The Stuff of Dreams The unofficial archive of the Model 66 Scenario as compiled by Kip Moore (kip+@cmu.edu) Version 1.0 DRAMATIS PERSONAE (in order of appearance) Liralen Li li@inigo.data-io.com (Phyllis Rostykus) Leadfoot kip+@cmu.edu (Kip Moore) Nekoko hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu (Hubert Bartels) Belladonna joan@uncmed.med.unc.edu (Joan Shields) ARES HK Drone cdr@brahms.amd.com (Carl Rigney) White Knight v055nmvy@ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu (David A. Gaidasz) Tracker tracker@wpi.wpi.edi (The Renegade Ranger) Running Wolf teneyck@tybalt.caltech.edu (Ross TenEyck) Argent li@inigo.data-io.com (Phyllis Rostykus) Viadd palmer@nntp-server.caltech.edu (David Palmer) Medicine Hawk kaubey@europa.asd.contel.com (Ken Aubey) Heavy Judy burns@latcs1.oz.au (Jonathan Burns) Gestalt ??? Note: This is by no means the authoritative archive of the Model 66 Scenario!! This is simply a quick cut-and-paste job of the stories scattered throughout the a.c.c. archive that struck me as immediately relevant. I WELCOME ANY AND ALL COMMENTS ON THIS ARCHIVE, *ESPECIALLY* ON ITS FORM, STRUCTURE, AND CONTENT!!! Please give me feedback; this is a very rough construct and I'd like to smooth out some of its edges. Another Note: I'm certain that some of those addresses above no longer exist. Which ones they are, however, I've completely forgotten. Please send me updates or additions, or what-have-you. With that, on with the show! +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Article 4744 of alt.cyberpunk: >From: phyllis@amc-gw.amc.com (Phyllis Rostykus) Subject: Re: Dataflow (was -> Re: Interface) Date: 9 Nov 90 02:24:59 GMT Liralen follows Erich out into the storm. It is already wet and a bit uncomfortably cold, not to mention the strong wind. "This is what I see coming," he shouts over the noise, "a storm of information that I don't have the audacity to say I could handle unaided." He comes closer you notice his facial expression has changed and has a somewhat maniacal look to it, or maybe driven is a better desciption... "You can sit inside and stay in the domains that could be handled before with only so much information at hand, but I can't ignore draw of this kind of... well... *power*, really. It is almost magnetic, but one cannot weather a storm without help." She nods, both understanding and an empathy for his driven feeling. She has worked five years in artificial neural network research with the hope that, someday, such aid might, someday, become hers. He looks down at his hands and rubs them a bit, then smiles wryly and says, "I tend to think that the interfaces would have to be almost an artificial cortex of sorts, or extremely adaptive in the least, to be very useful... oh well. It would be an achievement in itself." He sighs wistfully. "But lets get back inside" They go back inside. And, as they get some food and drink, she is silent, thinking of how to say what she wants to say. "I think you're on the right track, but then that's what I've been trying to work towards, someday." But the look on her face is frustrated, tired. "It's just feels so very, very far away, sometimes." Liralen is silent for a long moment. "I never meant to put down people's dreams for the furture. I never said that I thought a-v interfaces wouldn't be possible, someday. I'm just greedy, now, for a wider bandwidth, more information than what I was getting, here. As Jon pointed out, people will push the limits of whatever medium they get, and what I wanted to do was push the limits of this medium. I never intended to say that I didn't think that other mediums couldn't be developed." she sighs, "I guess I didn't get that across too well the first three times." She looks off into one corner, playing with her food a little, "I mean, I'd give a lot to have an interface directly into anothers emotions, anothers thoughts, and I can do a little of it through text, but if there were actually a system that could support the entire endocrine system as well as the centers of the MIND, that system would have to be completely adaptable to each individual, because each person's system is different. Neat thing, though is that humans are adaptable, but I worry, a little, about just how far they can or cannot go." After getting something warm in his stomach Erich says, "You're right, you know... we would have to be almost specially trained to handle these interfaces, smart as they may be to fill their function in the first place, but isn't that what this place is anyway?" He spreads his hands with an open expression... She chuckles. "Yeah. I think so." Liralen looks around, and suddenly a couple of other people bring a bar into alt.cyberpunk. An amazing hardware hacker puts together an amazing system in his corner of the space. Others join their conversation... and Liralen smiles, glad to see them, glad to share their creations with them. "You know, I thought I'd just answer one more article, and then quit this