When the hell did I have carrots? Mouse thought as, bent over the toilet bowl, he waited to see if his stomach had finally emptied itself or if he was going to heave again. Oh gawwd. He moaned internally, Why do I have to be the only one to get airsick and why did it wait to hit me until I got on the ground? When, after a full minute, his stomach had not contracted or expelled anything further he began standing up in the stall of the airport rest room. He quickly flushed lest the smell set him off again, but the scent of his young flight neighbor's yarf still clung to the orc decker's fatigue jacket.
Damned kid! Mouse thought as he removed the jacket to once again rinse the sleeve in the sink. The smell is probably what set me off. SHIT! When Lug hears about this, or Itami, I'm gonna catch a boatload of drek about having a 'sensitive tummy'. Again! And Doc… looking up as the elf mage entered the rest room, Mouse braced himself for the grief he was sure was coming.
"Are you ready to go?" The handsome Elf asked as if nothing exceptional had happened.
"Uh…yeah. Say…um,…I'm…."
"Not a seasoned traveler? That only comes with time, my young friend." The handsome elf mage responded reassuringly. "My first flight had me not only sick, but, as I recall, quite petrified with fear for several days thereafter. Though…. as I consider the sensibilities of our team mates I would appreciate your not repeating that particular piece of personal history. What say we simply agree to avoid the subject of air travel and obviate the japes of our associates? Eh, Rook?"
After a few seconds deciphering the elf's speech and remembering that he was now Rook and was talking to Wolfman, the decker nodded with relief. The pair made their way to the baggage carousel where they picked up their luggage including Owen's sealed courier case that contained most of the team's weapons. Rook breathed a sigh of relief when the legend of the false identity on the stick he presented was not even glanced at by the bored airport sec man. "Yeah? Great. Just don't open it in here" was all he mumbled, "or you'll set off every ringer in here".
As the rigger's internal monologue continued a jagged bolt of lightning ripped across the gray sky and it began to rain. Oh, perfect! The ork thought . Now if by some chance I do find somebody to sell me wheels on short notice, even if it isn't on every patrolman's hot sheet, even if I find every hidden tracer, nicked brake line, wood-chip filled transmission, cracked block, defective hose and sugared gas tank, I'll do it in a fraggin acid rain shower. If I didn't owe the boss so fraggin much…
With a sigh of resignation, Speed Racer pulled his new Bowler down more firmly on his head and hunching his shoulders, began walking through the downpour toward the first of the three junk yards he had decided to visit in pursuit of transportation.
Arriving at the Hilton he checked in, under tipping just enough to be immediately forgettable. Once in his room he unpacked his suit bag and, as he had done hundreds of times before, began creating the impression that his room was being used by your run-of-the-mill, up-and-coming corper. He took a quick shower, using most of the complimentary soaps and strewing the towels everywhere, unmade the bed and tossed the telecom's remote control underneath it. Satisfied that tomorrow's maid service would believe he had spent the night, Scott Adams disappeared, only to be replaced by the phys ad, Cloak.
Remembering the discussion back in neverland, Cloak could not help his grin.
"New names?!" Mouse had asked. "Why do we need new names?"
Sighing Doc had responded, "We are not attempting to establish or enhance reputations, my rodential comrade, we are attempting to evade any reprocussions associated with identities already established in this fair metropolis. Changing our names will increase the difficulties of those who seek to pursue us. I believe I will answer to 'Wolfman' for the duration of this adventure. It is far enough from my civilized, cultured......"
"Hey! Wolfman's got Nards!" Owen exclaimed.
"SILENCE!" Doc yelled, quieting the team's chuckles at their leader's apparent non-sequiter. After several minutes of intense concentration the elf said with total seriousness, "Creature ate my twinkie"
The phys ad dipped his head to acknowledge another successfully answered movie line challenge and by way of explanation, the two turned and simultaneously told the team, "We're the Monster Squad".
"Call me Cloak" Owen had said, returning to the subject at hand.
