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Chapter Six
Black Rat
He could see them all easily. The difficult part was maintaining surveillance without making the restaurant staff suspicious and triggering any in-house security systems. The subjects of the surveillance were completely unaware of him. Celeste Marist-Sinclair was having a business lunch with R&D Assistant Director Hollis Caldwell.
He had picked up Celeste's trail from the townhouse of a friend and had followed her to her office. From there it was a simple matter of hacking into the building registry and planting a false appointment in the barely guarded building security system. Simple, that is, for someone with the skills and warez Onyx had at his disposal. Had the guards bothered to check they would have realized that the offices of "J. Bartlett Associates", located directly beneath Celeste Sinclair's office, were not and had not been occupied for some time, HTI long since having revoked their lease. But doughboys were always hired for their bodies first, rarely for their minds. Once they verified that, yes indeed, Malcolm Gachem did have an appointment and was to be admitted immediately, they did not even check his large briefcase as they waved him through.
A few moments with his mini drill and a spike-mike just barely pierced the floor of her office. Aided by his augmented hearing he could hear everything in the room. It was barely worth the effort. She may have been descended from the company's founder, but it hadn't gotten her much. Onyx was reminded of why he avoided becoming a 'company man'. Celeste's day seemed to be composed of sales report analysis, update calls and v-conferencing, and he doubted she even had customized ICON for that. Still, while he spied on her he couldn't shake the feeling that she was not the typical corporate witch-bitch he was used to. She seemed sad. More than sad, profoundly discontented. At least he came away with a 'feel' for her and her plans to have lunch with Caldwell.
The restaurant was a quality establishment, and it made him remember his dinner in the Spire. But it wasn't that posh. The one way mirrors were obvious and there were no white sound generators operating. He was never even hassled when he set up his computer, although he had an excuse ready. It was the lapstation Al Rassid had left him, and with a few hasty modifications it came in very handy. He jury rigged the spike-mike into an add-on and could record their pictures and conversation at the other table easily.
But the more he heard the more confusing it became. Caldwell was pumping Celeste for information on her husband's projects as well as trying to get her support for his own. Funding is in short supply, it seemed, and Sinclair always seemed to wind up getting the lion's share. Celeste seemed to be complying, feeding Caldwell's secretary the biz he wanted, but her heart wasn't in it. Onyx took a moment to disguise his work and motioned for a waiter to bring him another double espresso. This was giving him a headache. Try to disguise it as he might with fine Armani suits and Hollywood hair, Caldwell had the stink of a sweaty desperate man out begging for scraps. Celeste may be a dispirited corporate wife, but she could do better than this. If she was having an affair with this man, it had to be the driest, most passionless thing he's ever seen.
Tombstone, you bastard, he thought, what in the name is Osiris's wooden dick is going on.
Thomas Millstone poured himself another drink, finishing off the ambrosia. He walked over to the table where Onyx had set up his computer and casually appraised it with a knowing eye.
"Customized Avatar Chrysalis 3 with Zetatech Virocana netlinkage. Interesting peripherals." He extended a gunmetal hand toward the obsidian wedge. Stopped when a purple dot appeared on his wrist. He slowly turned back to Onyx. "Are you sure you want to go shooting up a nice room like this?"
Onyx came up from behind and raised his gun so the laser sight placed the target in the center of his chest. "It's rude to play with another man's toys." Onyx began to push Millstone back. "And potentially fatal. So I can’t kill you. That leaves other options."
Millstone seemed genuinely amused. "Purple isn't my color anyway. You have backbone. Good. But do make an effort not to show too much of it around Alexander. He doesn't deal well with it." He went back to the couch. His gunmetal grey trenchcoat was made with spidersilk and flowed as if caught in a breeze, but could deflect a .22 calibre easily. Extremely expensive. He sat down right where Onyx first saw him. "Have a seat and we'll attend to business."
Onyx didn't like this. He was being treated like a child in his own suite. He decided to do the best he could. He went to the bar and pulled up a tall barstool, so at least he could look down on Millstone.
Millstone, nonplussed, opened his briefcase and retrieved a folder and a high-density chip. "You'll read most of this for yourself, but the basics are this: Sinclair suspects his wife of having an affair..."
"Is that all?" interrupted Onyx.