place. I'd forgotten how argumentative the regular Net could be, and my skin's thin from two years of not being on the regular Net. Some of the sideswipes HURT. But then, tonight, I saw all this happen. I'm glad. And, I think, I'll just thicken my skin a little, and I think I'll stay for a while and see what else develops." Liralen smiles. And her jeans turn into leather pants of the same indigo blue shade as her jacket, the sneakers become blue-black, knee high boots. Her brown eyes turn steel-blue, and her nails grow and are laquered the same deep blue. Fingerless gloves of blue leather and steel chainmail appear on her hands. A matched pair of single bladed long knives show up, strapped to her forearms, with small, intricate braids the color of her black, black hair tieing them into their sheathes with a peace knot. And making sure that one of the bar's walls is at her back, she sits back to watch the going ons in this particular place. Article 4375 of alt.callahans: >From: phyllis@amc-gw.amc.com (Phyllis Rostykus) Subject: Re: TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE Date: 8 Nov 90 16:54:54 GMT The roar of a big Harley creshendos and then stops, abruptly, in the parking lot of Callahans. The crunch of gravel, and then the door swings open to show Li, the street punk. There is something different about her, her eyes have turned unnaturally steel blue, and the long nails of her hands are laqured the same indigo blue as her leathers. Most of the patrons only note that her leathers have been slashed up a bit, and there is one nasty looking scorch mark across the back of her left shoulder. But, as she strides into the Place, she is humming and half singing to herself, happily if monotonicly... "The power of imagination goes right to my head, The power of imagination goes right to my head." She drops off her weapons at the piano, kissing Fast Eddie on his head, even as he starts in on the rest of the Eurythmic's song. She stuffs a couple of bills in Eddie's tip jar, and goes up to the bar, and slaps a single onto its surface, "A Blue Steel." she says, and looks around her as she waits for her drink. And she nods at those who have said that they will accept even her, and chuckles at the punk teddy bear, and applaudes Cuddle's and Steve's rendition of the alphabet. She takes her drink to a table by a wall, and sits down and tips her chair into the wall, and relaxes. She knows she's safe here, but old habits die hard. She sips her drink and watches. Her attention, for a moment, is caught by Mute and his contemplation of a fireplace full of only broken glass. Her eyes go dark for a moment, and then she lifts her drink in a salute to him. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she catches the yellow- toothed creature stealing beers. She grins, amused, but then, the fellow suddenly disappears down a trapdoor. Her eyes narrowed, she flows over to the spot where he dissappeared, and, finding the spot, she stands on it, and then stomps, HARD with her foot and the trapdoor opens. Using the infrared capabilities in her new Chiba Specials, she sees how he lies at the bottom of the shaft, and twists her body, hard. She lands, knees bent, on the balls of her feet, straddling the poor creature. Claustraphobia closes on her throat, but she shakes it off, and, carefully, positions her body so that she can kneel, bend and pick up the creature. Li finally manages to cradle the moaning creature in her arms. She closes her eyes on the darkness, and gives a part of her mind the problem of calculating the thrust needed to get them both out of there without going through Callahan's much abused roof, or, even the dance floor, for that matter. The calculations come through, she puts together the program for their little flight, locks it in, and they take off on her small flight pack. She bows her head, to let her shoulders take the brunt of the impact. And is glad of the preprogramming, as she had forgotten the burn on her shoulder, and when she hits the door, she greys out. The program gracefully brings her up and over and then drops her to the floor. She collapses, onto her knees, but sheer will keeps her from going down any further than that. The creature, somewhat worse for the wear, scrambles out of her loose grasp, and, for a moment, it looks as if she is kneeling in supplication to him. Then she drops her head into her hands and rubs her eyes, hard. She reaches a hand up to the creature, and gets a hand up. "Thanks." she says, shortly. Then she looks the creature in the eye and says, "Can I buy you a couple of beers?" At his eager nod, she chuckles, and gets him a couple of beers. And, as he's drinking them, she says, "Now, don't take this wrong, I like a laugh just as much as anyone else here. But there are a couple of reasons that most of the laughs here are word plays, puns, riddles, and the like. There are a lot of us that come in here to be safe, to relax. And if people started doing too many gags