Itami had chosen "Speed Racer", Hamon was "Edge", Lug picked "Manny". As the team waited, the ork decker wrestled with a new street name, finally settling on "Rook"
Cloak checked the array of weapons and tools in his black combat vest's sealed pockets and zippered it over his stealth suit. He then donned the black kevlar raiment that had inspired his new name. Back in the saddle again he thought as the garments' familiar weight settled on his shoulders. Removing the wrapped replica staff from a tube of blueprints and his short staff from his suit bag, he tucked both into compartment/pockets in his cloak. Slipping on his Zeiss Low Light V's he pulled up his hood and slipped across the hall into the building's firestairs. Within seconds he was out of the hotel and another shadowrunner had been added to Seattle's numbers.
By the time Manny and Edge made their connection from Cal Free and debarked in Seattle, Pietr had reached the end of his patience with his Mystic Crusader inquisitor.
"…As I've told you repeatedly, I DON'T KNOW!" the exasperated magic user said. "He was a college chum. He didn't tell me for whom he was working. He said his employer had given him instructions to return with the artifact. That's all. I attempted to convince him to allow me to continue researching, even under his direct observation, but he refused. What did Maynard expect me to do, battle with an initiate grade mage?"
As disturbing as the diminutive human found the albino Crusader's repeated questions, the implications of his silences were more alarming.
"Oh, come on, now. I mean really! Battle with a mage who makes his living in the shadows?! I'm afraid you have no idea......"
"Shut up" Quillum said quietly. Something in the casual menace of the man brought Pietr up short, forcing him to swallow his witty reposte. The small mage tried to put his finger on precisely what it was that alarmed him about this Crusader. In the years since he completed his formal education, Pietr had dealt with many powerful and dangerous individuals. What is so frightening about him? Pietr thought. The norm wasn't exceptional in any way other than his coloring. He wasn't huge or muscular, he wasn't festooned with fetishes or driping with mystic might, in fact, viewed astrally he didn't even have an exceptional ammont of cyber. What he did have was an air of unselfconscious violence. Pietr could see/feel/sense that this individual was not going to restrain his response in any way for fear of injury to himself in either the short or long term. This lack of the fundamental animal drive for self preservation made the hair stand up on the back of Pietr neck as he quickly realized that at subconscious level, this individual would dominate nearly any setting. He would dominate because the metahuman hind brain, the primitive subconscious, would always see this man as different, as a dangerous unknown and council at least caution if not fear. This man is dangerous, Pietr thought, not only for his disregard of himself, not only for the ease with which he uses violence, but because he KNOWS the affect his attitude has and uses it. Whenever his bluff is called he probably maims or kills without a second thought. A true psychopath. Pietr concluded with a shudder.
The slight grin on Quillum's face upset Pietr even more because it looked as if Maynard's messenger had read every thought in the small mage's head and was considering proving the hypothesis with something grisly. To forestall the possibility, Pietr offered, "Look, I'm sure that Doc has quite a reputation in the uhm... shadow community. Why not simply track him down and then... uh, ask him for whom he was working. You can then.... uh.... negotiate the artifact's return."
Quillum made a point of ignoring Pietr's helpful suggestion and continued staring at the smaller man. After a few minutes of hostile silence, the albino said "Find him." and turned to leave.
"Now see here, old man, I......." Pietr immediately regretted drawing Quillum's attention back to himself. "It's..... not actually my forte, you see......I........" Pietr again swallowed the remains of the sentence as he quailed at the unmoving but somehow menacing back of the Crusader. "Uhm.....yes, I'll...uh...do what I can...." The small mage said and a moment later exhaled with relief as Quillum left the room. What have I gotten myself into? Pietr thought. He shook his head as he moved to the telecom to begin making calls.
Rook had a surprisingly easy time adjusting to Seattle. Once he had hooked up his deck to the consensual halucination of the Matrix, he found that the new town was not much different from what he experienced back home. He found virtual bars, brag boards and, with a little digging, rumor mills with a cornucopia of "absolutely reliable" if self-contradictory data on fixers of choice and the means by which they were to be contacted.
"Lookin fer a fixer, pal?"