Millstone frowned. "No. Don't interrupt. This assignment has a time frame. The affair is a secondary consideration. The real problem as far as Sinclair is concerned is that she's apparently giving up the goods on a certain project he's working on." He pulled out a cigarette and raised his other hand. From his index finger a small flame ignited the end. He took a long drag then let it out. It smelled Colombian. "Certain things are allowed. Hell, even understood. If you knew Alexander, you'd know why she might stray. But giving away secrets just can't be ignored."
"So I find proof that she's svoluch. Then what?"
"Contact me and I forward the information. The matter is then out of your hands." He smiled and added, "Then it's just two to go."
Onyx could feel his eyes begin to luminesce and he saw Tombstone raise an eyebrow. They always did when his emotions began to flare. It was the way his artificial blood reacted with his altered eyes. Obviously he knew everything, thought Onyx. "Nothing about the affair?"
"Of course, you are to end the dalliance however you see fit. But direct contact with Celeste Marist-Sinclair is absolutely prohibited." He leaned forward and somehow managed to look down on Onyx. "That is non-negotiable."
"If I can't talk to her, how do I end it?"
Tombstone grinned. Like a statue, cold and smooth. "That would fall under 'other options.'"
Onyx sighed. His last night was effectively over. All that remained was new biz.
Shifting mental gears he got up and retrieved the file and the chip. "I take it all the relevant info on Mrs. Sinclair is in here."
"Yes. Brief family history, preferred haunts, known friends, work address, car license, the works."
"Expenses."
"Also on the chip. When working for Alexander, you'll have a virtually unlimited account, but be prepared to explain every cent." Millstone got up and closed his trenchcoat about him.
Onyx smiled, but then quickly lowered his eyes and clenched his teeth. "Time frame."
"Three days."
Onyx waited for this gargoyle to get serious. Then he felt a sick chill in his chest as he realized Tombstone was serious. Tombstone took Onyx's surprised silence as invitation to leave, and turned toward the door.
"Hold that pose, Tombstone," said Onyx. He took a moment to skim the contents of the file. "I'm going to need a few things."
The 'few things' were the location of a class men's clothing shop open this late and a car rental, and the understanding that he didn't want a chaperone, all of which Millstone was quite happy to supply. "Alexander, wants to keep his distance from you, as well."
"Do you work for him?"
"Occasionally."
"And he let's you call him by his first name?"
He smiled that statue's grin again. "’Let’ is far too strong a term. But it's not as if he has a choice." He headed for the door. Like a mountain would walk, or a statue. Slow, patient, and uncaring. "I won't contact you again. It'll be up to you to find me."
"Is this a test?"
"Everything is a test," he said without turning back. "Pass this one, and it's just two to go."
The door closed behind Thomas Millstone and Onyx was alone in his gilded cage. Damocles Sword had begun to drop and the only way to stop it was comply.
It was 10:30pm. His day was just starting. He shrugged and went to his phone to make a few calls. He hated shopping at night. First he jacked in to his workstation. If he had to work late so did Anubis.
"Now Celeste, you’re being unreasonable," Hollis Caldwell said with great condescension.
Onyx had begun to doze. Caldwell’s begging wore on nerves frayed from slight sleep deprivation. He had been going on about the greater resources he could bring to bear on the Digital Divinity project, whatever that was. It was probably in the sheets of technical specs Tombstone provided. But he couldn’t spare time to review that. He focused on the target and her immediate schedule. It was a hasty plan made with half closed eyes in front of a full-length mirror at Sheridan's Clothiers, and probably wasn’t the best he could do, but there was little risk in following his instincts.
"No, you aren’t listening," replied Celeste. She took another bite of her salmon and carefully dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth. She was becoming nervous, but never did her lipstick smear. "I cannot dig any deeper on the project without someone finding out. If this gets back to Alexander…"
Caldwell laughed. "Celeste, let’s get down to it. Your husband is a dilettante who’s losing his edge. If he were any good he would have realized what was going on and put his foot down long ago. You want him embarrassed and I want the Directorship. Digital Divinity is the key." He ran his finger along the rim of his crystal goblet. Onyx had to act quickly to alter the reception on his microphone so the feedback wasn’t heard. "What you’ve provided can’t be all there is. There must be more…" Hollis was interrupted by his tie clasp, which had begun to chime softly. Lifting it, he saw something on the small read out he didn’t like. "I have to go. An emergency in our c-tech labs."