that requires that some patron HURT another patron, well, my sense of security gets shot. I *really* hate dealing with hidden traps, here, of all places. I have to admit that I'm not really into humor where someone gets hurt, because, as far as I can see, there's too much hurt in the world, already." As the creatures startled look of comprehension, she pats him on the shoulder, "I know that you meant well, and you do write those gags really well. It's just that, well," she looks around, "there be empaths here, and, even if you mean to be funny, they will hurt simply because you hurt." "Finally, I guess, there's the simple fact that a lot of people here pride themselves on being able to accept anyone. And if they can accept even me," she grins a grin with a lot fewer and blunter teeth than he, but there is something unsettling behind her steel blue eyes even to him, "you got it made." "OK?" she pats him on the back, and then starts to walk off. "Uhm... What do we do with this?" a patron holds up the broken off trapdoor. She chuckles, "I think those hardware punsters have got so many screws loose that they probably have plenty to spare in order to repair the floor. Why don't you ax them for help?" She tosses off the rest of her drink, gives the glass to Mike, collects her quarters and weapons, and goes out the door. And the sounds of a Blue Harley softly fade away... Article 4410 of alt.callahans: >From: li@polari.UUCP (Phyllis Rostykus) Subject: A Dark Chromed Piper (was Re: egads...donde es la stars?) Date: 11 Nov 90 21:16:47 GMT Li appears, this time, simply appears, by a dark booth with a healing being, in it. She appears in all her ferocity and all her inhumanity, the pale, sharp features of her Asian face stern and implacable around the strange steel blue of her eyes. "Brothers." she says to Eldrich and Prong, "Dark Brothers. I would invite you to another place." she says, "A place where we *belong*. A place that would embrace our danger, embrace our dark dreamings, and cheer us on for more. A place where we would not trouble the peace of a place made for healing." "You, too, Michael Bowen, or vo73mdwm of ubvmsd.cc.buffalo.edu, if you would rather be known by that." she says to the air, to wherever that strange place is that he has found, instead of where he would be. "You and your deadly visions would be welcome there, too. Come with me to Chatsubo, built in the hall of alt.cyberpunk." She eyes Enigma and the delicate tip of his cane, but says nothing. Instead, she moves, so gracefully, in a flow of muscle and balance, over to the fireplace, to confront Sir Papillon, "You as well." she whispers, indigo blue fingernails gently brush against his cheek, "If you wish to express the steel and chrome within you. Come with me. Come join us at alt.cyberpunk." Her drink is on the bar, before she even puts the dollar down. She gulps it, and goes to the line. "To Farewell." >> CRASH!! << "This particular Aspect of Phyllis Li Chia Yu Rostykus will say, May all of you fare well in this Place. But I must be going." Li's smile is small, and as bright as the edge of a well used blade. "I know that the price of my safety here has been the security and the peace of many of you, and I am sorry for that. But I would thank you for the safety that you have extended, for it was much appreciated." Her bow to all is intricate and smooth, beautiful and flourished, and heartfelt. "Also, I have appreciated how you all have showed me how it is to dream with words. To work with this particular version and vision of virtual reality. And in return, I will be gone from here. Leave you to your work of healing Reality, while I go to play in the blood and glass of dark Fantasy in the realm of alt.cyberpunk." "When you followup on this article, do it to alt.cyberpunk, for *I* will NOT be here." Her toast and explanation done, Li simply falls apart, de-rezzing with a soft buzz of static. ------ Liralen, watching from a table, smiles, gently, and pats Fezzik on his fuzzy head. Article 4798 of alt.cyberpunk: >From: km4j+@andrew.cmu.edu (Kip G. Moore) Subject: Cyberprose Date: 12 Nov 90 22:30:46 GMT It is a quiet evening in the Chatsubo. The sputtering neon of the world outside is strobing across the ageless, worn plastiform tables, animating long forgotten shadows that strut past the angular recesses of the bar. The few patrons that inhabit the bar at this time feel oddly comfortable, a sensation that does not come often to inhabitants of this virtual reality. A slicing autumn wind cheerfully spins at the windows, kicking up the refuse outside, breathing into it a fleeting new life, then ambitiously moves on to stir the remainder of technology's forgotten servants. In the silence following the unexpected gust, a young man arrives at the bar. It is as if the gust is a precursor, sweeping all of the distracting elements away, creating a nearly idealistic setting for his arrival. He pauses in front of the bar in awe, staring at the faded pictoglyphs