The cartoon mouse turned and appeared to study the inquisitor. The figure who had posed the question was also a cartoon character. Short of stature with a bulbuous nose, a straggley moustace and long unkempt hair flowing from under a large flat brimmed hat, the icon which had posed the question introduced himself. "Phineas Phreak" he said as he pulled a burning joint from thin air, "ya know, one of the Phabulous Phreak Brothers. I saw ya scoping the boards and thought I might lend a newbie a hand."
Although Mouse was a relative newcomer to Seattle's shadows, he'd run the matrix long enough to suspect unsolicited aid. He reached out and appeared to tear a sheet off the data board while asking in his squeaky cartoon voice, "Uh....yeah....haha, what does this mean?"
Phineas, at first concerned that the newcomer didn't even know enough to avoid vandalizing a data post for use by all, became more alarmed when he saw that the mouse had duplicated the posting so seamlessly that the tattered remnants at the top and bottom of the sheet matched the scraps on the board, but that the original post was untouched. "Frag....." Phineas breathed. "Sorry, chummer. Didn't know you were that frosty. Just ...uh...playin around, ya know?"
"Haha.....sure" the high pitched mouse voice responded. The dead black eyes in the cartoon's face watched unblinking as Phineas Phreak found somewhere else to be.
"Is this what you've been reduced to, mouse? Scaring the drek out of wannabees?" Mickey turned at the sound of a familiar voice. "FIRECAT! Hoi, chummer! Whazup?" The mouse said with some excitement.
"Been looking for you, Omae. Wanted to know how you'd been since the last time we ran together. It's good to see you." The flaming cat's pleasure was unfeigned if more subdued than Mouse's exclamations and grin.
"Good to see you too, my friend. I never thought to find you in Seattle's RTG."
"Oh, I.... get around" the cat said with a particularly feline grin. "Looking for something in particular in town?"
"Welllllll..........I could use the names of a couple of decent fixers" Mouse said with as much nonchallance as he could muster.
"Null persp. The only two I can personally vouch for are Albrecht or Harry. Both have solid reps and some pretty regular long term teams that they work with. Albrecht is a little greedier than Harry, but he asks fewer questions. Harry's looking for long term profit so he's a little less uh....tight, but he tends to want to know more to protect his investment. I guess it depends on which type of fixer you are most comfortable with. Of course, if your pockets are deep enough, there are some big wheel fixers with killer reps, but I've never personally had any dealings with them. This isn't....uh, for you, is it?"
"Does that make a difference?" the suddenly wary decker asked.
"No....no, I just, uh, thought you were based um......"
"I am, I am." Mouse hastily reassured his friend, "It's just that sometimes a job requires..... longer range operations, you know what I mean." Hoping that he had been at once sufficiently obscure and generally reassuring, Mouse preoccupied himself with checking the boards for contact numbers on Harry and Albrecht. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of tiny squirming mice which he released.
"Were those my smart frames?" Firecat asked.
"Yeah," Mouse replied. "They're pretty sweet code. I just tweaked them so that they didn't clash with my image. Shouldn't play with fire, ya know?"
The Firecat dipped its head in acknowledgement. The Smart frames that Cat had loaned and eventually given Mouse had originally looked like small tounges of flame. The decker had shifted their code enough that they now appeared as tiny fur covered rodents searching for the cheese their master desired.
"Well, you look like your research is well under way" Firecat observed as the mice scurried back and forth with data on the two fixers that Mickey was interested in. "Leave me a message at this number if you want my help" Firecat said as a telecom number appeared in the air in fiery script for an instant. "It's a dead drop I check pretty frequently. Well, best of luck. Later" With a smile the cat gradually faded out.
I gotta find out how that's done Mouse thought. He smiled as he thought of his friend and then began going through the data that the smarts had brought back. This should give us enough info to pick a descent local fixer.
The Shadorat and shapcano. Together again for the first time! This serial continues at Winterhawk's Virtual Magespace. To read Chapter 14 click here.
This story is copyright of the author. Shadowrun is a Registered Trademark of FASA Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission. Any use of FASA Corporation's copyrighted material or trademarks in this file should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or trademarks.