He began to straighten his clothes as the bodyjob guard rose with him. Onyx could pick up hydraulics in need of maintenance. "Jennifer will see you home. In the meantime I suggest you look a bit harder for what we both want." He left without another word, leaving the check and his underling to Celeste.
But for the first time Onyx saw signs of life in Celeste. When Caldwell was out of sight, she immediately moved closer to his secretary. They huddled together like old friends and giggled like girls. Onyx had begun to think that Sinclair was an idiot in thinking Caldwell would get hard over anything except cash flow. With Caldwell, nothing in Celeste's body language even suggested intimacy, but with Jennifer, she came alive.
They took their time finishing the meal and while they continued to talk biz, the tone was different. More like corporate girl-talk. Onyx was begging to feel conspicuous being alone and taking so long to finish his meal. He was about to order another drink when the two of them rose and began to leave. Jennifer preceded her and passed by the table that Onyx chose because they would have to pass him to leave. In Jennifer’s wake he caught a whiff of something that put him in mind of Secret’s pheromone perfume, but different. He didn’t have time to ponder it as Celeste quickly ran her credcard through the tabletop reader and hustled after her like she was the employee. Onyx did the same and just barely made it to the street with them.
He quietly got behind them, nudging the couple ahead of him out of the way and glaring at them when the man considered asserting his masculinity. An Asian valet bought a car up. A Mitsuzuki Bushi. That surprised Onyx. The car was a favorite among hotshot freelancers. Decent protection combined with above average speed and maneuverability. They got in, both of them in the front seat. Apparently Celeste and Jennifer were close enough to abandon the tradition of boss riding in the back seat.
Onyx's car was then driven up. It wasn’t near as fancy as a Mitsuzuki, but it was the best he could do at 2:00am. A reliable midnight blue ’50 Ford-MacLaren Jaguar CHOOH2 burner. He shoved the valet aside as he jumped in the driver’s seat before he lost sight of Celeste. There was no need for worry there. Jennifer drove slowly. Clearly there was no rush for either of them to get back to the office.
It was obvious after a few blocks that they were not heading back to their offices. Jennifer drove them past the golden doors of the shops of St. Charles Boulevard. Secret said everyone called this street 'The Gold Coast'. The shops were gaudy and what they lacked in subtley they made up for with everything the obscenely rich could ever want. Here the skies were clear of neon fire and filth. People here had the means to keep theirs dirt secret.
They kept going into territory Secret had not shown him. This made him nervous. He had no feel for this area. It was quiet. Not the quiet of an island state slum. That was a quiet born of the quiet desperation of material and emotional poverty. These streets were lined with executive plebes living in constant fear of being crushed by the same corporate machine they help maintain. This was a shadow land. Not too bright, with just enough shadow to make a body feel safe with anonymity.
Jennifer and Celeste pulled in to a quiet little hotel off Sandstone Avenue called the Sandcastle Arms. They parked on the street, likely secure in whatever secsys was installed on their car. Onyx watched as they entered the small brickfaced hotel and vanished behind smoke glass doors. He was tempted to follow them, but he’d been taught better.
He retrieved his new kitbashed lapstation and brought up a view of the local e-vironment. Boring stuff. Icons appeared on the crystal matrix screen in illusory three dimensions changing as he changed his virtual perspective. Finally he found what he was looking for.
Every hotel had a way for potential guests to register over worldnet. He spotted Sandcastle Arms portal easily enough. An almost childish sandcastle with its gates shut. This told Onyx that in all likelihood this portal wasn’t well protected. Normally he would have scouted the portal, monitored traffic going in and out and deduced the best time and method for breaking in. But he didn’t know how long his targets would stay in place or what was going on. That he needed to get in was a given. But it would be best to be welcomed as a guest instead of barging in and leaving bruised hotel staff in his wake.
He could hear time running down. That damned time frame…
Approaching the portal, Onyx saw that it was protected by little more than passwords and cookie sniffers. Onyx quickly created what he thought the cookie would be and ran his decryption algorithm. On his netview panel he could see simulated keys flying at the lock of the gate and being rebuffed. It took several attempts but eventually one key inserted itself and the lapstation registered an attempt to check to see if he was a guest with a reservation or not. As a new guest he would of course have none. But the moment he was allowed past the gates and could see the iconography inside the hotels miniscule computer, he ran a preset program. Bursts of data flew between the hotel microframe and Onyx's computer. Quickly he found out where Celeste Sinclair or Jennifer Gemin was staying and the availability of nearby rooms and stealing a sample of a guest reservation codefile before quickly exiting the site.
