gonna ask why he only gave himself a 95% accuracy. Well Mr. smartypants-reader, even the best Netboy, who had been jacked in for over half of his life and got his first jack (yeah, first) at age 11, could be fooled. He checked old newspaper clippings, pictures in fashion magazines, make up articles reviewed by Mrs. Chart, and any cameo appearances she might have made. He checked with post offices, publishers, former employers, the IRS, and QVC (yes, it is still the larges television shopping network on the trideo). Then he took all this data and checked it for authenticity. After that he made anonymous phone calls to hear REAL people talk about Mrs. Chart. Mrs. Chart's personal secretary, next-door neighbor (oh, I have the wrong number? I'm sorry, what is Mrs. Chart's phone number? - you be suprised the number of people that just give out phone numbers.) etc. Then he guessed at how likely it would be that a netboy or team of netboys could create such a convincing deception. He thought it was 5% likely. Sound high?? Well Doom on you. Back to the story.
As I was saying. Mrs. Chart knew of Carmen's location, and had been nearly kidnapped by Nokia personel not more than twenty minutes ago. When Kid heard that he threw the house on full alert and took guard duty. She had come here because she grew up in Edina and knew of the Doctor's reputation. Her story went that Carmen was somewhere outside Mountainopolis in the Rockies shooting their newest Sensie Disc, and that the Nokia goons and their corp. SWAT teams were gonna wipe out the crew and make off with the blond goods. I proceeded to ask her how she knew all this. With a sly grin and a gleam in her eyes she reached in her wet poncho and withdrew a 1" 100 gig disc (the standard corp data disc). "You learn a lot of things growing up on the south side of Edina," she said in a soft but very sure voice.
There, all caught up. So here we were, in a crowd sans weapons and sans baggage. Oh, one thing I left out was that Kid was in Denver rounding up local gang help - he knew lots of gangers. Hordes of people moved about the hall, darting from soy-caf shop into the book store or standing around the video terminal watching the status of their connection. Some plugged into a joy-table and played their favorite sensie, or just played whatever game the table had.
After a short walk we made it into our terminal and she had a seat. I stood with my back facing a wall so I could see the train access ramp and the huge opening from this waiting room to the terminal hallway. I tried to keep my eye on all the people that came and went. But so many had bags, purses, carry-ons, and there were just TOO DAMN MANY PEOPLE!!!
A hit of cooler cooled my nerves and I got back to the business at hand. How I would get inside Carmen Phelps' pants once I got to Denver. No. I mean, the train was loading and we had to take our seats. "Mrs. Chart. Out train is here," I said in my most calm voice.
"OK," was all she said by way of reply. We both walked, her slightly infront of me and to my left, towards the gleaming aluminum counter with red carpet trim. Behind it was a NYL (Nubile Young Lady) who smiled and checked out ticket, then handed Mrs. Chart and me the ticket stubs.
As we walked through the archway and down the ramp to the concorse, I did a 360 and looked at the people in line behind us. Five or six families with perhaps a dozen kids, three single parents with kids, two teens traveling alone, maybe twenty corps in suits (with briefcases), and a motly group of civilized looking nomads in designer jeans - six of them. That is about sixty people in these three cars to keep an eye on and provide security for my one principal.
Thirty minutes later the train was underway and we sat in our coach booth travelling at 300 mph over the electro-mag rails that would take us to Omaha and then connect through to Denver. I have to say I liked E-Train or bullet train travel. It was safer than air travel (and that was the safest form of travel in the 20th century and the better part of the 21st). It was fast, secure, there was no turbulence, and the food was great. We were in the coach section (or business section), there were three cars for us: a dining car, a seating car, and a sleeper (or bedroom car.) Up ahead of us there would be first class, and behind us would be steerage class or passanger class. Passanger class was just a bunch of seats, it was cheap, but stinky and crowded. It was reminescient of air travel, thus I hated it. First class on the other hand was like a five star restaurant, hotel, casino, and show hall all rolled up in one. It cost a ton, but was the plush and fine. But enough of my explanation for those of you in the burbs that have never been on an E-Train.
1923. We headed up into the dining hall to blow some cred on food. Our seats were stools at the bar. We got some sandwiches and chips.
"So, how'd you meet Carmen?"
"Huh?" Chart replied. I repeated myself. "Oh, you startled me, that was the first polysylabic sentance out of your mouth since the house," she said with a grin on her face.
I tried not to let the suprise show on my face. "Sorry I ain't been the best company but that was business."