inscribed upon the window that proclaim this establishment's moniker. Shaking his head in wonder, he enters the bar. The door opens comfortably beneath his push. The tall newcomer is dressed in a pair of baggy pants and a long trenchcoat. Long, thin brown hair nearly hides his face, but he sweeps it out of the way with a practiced flick of the wrist. The exotically beautiful blue woman sitting at a table in the middle of the narrow room sends him a look of professional curiosity, then returns to her introspection and her steaming drink. The incongruous sight of a dragon and a knight sitting next to each other brings a nervous smile to the face of the young man as he crosses the floor to the bar and sits down. "Black Russian, " says the breathless newcomer to the bartender. The bartender smiles, not unkindly, and produces a squat crystal glass that he fills with a murky brown liquid. "Welcome to the Chatsubo. My name's Ratz. Over there's Liralen, and sitting next to you is the White Knight and the Dragon. In order to exist here, it helps to have a name." "Oh," says the newcomer. "Well, for lack of anything original, I suppose you could call me Leadfoot. That'll have to do for now. " His hair flops back into his face. As he sweeps it back again, one of his eyes, the hazel one, catches an errant ray of light and reveals the Zeiss Ikon logo imprinted upon the iris. His other eye appears normal enough, except that it is the deepest shade of green that anyone in the bar has ever seen. "Well," says Leadfoot between sips, "this is a very impressive virtual drink. I must confess, I am rather awestruck by the existence of such a place. I was wandering around painfully bland virtual reality and with little or no warning, this full-fledged construct leaps up in front of me and I decided to see what it was all about. Excuse me...." Leadfoot sits up straight, rigid. His eyes defocus for a split second and then he looks around. "I see," breathes the newcomer. "This is quite a unique phenomenon. Or is it an experiment? Nonetheless, it is brilliant with the glow of creativity and intelligence...And now I understand. Liralen, your point is well taken. This is an excellent way to create and maintain a virtual reality, and it's obviously working. I'm glad I managed to stumble upon a den of such dynamic ideas!" Leadfoot smiles and drains his drink. "The options are virtually unlimited! No pun intended, of course. You see, there is nothing like nothing to have fun with..." The newcomer raises his hand. In the flash of movement, something writhes, shimmers, evolves, and manifests itself. An infinitesimal statuette appears on the upraised palm of Leadfoot's hand. It pulses in time with the distant flashing neon outside...and is gone. It has swallowed itself. The newcomer stands and walks over to Liralen. He bows from the waist. "I hope you realize what you have started," he grins and whispers just low enough for her to hear. Leadfoot straightens and turns to face the White Knight and the Dragon. "You, too, must maintain this virtual reality along with Liralen. Not for it's own sake, but to show as an example of how easy such a thing is to accomplish." "Ratz, thanks for the drink. I was parched." The newcomer glances at the bar and several thousand virtual Yen appear. And Ratz makes them disappear just as fast as they appeared. Leadfoot's grin grows wider. "I'll see you all again sometime soon. Wow, what a great place..." He strides across the comfortably cramped room, opens the door, and steps out into the street, walking in the opposite direction from which he came. It is thoroughly dark out now, but from the dull glow shining through the windows of the Chatsubo, the patrons see the wind rise again, flinging aside the innumerable, miniscule scraps of trash on their virtual journey across the street. Article 1 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: goldfarb@ocf.berkeley.edu (David Goldfarb) Subject: Open for business, chummer. Date: 14 Nov 90 11:28:08 GMT Pink and blue neon lighthazing smoky air. Matte black tabletops are easy to clean off -- they don't show the residue from spilled drinks. Or spilled blood. This is where the street samurai hang out. The sign over the door reads "Chatsubo's." Focus: a dark-hair teen-age silver-shade razorboy wannabe. He's sipping a drink -- hasn't got the guts or else the money for something stronger. He's muttering to himself. "OK, so the lit'ry ramblin' types don't get along with som'a the technerds. S'cool, chummer. We just pack our marbles and go play on another set of inodes. Seeya 'round, guys. *This* place is now officially open for biz." He leans back and waits for the customers. Article 2 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu (Hubert Bartels) Subject: Chrome isn't the message Date: 14 Nov 90 21:20:08 GMT The front door of the Chatsubo swung open to admit another newcomer. Before the door closed, the cold wind brought in a smell of rot and pollution. The