He waited a few minutes before entering again, taking a few moments to place an altered pre-registration code on the lapstation. This time he was welcomed with open arms and Egyptian computer engineer Mohammed Azik was expected to check in at five minutes from now. He took a moment to straighten his clothes and review the data he'd stolen. Curiously, Jennifer paid for the room, and by the month at that. Onyx filed that away under 'strange shit for further investigation.'
People often do exactly what is expected of them and nothing more. Thinking has become exercise, like climbing Rushmore. The underfed woman at the counter looked at Onyx as if he was something other than human. As always, he casually glanced about and pretended to primp as he quietly checked out the security. Cameras, but he doubted anyone cared enough to check them unless the hotel was on fire. Leaning over the counter on the pretense of looking for a pen showed him a primitive security board. Rooms could be monitored, but the device looked unused. He signed his false name and Mohammed Azik went to his room.
The room was decorated in cheap but serviceable American contemporary fashion. Boring beige and other assorted inoffensive earth tones. It's one endearing trait was that is was next door to the room the target was using. He bored a hole though the wall near the base, the silenced drill working slowly, but undetected. Slipping the spike-mike through he set up his lapstation to record everything they said. They came through clear.
"This can't be all there is." Jennifer's voice. Her voice lacked the sultry tones from the restaurant. "This is no better than the last batch."
"That's all there is," said Celeste. "I think the project is shutting down soon." She was sounding desperate.
Silence. Then the unmistakble moist sound of a kiss. "Please, love, you know if I can't give my contacts usable reports…"
"It's not my fault the bastard (Onyx could guess who she was speaking about) can't make progress on it." Her frustration was mixed with desire. He didn't think they were more than inches apart.
Jennifer laughed. Her voice was high pitched, but not unpleasantly so. "Dickless wonder." Shuffled papers and footsteps. Then silence. For a moment, Onyx thought he may have been found out. Onyx let out a breath he didn't even know he held as Jennifer spoke again. "I'm not ready to give up on you yet." There was a pause and he heard a soft moan. He knew it could only be from Celeste. "Here's what you do."
What followed was a display of psychology and seduction that would have made the most jaded prostitutes he'd ever known stand up and take notice. Celeste never stood a chance. Jennifer was clearly caressing her in an all too practiced manner while telling her where to press for information, what information to focus on and who she might use to help her. She used turned her apathy for her husband into a hatred that made her easy to use. Onyx had to admit he was impressed, but he was relieved to hear a loud chime.
They kissed again, wet and smacking. "I gotta go."
"No," shouted Celeste. Onyx could have switched the spike to work in visual mode as well, but he just withdrew the spike. He just didn't want to see Celeste as a common mark.
Which, he realized, is what she was.
He had the information he needed. Or did he? Jennifer was a pro. Of that he was sure. How could someone like this ever get so close to an exec like Celeste Sinclaire? He left the room and left for his car. It took longer than Onyx thought it would before they left. Long enough for Onyx to spot a punk doing a poor job of looking inconspicuous on the opposite corner. It couldn't be a coincidence that he wore Kai-Lun colors. Falcone was having him tailed. Onyx was impressed. He didn't think the pretty boy had it in him.
Celeste was the first to emerge and looked happier than when they walked in. Onyx could imagine what they were doing and memories of Secret briefly intruded on his thoughts. Jennifer looked indecently prim and proper and not a hair out of place.
Jennifer drove back to the HTI office complex, but apparently only to drop of Celeste. Onyx quickly made the decision to switch targets. As Jennifer pulled out, Onyx was right with her.
They drove for a time under the aircars that infested the rich part of town. Shadows cast on those who could only afford less and computer pilots flying them like gods in chariots over those whom had to walk and right into car lots built into buildings. We're being buried, thought Onyx. These bastards just keep raising themselves higher and forget what they build on. Gyatso would love it here. He couldn't even imagine what went through the minds of the goldenkids in their pristine orbitals. It made him ill.