Damned kid! Mouse thought as he removed the jacket to once again rinse the sleeve in the sink. The smell is probably what set me off. SHIT! When Lug hears about this, or Itami, I'm gonna catch a boatload of drek about having a 'sensitive tummy'. Again! And Doc… looking up as the elf mage entered the rest room, Mouse braced himself for the grief he was sure was coming.
"Are you ready to go?" The handsome Elf asked as if nothing exceptional had happened.
"Uh…yeah. Say…um,…I'm…."
"Not a seasoned traveler? That only comes with time, my young friend." The handsome elf mage responded reassuringly. "My first flight had me not only sick, but, as I recall, quite petrified with fear for several days thereafter. Though…. as I consider the sensibilities of our team mates I would appreciate your not repeating that particular piece of personal history. What say we simply agree to avoid the subject of air travel and obviate the japes of our associates? Eh, Rook?"
After a few seconds deciphering the elf's speech and remembering that he was now Rook and was talking to Wolfman, the decker nodded with relief. The pair made their way to the baggage carousel where they picked up their luggage including Owen's sealed courier case that contained most of the team's weapons. Rook breathed a sigh of relief when the legend of the false identity on the stick he presented was not even glanced at by the bored airport sec man. "Yeah? Great. Just don't open it in here" was all he mumbled, "or you'll set off every ringer in here".
*****
Brilliant plan. Brilliant fraggin plan. The rigger thought. Get away. Prevent our friends being used against us. Run before the chase begins. Brilliant. But does anybody think about how the frag I'm supposed to arrange transport in a place where I don't have contacts? Anybody consider the detail that all my fraggin drones are locked up back home and that I don't know a fraggin soul in Seattle?As the rigger's internal monologue continued a jagged bolt of lightning ripped across the gray sky and it began to rain. Oh, perfect! The ork thought . Now if by some chance I do find somebody to sell me wheels on short notice, even if it isn't on every patrolman's hot sheet, even if I find every hidden tracer, nicked brake line, wood-chip filled transmission, cracked block, defective hose and sugared gas tank, I'll do it in a fraggin acid rain shower. If I didn't owe the boss so fraggin much…
With a sigh of resignation, Speed Racer pulled his new Bowler down more firmly on his head and hunching his shoulders, began walking through the downpour toward the first of the three junk yards he had decided to visit in pursuit of transportation.
*****
The physical adept slipped back into the routine for infiltration of a new city with disturbing ease. Lamont Cranston, wealthy, crippled, first-class passenger had disappeared somewhere in Sea-Tac International minutes after exiting his flight. Architect Scott Adams, on the other hand, had miraculously appeared at roughly the same time, stepping out of the Men's room with his rolls of blueprints under one arm and the standard luggage of the average business traveler slung from his shoulders. He was thoroughly unremarkable as he joined the queue of impatient corporate types waiting for a taxi.Arriving at the Hilton he checked in, under tipping just enough to be immediately forgettable. Once in his room he unpacked his suit bag and, as he had done hundreds of times before, began creating the impression that his room was being used by your run-of-the-mill, up-and-coming corper. He took a quick shower, using most of the complimentary soaps and strewing the towels everywhere, unmade the bed and tossed the telecom's remote control underneath it. Satisfied that tomorrow's maid service would believe he had spent the night, Scott Adams disappeared, only to be replaced by the phys ad, Cloak.
Remembering the discussion back in neverland, Cloak could not help his grin.
"New names?!" Mouse had asked. "Why do we need new names?"
Sighing Doc had responded, "We are not attempting to establish or enhance reputations, my rodential comrade, we are attempting to evade any reprocussions associated with identities already established in this fair metropolis. Changing our names will increase the difficulties of those who seek to pursue us. I believe I will answer to 'Wolfman' for the duration of this adventure. It is far enough from my civilized, cultured......"
"Hey! Wolfman's got Nards!" Owen exclaimed.
"SILENCE!" Doc yelled, quieting the team's chuckles at their leader's apparent non-sequiter. After several minutes of intense concentration the elf said with total seriousness, "Creature ate my twinkie"
The phys ad dipped his head to acknowledge another successfully answered movie line challenge and by way of explanation, the two turned and simultaneously told the team, "We're the Monster Squad".
"Call me Cloak" Owen had said, returning to the subject at hand.