woman leaned against against the door, trying to close it quickly. She was young. Kind of pretty, but not pretty like a media star. Not short, but not tall either. A face with sharp predatory features. Her eyes were golden in color, with vertical slits for pupils. Cat's eyes. A sharp, small delicate nose. Adding to her feline appearance, she wore cat's ears raised boldly through long heavy blonde hair. She was dressed in black pants, grey blouse, heavy boots, and a long frock jacket with golden braid on the front, somewhat worn at the elbows. "Tea, hot and fast," she said. Then turning to the rest of the crowd, she began to speak. "A lot of fancy street samurai here tonight. Lots of chrome. Guns, knifes, and glitter. Subtle, real subtle. Cops be on ya in a moment. Whatcha doing? Whereyagoing? You're mistaking the glitter for the message, guys." She leaned back against the bar, elbows behind her. "There are several major points in Cyberpunk. One is, the future is already here. And you ain't gonna like it. Another major point. Technology is going to change so fast and in so many ways, no one is going to be able to deal with it." She turned back to the bar and sipped from the cup. Speaking into the cup, she continued, "There are others, which we can discuss in great detail. In shorter posts. But the main point is that without examining some of these ideas, what you're writing is just puffery. Vanity writing." Another sip. "I'm just a character in a Role Playing Game. Not particularly interesting, outside of these ears and eyes. But what should be interesting is the reaction of 'normal people' to my appearance. Not that far-fetched, when you consider where cosmetic surgery might go to in a few years." She pulled at one of her ears. "Of course, you 'chromed' types might consider some of the problems you would have if you ACTUALLY had to make a living. Or consider recent work on 'hunter-seeker' weapons that the DOD is working on; weapons that seek out and destroy their target. Where ya gonna hide? Each day's paper contains scads of cyberpunk material to examine, consider, write about. After all, the future arrived a week ago." She slid the empty cup across the bar. "By the by, Liralen, what is the meaning of 'Chatsubo'? I tried to look it up in my Nihongo no jibiki, but couldn't find it." Article 3 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: joan@uncmed.med.unc.edu (Belladonna) Subject: Hello hello hello Date: 14 Nov 90 18:33:25 GMT <> Got a light? Thanks. It's the only vice I got left. Club soda, please. Just us, i guess more will roll in here later. I was just walking by when I saw the sign come on. People call me Belladonna. No, I don't belong to any company or organization, free-lance. Free-lance hard/wet-ware installation. You know augmentation. I design some but mostly implant the stuff. Why aren't I working for some bigwig then, makes lots and swinging in the fast clean lane? Couldn't stomach the kinds of things they wanted me to do. If you think this end of town is nasty - if you could only see into the minds of some of those execs, make this place look like a church. You know, years ago I was working on this little device that could be used to block bio-circuits, nerves. Good in burn cases and other cases where the poor bastard will die of the pain before the injuries even have a chance to heal. They needed something besides drugs. Anyway, got this little sweetheart all designed and built and you know what this company I was working for wanted to do with it? Put it in some idiot's brain and use it to cut in every single pain response - make even a light breeze hurt like hell. Got out of there in a hurry, with the design plans locked up tight . Where's my hardware? All hid. I've set up enough booby traps in here to tie a psi in knots. I can access with these - thin but tough layer of skin over the 'ware. The eyes can magnify, that's why the glasses - kinda hard looking at the world through 10x eyes. That's the lowest mag I can get them at the moment. <> What am I, exactly? What do I do? All kinds of things. I remove some of the nastier things that people can devise to stick in other people to keep them in line. I can fix most 'ware - some might take longer. Call me a mechanic - somethings I can't fix - wetware ain't easy, almost impossible. Anyway, just don't ask me for weapons or any slave-ware. Seen too many burned out brains and bodies. <> Bartender, another please.... "Blind man he's singing the Irish He get his money in a tin dish Just a corner serenader..." Belladonna.... Article 16 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: hgb@fluor.opt-sci.arizona.edu (Hubert Bartels) Subject: Tales from the Chatsubo (1) Date: 16 Nov 90 19:20:45 GMT The young woman with the cat ears and cat eyes turned to look at the other people in the bar. Mug of tea in hand, she began to speak quickly and quietly. "Some of you have come in here, boasting of your last run; how smooth, how cool, how slick you