Soon the airguide lanes were gone and only mundane ground traffic was left. Jennifer entered a part of town Secret had only told him about. On the surface it was just another slum. But there was cyberware here. Blatantly obvious cyberware. The type that would get you picked up by any corpsec if you wore it uptown. Late day sunlight glinting of fake gold and chrome plating. The people were different too. Predators, like those of the Strip, but more feral. There were even a few mutates. Mostly dogmen, but he saw a few felixes and ursines. In the streets there was music playing. Likely a few street rats setting up boosted gear in an empty lot. No, not a slum at all.
A free zone.
It was likely not more than five or six city blocks square, but you'd never see cops patrol this place out of heavy armor and fewer than four in number. Even then it would take a full riot to get their attention. Not like the Strip where most of the illegal activity was politely ignored as long as it didn't bother anyone relevant. Here anything could happen and his corpse would never be found. His car, lowbred in the corporate sectors, would be a prize in this part of town. The whole place was like a boil the city could never find reason enough to lance. He took his pistol out of his holster that he placed under the driver's seat, placed it in his lap and switched the power on. He could feel the power surge as the metal came alive.
Jennifer drove like she knew this place perfectly. A few of the street operators flashed some hand jive at her to which she responded with only a casual wave. Onyx hoped this wouldn't take much longer. He knew the locals would consider him a lost mark if he drove around aimlessly.
She pulled in to the garage of what once may have been a police precinct. It was a squat, unimaginative building of thick stonework. Out in front were several specimens of professional looking mercmeat. Orbiting the place were a wide assortment of chromers, bodyjobs, marketers and juvegangers completely at ease in their native habitat. A small cluster of them gathered around listening to an old burnout strumming on a guitar. Some kind of headquarters, obviously, but for what or who he had no idea. His lack of knowledge made him feel exposed.
He pulled in to a space at the corner across the street and let the car idle as he tried to get his bearings on exactly where he was. He wanted to know the address of that building and find out who owned it. Whoever it was probably owned Jennifer Gemin as well. He balanced his lapstation between the steering wheel and his chest and established an uplink to his computer back at the Spire.
Several minutes later a voice over Onyx's left ear said, "'Ey, choombah."
He turned and found himself staring into the bore of a Brazillian 9mm automatic. The kid holding it had a series of glowing lightning bolts around his face and cobalt blue hair with artificial eyes to match. He was wearing leather dyed the same blue and yellow. Letting his senses expand he quickly grasped the situation. He didn't need to turn around to hear at least two others on the passenger side. In his peripheral vision he saw three more pull up on motorcycle behind Blue Hair dressed the same way. American bosozoku. He remained perfectly still.
"Nice wheels," Blue Hair said, smiling. "Nice gear. Good drapes. Smooth skin. So, Mr. Smooth, whatchu doin' in da Badlands?" He spoke with a thick Spanish accent. He was young, not more than seventeen, and Onyx knew he might have to kill him.
Calmly Onyx replied, "I'm a reporter. I'm doing a story on urban decay in a decaying nation." He raised his eyes to meet Blue Hair's and gave him the warmest smile he could. "Would you like to give me an interview?"
"Hey, Lightning," said one of the gangers at Onyx's right, "he wants your life story!" It was a ganly black kid with his hair shaved into the form of a sloppy lightning bolt.
"Yeah, tell 'em 'bout getting' drunk an' fuckin' up!" This from one of those on a bike.
Lightning turned and said, "Fuck you up, T-Ball!"
Onyx almost made a move, but he couldn't immediately account for the two he couldn't quite place at his right. Then Lightning turned back to Onyx. "You wanna know what it's all like," he asked and leaned in close. He had onions at some point in the day. "You wanna glom on to us? I don' think you got what it takes, choombah." His smile vanished. Looking across Onyx he said, "Hey, Chis, show Mr. Smooth what it takes. Let's see what he's made of." Onyx's enhanced hearing picked up the distinctive sound of the hammer of a gun being cocked.
Onyx grabbed Lightning by the neck and hauled him close and let the lapstation drop to the car floor. He grabbed his gun and fired two shots blindly to his right. The gunshots rang out as he hit the gas. He heard a scream as he sideswiped a street light. Lightning continued to struggle but couldn't get his arms free enough to attack. Onyx dropped the gun and Lightning at the same time. In his rearview he could see the three who were on motorcycles gaining on him and pulling what looked like machine pistols. Reflexively he turned hard at the next corner just as a volley of bullets punctured the rear of his rental car.