Itami had chosen "Speed Racer", Hamon was "Edge", Lug picked "Manny". As the team waited, the ork decker wrestled with a new street name, finally settling on "Rook"
Cloak checked the array of weapons and tools in his black combat vest's sealed pockets and zippered it over his stealth suit. He then donned the black kevlar raiment that had inspired his new name. Back in the saddle again he thought as the garments' familiar weight settled on his shoulders. Removing the wrapped replica staff from a tube of blueprints and his short staff from his suit bag, he tucked both into compartment/pockets in his cloak. Slipping on his Zeiss Low Light V's he pulled up his hood and slipped across the hall into the building's firestairs. Within seconds he was out of the hotel and another shadowrunner had been added to Seattle's numbers.
By the time Manny and Edge made their connection from Cal Free and debarked in Seattle, Pietr had reached the end of his patience with his Mystic Crusader inquisitor.
"…As I've told you repeatedly, I DON'T KNOW!" the exasperated magic user said. "He was a college chum. He didn't tell me for whom he was working. He said his employer had given him instructions to return with the artifact. That's all. I attempted to convince him to allow me to continue researching, even under his direct observation, but he refused. What did Maynard expect me to do, battle with an initiate grade mage?"
As disturbing as the diminutive human found the albino Crusader's repeated questions, the implications of his silences were more alarming.
"Oh, come on, now. I mean really! Battle with a mage who makes his living in the shadows?! I'm afraid you have no idea......"
"Shut up" Quillum said quietly. Something in the casual menace of the man brought Pietr up short, forcing him to swallow his witty reposte. The small mage tried to put his finger on precisely what it was that alarmed him about this Crusader. In the years since he completed his formal education, Pietr had dealt with many powerful and dangerous individuals. What is so frightening about him? Pietr thought. The norm wasn't exceptional in any way other than his coloring. He wasn't huge or muscular, he wasn't festooned with fetishes or driping with mystic might, in fact, viewed astrally he didn't even have an exceptional ammont of cyber. What he did have was an air of unselfconscious violence. Pietr could see/feel/sense that this individual was not going to restrain his response in any way for fear of injury to himself in either the short or long term. This lack of the fundamental animal drive for self preservation made the hair stand up on the back of Pietr neck as he quickly realized that at subconscious level, this individual would dominate nearly any setting. He would dominate because the metahuman hind brain, the primitive subconscious, would always see this man as different, as a dangerous unknown and council at least caution if not fear. This man is dangerous, Pietr thought, not only for his disregard of himself, not only for the ease with which he uses violence, but because he KNOWS the affect his attitude has and uses it. Whenever his bluff is called he probably maims or kills without a second thought. A true psychopath. Pietr concluded with a shudder.
The slight grin on Quillum's face upset Pietr even more because it looked as if Maynard's messenger had read every thought in the small mage's head and was considering proving the hypothesis with something grisly. To forestall the possibility, Pietr offered, "Look, I'm sure that Doc has quite a reputation in the uhm... shadow community. Why not simply track him down and then... uh, ask him for whom he was working. You can then.... uh.... negotiate the artifact's return."
Quillum made a point of ignoring Pietr's helpful suggestion and continued staring at the smaller man. After a few minutes of hostile silence, the albino said "Find him." and turned to leave.
"Now see here, old man, I......." Pietr immediately regretted drawing Quillum's attention back to himself. "It's..... not actually my forte, you see......I........" Pietr again swallowed the remains of the sentence as he quailed at the unmoving but somehow menacing back of the Crusader. "Uhm.....yes, I'll...uh...do what I can...." The small mage said and a moment later exhaled with relief as Quillum left the room. What have I gotten myself into? Pietr thought. He shook his head as he moved to the telecom to begin making calls.
Rook had a surprisingly easy time adjusting to Seattle. Once he had hooked up his deck to the consensual halucination of the Matrix, he found that the new town was not much different from what he experienced back home. He found virtual bars, brag boards and, with a little digging, rumor mills with a cornucopia of "absolutely reliable" if self-contradictory data on fixers of choice and the means by which they were to be contacted.
"Lookin fer a fixer, pal?"