were. You come in here, preening yourself, strutting up and down, real proud of yourselves. Well, I've been there too, people, and I never found anything slick about a job." "I mentioned the Army's hunter-seeker project the last time. Some of the mega-corps have their hunter-seeker robots working. I know. I've been hunted by one. Oh, so you street samurai have been up against the best, right? Well, your opponents have always been human. Someone who gets tired, someone who has to piss, someone who makes mistakes. The hunter-seeker never gets tired, never makes mistakes, never gives up. And I was it's target." She turned back to the bar and dropped the mug with a thud onto the counter top. Brushing her hair out of face, she faced the crowd of people who were listening to her. "Story? OK, if you have the time. First of all, I'm a helicopter pilot, not a fighter. I fly you guys to the job and then fly the surviors back. No, it wouldn't do any good to tell you which island and which mega-corp," she answered. "They'll all deny that anything like this happened." Her strange cat eyes brightened and she began. About six months ago, I was asked to fly ten mercenaries to a small island off the coast of Seattle. There are many of these islands, covered with heavy growth, each with the ruins of someone's old pleasure palace. I found the landing site at an abandoned runway on the island, and set the helicopter down. As I stepped from the cockpit, I noticed that there were another twenty or so mercenaries already there, as well as a suit from one of the major corporations. He was standing before a large metal insect, adjusting something inside it. As I approached, the suit took his tools out of the access opening and snapped it shut. Well, the suit waited until the final mercenary had arrived and then began to speak. 'Welcome to the first test of our new security system. You have been chosen to test the system the best way we could come up with.' 'What does it do?,' someone asked. 'The security system tracks down humans and kills them. Anything human on this island, it will try to kill. It needs just to be tested. And you get to test it' 'How do we test it?,' asked one of the mercs. 'Just kill it. Just kill it,' answered the suit, patting the insect on the top. The suit then walked to a waiting chopper and lifted off. 'Piece of cake,' said another merc, pulling out a .45. The moment the suit was out of sight, the metal insect stirred. It was constructed of two black hemispherical domes, placed back to back, with a slit between them. Out of the slit, two mani- pulating arms, a laser sight and a pair of chain guns protruded. The whole thing rested on four thin legs like a spider. It was rocking back and forward slowly. I backed away, unsure of what would happen next. The mercs pulled out their guns and assault cannons, preparing to blast the thing. There was a BEEP, a black blur and the insect was gone. 'Shiiit,' groaned one of the mercs. 'Anyone see which way it went? No? So we hunt it down and kill it. Jones, Smith, Warren, you each grab a coupla guys and start looking. I'll monitor from here. Whatcha waiting for? Go!' They split up into several teams, each armed with a pair of assault cannons, a hand-carried chain gun, and several other support members. Each team would quarter the island and kill anything even remotely resembling that insect. 'Good luck, fellas,' I said as I began to edge towards the helicopter. 'Stop! Here, take this,' the mercenary leader shouted, handing me a heavy radio/communications pack. 'Go with Warren there. He's one man short.' His heavy hand rested on my shoulder. 'Eeerp... Uick...' We entered the woods. Each step I took pushed against mud, branches, fungus and rot. The sky disappeared behind mists and trees. The radio was heavy, so I lagged behind. After several hundred feet, I was exhausted, mud covered me up to my thighs and mud coated my clothes; I had fallen flat on my face. The others had disappeared around a leafy curve when I heard the VRRRTTTTT of the chain gun. I dropped into the mud and rolled under a neighboring bush. Looking up, I could see the path in front of me, but little else. The shooting continued for a moment, then stopped. Silence. The woods were absolutely still. I strained my ears. Nothing. There was a short rustle of the leaves ahead of me, and then I could see the mercs moving backwards along the path. Two of them were badly injured; I could see blood staining their shirts. They were frightened; you could see it in the way they held their guns, the way they spoke in short harsh whispers, the way they looked with nervous darting glances. I stayed very still, holding my breath. If they saw me, they'd shoot first and check out who I was later. A black blur and the insect sat amidst them, crushing the merc with the chain gun. The merc was just raw meat and white bones; his blood splattered the insect bright red. I threw my head into the ground. The mercenaries never fired a