He smiled. There was a way out of this, even though he didn't like it. These bikers knew the roads better than he did and he wasn't the best driver. It was only a matter of time before they caught up to him. He had to go to some place where this could end decisively. He accelerated and went straight out of the Badlands. In a few minutes he was weaving in and out of rush hour traffic
Onyx ducked as more bullets shattered the rear window. He considered drawing his gun. It went against his natural instincts to let himself be attacked without fighting back and he couldn't risk firing back and raising a body count. But it shouldn't be much longer. Someone had to notice what was happening.
It took longer than Onyx thought. He'd nearly crashed several times running red lights and dodging an aircar that tried to land before it's piloting systems registered his approach. He'd taken a bullet graze to his right shoulder and was about to abandon his idea and risk shooting back when the welcome sound of sirens filled the air. Ahead of him was a roadblock of two armored police cars. From the sides came two other cars with armored LEOs with heavy rifles standing up through the car roofs.
The bikers hit their brakes and leaned, trying to turn around, but the cramped traffic that greeted Onyx his first night in town was back. They were trapped, while people went out of their way to get out of the path of the LEOs.
"Stop where you are,' came a booming voice. "Night City Law Enforcement Officers! Drop your weapons, turn off your engines and step away from your vehicles! Failure to comply will be met with force!" The message was repeated in Spanish, then Japanese, then German and others as well.
The bikers must have gone through this drill before. They decided to cut their losses and just surrender, as officers approached with pistols in one hand and strip-cuffs in the other. Onyx was just glad the police finally arrived. No wonder crime rates in this town were so high.
Onyx hated interrogation rooms. But he had to admit he'd been in worse. At least this one didn't have a hole in the floor for the blood to drain through. He remained still and at rest. The walls were drab institutional gray, but he knew he was being monitored, his face and description going out over the security net.
The arrest went smoothly. After his car was searched and his gear, weapon and ID pack were collected they were all cuffed and quickly stuffed into the same wagon, letting wage slaves and commuters resume their respective journeys. Onyx didn't say a word to the gangers and was content to let them rant at him. He knew enough about American law to know anything said there would be used against him later. Occasionally one of the LEOs would lift his visor and look through the grate separating them from their cargo and scowl. Now he was using the time to evaluate his information and performance.
The one inescapable conclusion was that for the first time he had been forced to take a job with vague boundaries, ridiculously short time table in unfamiliar territory. It led to mistakes. He should never have allowed those punks to sneak up on him. And normally he would never trail anyone he hadn't checked out first. Jennifer Gemin was full of contradictions. He made a mental note to find out more about her first. He also realized he'd let himself become so rushed that he didn't encrypt his recording of the conversation between Celeste and Jennifer. He was just working up to some interesting expletives describing the situation when the door opened.
The man who walked in smelled of detective. Unusual, since he didn't think the event rated more than just a filed report. He was a bit short, just 5' 7", with receding salt and pepper wavy hair. His smiled showed too many teeth through his black goatee.
"So, you're the hot shit gaijin suit that works the Badlands for kicks," he said with a laugh as he pulled out an old metal and sat.
Onyx remained silent.
"Nothing to say," he asked, arching an eyebrow.
"May I leave," was his reply.
The detective stood and offered his hand. "Ike Alvarez, detective. And you are?" Onyx never moved. Alvarez moved his hand as if Onyx had taken it. "This is the part where you say, 'Hi, Ike! I'm Erick Vashtyra, freelance investigator, license number A268-4590-011, and I'd be glad to help you any way I can. Oh, don't mind the upscale biosculpt, plugs, chipslot and God knows what other work I've had done.'"
Onyx was unconcerned. The copy only knew what Al Rassid had set up for anyone to find.
"Except of course it's all bullshit."
Now Onyx was concerned.
"Make no mistake, whoever put your skeleton together was a pro. You pass casual muster. I'll never prove it, but I'd stake my pension that 'Erick Vashtyra' doesn't exist anywhere." He sat back down and opened the folder he bought in. He could see his credentials and other papers as well. "Nothing about you feels right. Especially why someone who can front enough jack to call the Spire home would be caught dead in the Badlands and wind up chased by junior members of Thunder Road."