"Apology accepted. Well Carmen and I met in New York before the syndicate take over in 35. She had just got off the train and was a teen starlet from Nebraska. When she came into my studio on 34th street I took her in like I did all the girls in those days to keep them off the streets. I'm sure you know of the awful things that can happen to a little girl on the streets of New York." Her face was staring into the mirror behind the bar, almost as if she were talking to somebody in the room she couldn't see. Then she turned to me with genuine concern showing on her face. "Do you think we'll get to Denver in time?"
"Mam, I'm sure we'll get there in time," I said in my best assuring voice. I didn't want to bore her (or scare the crap out of her) with all the things that could go wrong. Corps have been known to send a full conversion borg into a mall and wax seventy-five to a hundred civs just to get the one edge runner in the crowd that had what they wanted. Here they could crash this train, make it look like an accident and be off with Carmen. Unlike a lot of E-Trains, this only had twenty cars. Some E-trains would be up to two hundred cars long, for hauling oil, cargo, grain, mail, and passangers. Losing one of those would be bad, but only twenty cars and perhaps three hundred people wouldn't be unheard of. They could hit us at the station, the loading terminal, the concorse could collapse or explode, on and on, and it wasn't getting any better.
As she continued with her life story, I split my attention between her obvious love of Carmen and the others in the dining car. Mostly corps now, the suit-wearing, laptop using, dweeby, no-load, kings of geekdom. One particualr cluster of five at the end of the car must have been well into their thirties (some of them already greying), with their walking canes (some damn fashion) and umbrellas hanging from the coat rack behind them. Things were just too damn quiet.
"So what does she do for fun? I mean, being a sensie star can't be all it's cracked up to be. It's gotta be hard work. What's she do to get away," I asked just as she were finishing her thoughts on Carmen's early years. She hadn't even notices I had visually frisked everyone in the car.
"Oh, Carmen. She likes to go to the gym," -- I love the gym. -- "a private one of course." -- I could sneak in; or shoot my way in. Ha ha. -- "Play racquetball," -- I liked racquetball, and was pretty damn good. -- "climb the rockwall, jog, or do aerobics," -- Those were some of my favorite past times besides watching the corp wars on the trideo and drinking aged congac. -- "that sort of thing. Ya know," she finished with a smile. "Most people don't think that about a sensie star. You know you suprise me Mr. Slatton," she said with a smirk.
"Well, I don't like to fall into the average mold."
One of the thirtysomething corps came up to the bar slowly hobbling on his cane. "Mr. Slatton, have you ever been to Denver?" she asked.
"Please, there's no need to call me 'Mr.', Shark or Clint will do fine."
"OK, then you must call me Laura," she said as she finished her drink. "How long have you been in this busi-" Flahing over her shoulder my left arm extended and grabbed a hand as my body was off the stole in a second darting behind her. With a iron-like grip I crushed the basket hilt of that corps cane-sword. His eyes got wide with pain as I intercepted the downward stroke of his blow meant for Mrs. Chart. Nearly wrenching his hand off in a lightning break-maneuver I let go and the weapon fell out of his limp lifeless hand. I quick snap punched the hands owner, that snivelling corp, and sent him sprawling to the floor of the dining car.
Quickly looking around and taking in the situation, I saw that the door to first class towards the head (my left) of the train was closed. Good. The four corps were in that direction, and I had no intention of going that way. To my right was our seats in the car immeadielty aft, it was closed too and I could see through the window that the passage way was empty. Time to go that way.
"Laura, go to seating, stay behind me." I stood, denying any shooters their opportunity at Mrs. Chart as I my bulk took up the walkway. CGO and CGT moved toward me, stepping over their groaning comrades body. Corp Guy One was holding his cane like a fighting stick, then snapped in two and had a pair of fighting stick. Fast but futile. CGT was donning brass knuckles. Be careful of him. Five more steps backwards and they were on me. A feint towards CGT and then a knee kick at CGO as he steeped in caught him square in the groin. Face gouge, elbow smash, knife hand back of his neck. Then I felt the metallic caress of CGT's knuckles on my kidneys and lowerback. My spine went Rice Krispies, snap, crackle, pop. My right arm grabbed him a threw him into a bar stool before he could get by me.
With both them off me, I managed to make a few more steps back, almost halfway to the door now. CGO launched a blinding flurry of stick swipes at me. I blocked the first five, but after that I think they all connected with me. Have I ever told you I loved pain? Well right now, I was in a state of bliss, clearly shown to me by all the stars I was seeing. This fucker could go, he musta been really wired. But I'll take strong over fast anyday. I brought my cranium down on his and upper cut to his gut. Have I ever told you that I bench 400 lbs. 150 times a day? Well, he felt it now. He dropped like a sack of flour, and as much as I love it the pain was gone.