shot. All I could hear was the tearing cloth sound of the insect's chain gun. On my back, the radio exploded into shards of plastic and metal. The leaves around me were shredded into green confetti. I pressed myself as deeply into the mud as I could. Another blur, and there was silence again. I looked up. Around me, the cloud of the chain gun's smoke still hung in the air. I discarded the remains of the radio and crept forward. On the path blood covered the mud. Gobbets of flesh coated with fabric mixed with small pieces of metal; the only remnant of the heavy armament that the mercs had brought. I threw up on the side of the path. I ran as quickly as I could, just ran. After a while, totally exhausted, I tripped and collapsed into a fern thicket. The woods were cold, clammy and quiet. Every so often, I could hear the sound of a chain gun, or the boom of an assault cannon, or the snap of smaller firearms. An hour or two later, I could not hear anything at all. The woods were now completely quiet. The sun was now going down, making the woods even colder. Wet and coated in mud, I shivered. I got up and oriented myself by the sun. The airstrip was on the west side of the island; I needed to travel in the direction of the setting sun. Thirty minutes later, I could see the helicopter across the airstrip from me. I was still under cover; something bothered me about the scene before me. I waited and listened. Yes, silhouetted against the setting sun, the deadly insect slowly rocked back and forward. I considered running for the helicopter. No. It was just too fast. I would be dead within moments of stepping out from under cover. I pulled deeper into the bushes and thought carefully. I began by pulling off all my clothes. Then submerging my body in the nearest mudhole, I completed covering myself in mud. I dropped to all fours and began to move to the helicopter, repeating 'Miaow. Miaow. Miaow'. I heard the blur of the insect, and felt it nearby, studying me with it's sensors. Slowly, slowly, I approached the helicopter. I could not look at the insect; I knew that was the path to panic. Pad, pad, 'Miaow' pad, pad, 'Miaow'. At the side of the helicopter, I froze. The insect studied me a moment longer, then moved back on guard over the corpses of the command post. I repeated Miaow a few times more while slowly climbing into the cockpit. After a few minutes, I could think enough to close the cockpit hatch, fire up the helicopter, and fly home. She ended her story and turned to the bartender. "Another cup of tea please." The audience thought about what she told them and then asked why could she have escaped when everyone else had got themselves killed. She smiled and tugged at her ears. "First time I ever impersonated a cat. Heh heh heh. Look, it was a robot, right?" The audience nodded. "It had strict orders. Kill everything human on the island, right? And a human walks upright, wears clothes and lots of metal, and speaks, right?" The audience was restless. "But it's so simple. I just did not look like anything human. So the robot did not consider me a target." A-hahs from the audience. "That trick won't work again, I'm afraid. I'm sure that mega-corp found my clothes on the island. And just about everyone has heard about the woman pilot who landed at SEA-TAC without any clothes on." She blushed. "You samurai might consider that before being asked to test another one of those security systems." The young woman turned back to her tea. Article 17 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: v055nmvy@ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu (David A Gaidasz) Subject: CyberStory Date: 16 Nov 90 15:55:36 GMT The knight looked up, and the glittering sign of neon. Though it flickered in places, he could still read "Chatsubo". He smiled as he pushed open the battered door. The door swung open. Through it stepped a figure, who seemed familar, but wasn't immediately recognizible. He was wearing a long trenchcoat, which billowed in the wind entering the bar, exposing armor that had definitely seen better days. An Ares IV assault pistol was slung low on his right hip, in stark contrast to the sword hanging on his left. A battered fedora was low over his eyes, making it difficult to see his face. He walked up to the bar. "Gimme a shinin' Avalon." He flicked a virtual gold coin to the bartender. "AKeep the change." Grabbing his drink, he sauntered over to th table where all the exciting people were gathered. "Good evening, ladies and razorguys, particularly you Lady Li. Sorry I'm late for the opening, but I was on a run, that turned particularly ugly." One of the regulars asked, "Who are you?" "Oh sorry. I'm White Knight, with a costume change more fitting to this realm than my gleaming armour of old." he explained, removing his hat, and placing it on the table. Looks of recognition appeared on all their faces. He sat down, checking to see that his back was to the wall, and that he had a clear path to the door. He