Onyx suddenly remembered both his deadline with Tombstone and the fact that he would be homeless by dawn. But this detective looked like a dog with a particularly juicy bit of meat in its maw, and he wasn't about to let Onyx go without good reason.
"Detective," said Onyx, choosing his words carefully, "I am a licensed private investigator. As all evidence will indicate, I was the one being attacked. I ran to save my life. I was just working…"
Alvarez slapped his hand against his forehead. "Madre Dios, spare me! 'Chu think I care about one more lowlife operator in my territory?" He leaned over and met Onyx's eyes. "I got one question for you. Are you checking out Noire?"
"Detective, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"How about why the proles chasing you? They said a guy in gray hired them to put you in the bay. And you were seen parked right across the street from old Gray Death himself."
Onyx blinked and began to frown, but kept his voice level. "I don't know anyone in this town who wants me dead."
Alvarez paused, as if considering this. Onyx was sure someone had a VSA running and was relaying the truth to Alvarez. Probably in a bonespike. Everything he had said was basically true.
"Where're you from anyway, jefe," asked Alvarez suddenly. His eyes narrowed and began to trace across Onyx's face. "You got a lilt in your voice…"
Onyx knew where this was heading; Alvarez was getting cozy, trying to get a feel for him. Something to let him know where to start checking him out.
"We’re done here, detective," he said abruptly. "I would like to call my lawyer." It was a calculated bluff. Voice stress might pick it up, but Onyx could feel the interrogation was nearly over.
"Let's assume," said Alvarez, "that you're being straight with me and that you've never heard of Marcus Noire. Fine. Do yourself a favor. Stay the fuck away from the Badlands. Guard!" The door opened and a uniformed LEO walked in with a box. He placed it on the table.
Alvarez gestured at it and Onyx pulled the box over to him. Inside were his briefcase and his other gear. He took them all out and strapped on his gun.
"Now whadya need a cannon like that for? No, don't tell me," he said. "Business related, neh?"
"Yes, and fully licensed." Onyx's gun was indeed large, a high caliber marvel of gunsmithing and electronics. But according to the regulations Anubis loaded to his computer, it was street legal. Just barely.
"All my papers are in order," said Onyx as he loaded his lapstation into the briefcase. "May I have my credentials back."
Alvarez reluctantly handed them over and Onyx placed them inside his jacket. Alvarez stood and turned to leave. "I put my card in your shit. When you're ready to fess up, find me." He walked out and slammed the door.
Onyx straightened his clothes and left the precinct quickly, but not unobserved. Alvarez watched him leave. His smile returned. He approached a young plainclothed detective at a nearby desk from behind and slapped him hard on the back. "Rueben, amigo…"
"Stick it up your ass, Ike," he said without bothering to look up from his paperwork. With the man's light skinweave he likely barely felt the blow. "I don't even wanna hear it."
"C'mon, Rube, I need a favor."
"You're boring me, Alvarez." Ruebens turned to his workstation.
"I got a contact that could get you into the Abyss," he said, then leaned close to Rueben's ear. "The second sublevel. You know the one where…"
Rueben paused, then turned to face him. His cyberoptics whirred softly as they focused on Alvarez's face. "When," he asked with a quiet hiss.
Alvarez sat on the edge of Rueben's desk. "Right after you use your edge with Profiling to run me a bio on one Erick Vashtyra."
It was nearly nine o'clock when Onyx finally returned to the Spire. His rental died halfway there and he was forced to walk the rest of the way. He considered stopping by the VRCade, but he wasn't ready to face Snow just yet. His room was so well turned down, it was almost as if he were never there. He ordered a light dinner of fruit, sushi, and more ambrosia. After it arrived, he dismissed the waiter at the door without a tip.
He ate a bit then put the food aside. He couldn't stop thinking about what Alvarez said. A man in gray. Onyx wanted to think Alvarez was right in hinting that it was this Noire person he's obsessed with. But Onyx can't help but think that somehow Tombstone was behind it, which makes no sense. But then neither does an upscale secretary who likes to prowl the local free zone. Then Onyx realizes none of it will make sense until he gets off his ass and gets some new intel.