The cartoon mouse turned and appeared to study the inquisitor. The figure who had posed the question was also a cartoon character. Short of stature with a bulbuous nose, a straggley moustace and long unkempt hair flowing from under a large flat brimmed hat, the icon which had posed the question introduced himself. "Phineas Phreak" he said as he pulled a burning joint from thin air, "ya know, one of the Phabulous Phreak Brothers. I saw ya scoping the boards and thought I might lend a newbie a hand."
Although Mouse was a relative newcomer to Seattle's shadows, he'd run the matrix long enough to suspect unsolicited aid. He reached out and appeared to tear a sheet off the data board while asking in his squeaky cartoon voice, "Uh....yeah....haha, what does this mean?"
Phineas, at first concerned that the newcomer didn't even know enough to avoid vandalizing a data post for use by all, became more alarmed when he saw that the mouse had duplicated the posting so seamlessly that the tattered remnants at the top and bottom of the sheet matched the scraps on the board, but that the original post was untouched. "Frag....." Phineas breathed. "Sorry, chummer. Didn't know you were that frosty. Just ...uh...playin around, ya know?"
"Haha.....sure" the high pitched mouse voice responded. The dead black eyes in the cartoon's face watched unblinking as Phineas Phreak found somewhere else to be.
"Is this what you've been reduced to, mouse? Scaring the drek out of wannabees?" Mickey turned at the sound of a familiar voice. "FIRECAT! Hoi, chummer! Whazup?" The mouse said with some excitement.
"Been looking for you, Omae. Wanted to know how you'd been since the last time we ran together. It's good to see you." The flaming cat's pleasure was unfeigned if more subdued than Mouse's exclamations and grin.
"Good to see you too, my friend. I never thought to find you in Seattle's RTG."
"Oh, I.... get around" the cat said with a particularly feline grin. "Looking for something in particular in town?"
"Welllllll..........I could use the names of a couple of decent fixers" Mouse said with as much nonchallance as he could muster.
"Null persp. The only two I can personally vouch for are Albrecht or Harry. Both have solid reps and some pretty regular long term teams that they work with. Albrecht is a little greedier than Harry, but he asks fewer questions. Harry's looking for long term profit so he's a little less uh....tight, but he tends to want to know more to protect his investment. I guess it depends on which type of fixer you are most comfortable with. Of course, if your pockets are deep enough, there are some big wheel fixers with killer reps, but I've never personally had any dealings with them. This isn't....uh, for you, is it?"
"Does that make a difference?" the suddenly wary decker asked.
"No....no, I just, uh, thought you were based um......"
"I am, I am." Mouse hastily reassured his friend, "It's just that sometimes a job requires..... longer range operations, you know what I mean." Hoping that he had been at once sufficiently obscure and generally reassuring, Mouse preoccupied himself with checking the boards for contact numbers on Harry and Albrecht. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of tiny squirming mice which he released.
"Were those my smart frames?" Firecat asked.
"Yeah," Mouse replied. "They're pretty sweet code. I just tweaked them so that they didn't clash with my image. Shouldn't play with fire, ya know?"
The Firecat dipped its head in acknowledgement. The Smart frames that Cat had loaned and eventually given Mouse had originally looked like small tounges of flame. The decker had shifted their code enough that they now appeared as tiny fur covered rodents searching for the cheese their master desired.
"Well, you look like your research is well under way" Firecat observed as the mice scurried back and forth with data on the two fixers that Mickey was interested in. "Leave me a message at this number if you want my help" Firecat said as a telecom number appeared in the air in fiery script for an instant. "It's a dead drop I check pretty frequently. Well, best of luck. Later" With a smile the cat gradually faded out.
I gotta find out how that's done Mouse thought. He smiled as he thought of his friend and then began going through the data that the smarts had brought back. This should give us enough info to pick a descent local fixer.
The Shadorat and shapcano. Together again for the first time! This serial continues at Winterhawk's Virtual Magespace. To read Chapter 14 click here.
This story is copyright of the author. Shadowrun is a Registered Trademark of FASA Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission. Any use of FASA Corporation's copyrighted material or trademarks in this file should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or trademarks.
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