I wiped my brow and my hand came away bloody. Shit, there goes my chances of picking up Carmen. Hopefully the new nano-bots I invested in would be worth it. Several more steps back and I was at the door. A quick glance told me it was empty. Either they forgot to leave a back door guard or were giving me a way out so I wouldn't be cornered. You don't want to see me when I'm cornered. With Laura right at my back, I opened the door with one hand and backed her into the passageway. I latched the door and jammed it with my Dalton Folding combat knife. Did I say I was unarmed? Yeah, well I meant un-gunned, I still have several knives and other goodies (all non-explosive unfortunately.) I drew the curtain on this side of the window, and opened the janitors closet. Over the screams that were coming from the dining car ahead of us, I poked my head in the door and spotted a mop. Grabbing it, I broke it into two equal two foot sections. Then tucking those under my coat, I headed back into the passanger car.
"Have a seat Laura. By the window." She complied. I took a seat furthest from the window facing the door to the dining car. I withdrew one of the sticks and held it below the table that was between our seats and the seats facing us booth style.
Just a couple seconds after I had taken my derringer and unsafed it, two of the corps came through the dining car door. I persist in calling them corps, but they weren't. They were solos just like me. Only much, much stupider. "Hold it!" I said in my most cammanding voice, with my war face on. They came to a stop. One, who had semi-long blond hair and icy cold blue eyes that held no humanity said, with a slight twitch that probably meant 'Crash', "Give us the disc." As he took two steps closer.
"Uh, uh, uhhh." I intoned, tapping the hollow shaft of the mop on the underside of the table like it was a shotgun barrel. "I wouldn't take another step closer if you want to have a abdomen." He came to a full stop. "Besides I was going to give you guys the disc anyhow." Mrs. Chart looked at me in horror.
"I've been waiting for you to come get it like your supervisor set up," I continued without paying her any mind. "Now which one of you is in charge." I said as I took out the 1" disc and laid it on the table.
"You bastard!" yelped Mrs. Chart. "How could I have trusted you and Doctor what's his face."
"Easy there honey, everybody's gotta pay the bills somehow," I said to her without even looking. Then without taking my eyes off him I said to this corp. "So, you gonna take it and get out of here?"
"What about her?" the corp that was obviously as smart as garden tools answered. "Oh, don't worry about her, I'll take care of that."
Mrs. Chart looked at me incrediously as they left the car with the disc. We didn't exchange a word for until after we left Omaha.
2300. Central Nebraska. Jan 17, 2045.
We'd left Omaha in Centraloplis only thirty minutes ago and it was still two hours until we got to Denver. It had taken the bullet train two hours to get there. We'd been in the station for half and hour reloading and picking up passangers before it got underway again, bound for Denver in Mountainopolis.
"Mr. Slatton, I take back the nice things I said about you. You're nothing but a mercenary and a scum."
"Maybe, maybe," that was it until we turned into the station at Denver. Not a peep, not a whisper. The rest of the passangers kept their distance and we just sat there utterly mute.
0100. Central Nebraska. Jan 18, 2045.
In the Denver terminal, we got off with the rest of the passangers, melded into the huge crowd outside the waiting areas, and went to get a taxi. About a quarter mile later, I saw Kid pull up to the curb in a used taxi. Probably stolen knowing Kat, who was sitting behind Kid. He gave the stare down to five corps that fell on the cab like vultures, but got out and opened the door for us. Once in he said, "Got it done."
"Yup," I said, looking over at Laura, who only gave me a cold stare in return. We drove for some time with the only sound being the engine and the snow and slush below the wheels.
0130. We pulled into a one story Motel outside Denver in the Burbs. It was dirty, cold, roach infested, stinking pit; it reminded me of my childhood. But Zig and Zag were there as capatins of the very obvious biker gang that was hanging out in the parking lot. "So this is your security?" I kidded Kid.
"Aw, shut up." He's always been the original type. < sarcasm >
As I got out and opened the door for Mrs. Chart who huffed past me like she was some grandma or something, the door to the Motel office opened. Doctor Raven walked out; tall, bronze native amerindian with the physiqe of a boy builder. Behind him was one of those ladies that aroused the urge to go for a ride on the balogna pony, or take old one-eyed up to see the optomotrist. Yup, I wanted to dance/exert myself at the horizontal mamba all night long. Carmen Phelps looked better in person at one in the morning in the middle of a snow storm than she ever did on any of her sensie 'trips'. Good enough to... you know.. hu huh, hu huh. Oh, I loved that old show in reruns on Comedy Central 5.
Laura looked up at me. "Yeah, we had to make it a believable lie," I said, reading the expression on her face and voicing what she was thinking. I mean, corps could be real stupid when they went against a world class Netboy like Max who'd set up that decoy disc of mine. She jogged in the slush and embraced Carmen when she got within arms reach (boy.. I wish I was Mrs. Chart's jacket right now...)
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