He stripped naked and fought the urge to shower. A shower would relax him too much and there were too many questions left unanswered. He sat in the large cushioned chair at the glass and marble desk. He reached down and drew his black bladed wakizashi. The wavy fire-like hamon caught the light. He considered switching the power on. Once activated, the edge would vibrate and an electric charge would be sent through the blade. It was a wounderful feeling, but if it fell, it would slice anything in its path, It was a gift from his teachers and it's mere presence helped to settle his mind. He placed the unpowered blade by the right of the computer. He powered up the netlinkage unit then felt along the left side of the computer and pulled out the internal interface cord. He pulled it out to its full length of one meter then took the thin male plug and inserted it into a tiny hole behind his left ear.
He took three breaths. Each deeper and released slower than the last. In the third exhalation he said, "Abydos."
The pyramid shaped netlinkage unit hummed with life and Onyx's body went limp as he entered another state of existence.
The first thing one notices when jacking in to the virtual environment of Onyx's computer is the texture. Everything seems to have a feel to it. The short corridor wherein your ICON first appears is lined with beautifully detailed hieroglyphics on walls of bright yellow stone. Immediately before you is a reflecting pool larger than that at the Washington Monument with water the color of cobalt. In the center is a golden fountain that sprays not water but a rainbow array of light. The walkway surrounding the pool is polished white marble and a warm breeze always blows, sometimes depositing holographic sand on people.
Three pyramids line both sides of the water, all shimmering pale gold. They reflect the light of the fountain so well they will cause an over balance in the average person's neuralware processor, usually causing a slight headache. But directly ahead of the person will be a pyramid much larger than the others. It is pure black and reflects none of the light. But the top of the pyramid glowed bright green, cutting through all the other shades of color. Because of that the visitor's virtual perspective is drawn to it for fear of being blinded by everything else. Beams of white light shoot back and forth from the black pyramid to the other smaller ones. But a constant column of light sits above the black pyramid connecting it to the bright white sun above.
Onyx emerged from the corridor in his casual ICON, that of a silver skinned angel with wings of white and matching toga. Around his neck on a black chain is a shining golden ankh. Most visitors have to walk to the black pyramid, because that's how Onyx has rigged the virtual to operate and because the black pyramid is the only structure with an apparent entrance. But here Onyx is a god. He spreads his feathery wings and soars through the middle of the fountain's spray, savoring the simulated sensations caressing his nervous system. It feels like receiving a massage, oral sex and a tax refund all at once. Anybody walking along the periphery just gets a mild feeling of euphoria. That recorded feeling was just as obscenely priced, but he has never regretted it. Quiet pipe music plays somewhere in the distance. He lands before the opening of the black pyramid just as a huge two-headed serpent materializes before him.
The snake coils slowly around him, fangs bared in both heads. This is a test. Any stranger upon seeing this would likely defend himself, launching defensive programs and generally panicking. The system is set to immediately shut down if this happens. Onyx relaxes and lets one of the heads sink it's fangs into the back of his neck. The reality of it slightly pierces the illusion and Onyx's head throbs as the computer scans his brain wave pattern.
The other hissed the word, "SSSSSSpeak." It seemed to echo throughout the virtual world.
Fixed the usual image in his mind and spoke. "Osiris, lord and master of heaven. Isis, mother and nurturer of my spirit. Anubis, friend and companion in the dark places. I am home."
The snake released his fangs and uncoiled itself. As it slowly faded away the slab of rock barring the way in vanished. Onyx walked inside.
There was no apparent light source inside the pyramid. The light of the glowing hieroglyphics could barely illuminate the walls upon which they were carved. Onyx refuses to add an obvious light source here. The shadows seem to shift randomly. In the middle of the cavernous room was a spherical diamond a half meter in diameter resting on a silver pedestal.
"Welcome, Onyx Shadowborn."
Onyx turns to face the imposing figure of a tall muscular male with smooth golden skin and the head of a black African hunting dog. In one hand he held a shepherd staff. The other holds a large golden ankh.
Onyx looked around then asked, "Redecorating again Anubis?"
*Chapter Seven(coming in March 2000!) *
Back to Chapter Five
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Body Count from Dec 1999:
Sign/View my guestbookAll characters created by Russell Brandford
except for Secret (Rick Shelton)
Created By: Russell Brandford & players of the VIRUS Play By EMail game
Written: March 1999
Last Updated: 02/07/2000
Email: IRON ANGEL