began teling his story again. "So here we were, Me, Synergy (our decker), Fireball (our other street samauri), Backlash (our razorgal with an attitude), and of course, Xanadu (our rigger). "We get hired to rescue this girl from a corp arcology, right? So Synergy breaks in through the net, doing serious damage to the security. Me, Fireball, and Backlash go in the front way and geek the guards, while Xanadu waits outside in case we have to make a fast break." He stopped, sipping his drink, noting the looks on everyone's faces. "We're inside, with syn running interference, opening doors and such. We grab the girl, and we're making our way out, snagging what's snaggable, trashing what's not, when Synergy runs into some Black ICE, chummers. While he's doing the tactical twostep with it, trying to get an opening, Fireball accidentally opens a cabinet that he wasn't supposed to, and all hell breaks loose. Alarms go off, security gets alerted, doors start slammin' shut." he takes another sip of his drink. "Synergy finally manages to toast the ICE, and is starting to cover our butts, when he sees a datafile that looks like it's a bankbook. He goes over to check it out. Out of nowhere, two Black ICEs pounce. He gets toasted. We're talking major flatline here, chummers. He never had a chance." "Meanwhile, me, Fireball, and Backlash are up to our ears in fuzz. Fireball cuts loose with a grenade, which buys us some time. We're just about out the door, with our prize, when suddenly a van of HEAVILY armed guards pulls up outside. They notice Xanadu, and pop the car with a rocket launcher before she can even get out of the driveway. So here we are, no escape, security everywhere, with two of our guys already toast, the hard barbecued type." "We continue fighting our way to the door, figuring we'd have a better chance on the outside. After blowing enough ammo for a small world war, we get out. Just as we duck to the outside, one of the guards we thought we geeked in the beginning takes a few shots at us, scragging Fireball. I pump the rest of the mag into the corpcop, and he will definitely need to be sqeegeed up in the morning. " "Me and Backlash are on the outside, with our prize and enough loot to make us seriously happy, and all the corp types deader than Mars. We climb into the security van, so we can get hell outta there, when we find out it's a bloody Rigger drive. So we get out, and use the old fashioned way to move. We walked." he paused, taking a big swallow of his drink. "Do you know how hard it is to walk out an Arcology security perimeter? We found out. Just as it looks like we're free and clear, a damned security 'bot shows up, wielding enough firepower to take over a country. It cuts loose with a couple of .50 cals, and turns Backlash into low quality soyaburger. I happen to get a lucky shot in with my Ares, and it goes down. After that, me and the prize get out, with only minor trouble." "Turns out she was some exec's daughter. Got paid well, sure. Tell that to Syn, Fireball, Xanadu and Backlash." He downs the rest of his drink. "Anyone know where I can find a place to crash? No. 'kay then, I'll be seeing ya chummers later." He grabs his hat, and goes to the door. "Give the dragon my regards. Tell him I'll be back, after I sleep this off." and he steps out into the cold, dark, virtual night. Article 25 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: cdr@brahms.amd.com (Carl Rigney) Subject: Re: Tales from the Chatsubo (1) Date: 17 Nov 90 09:32:05 GMT The Pilot with cat eyes and cat ears is finishing a story: "At the side of the helicopter, I froze. The insect studied me a moment longer, then moved back on guard over the corpses of the command post. I repeated Miaow a few times more while slowly climbing into the cockpit. After a few minutes, I could think enough to close the cockpit hatch, fire up the helicopter, and fly home." She ends her story and turns to the bartender. "Another cup of tea please." There's a pause as she sips her tea and then a raspy disbelieving voice from a corner asks, "But how could you have escaped when everyone else got killed?" She smiles and tugs at an ear. "But it's so simple. I just did not look like anything human. So the robot did not consider me a target." A-hahs from the audience. The young woman turns back to her tea. The door explodes into a thousand fragments and everybody ducks for cover. Outlined in the smoky entranceway is a Paulinian Nightmare, a dull black sphere a meter across suspended 2 meters above the ground by 8 multiply-jointed crystalline legs, rainbows dancing around their orbital fibers as it moves into the bar with fluid precision. Emerging from the sphere are two rotary flechette cannons, bobbing and weaving in time to the steps, capable of filling the entire room with hypervelocity needles in the blink of an eye. Stretching out above the sphere are long stalks ending in silvery spheres glowing dully in the deep infrared. Behind those are four longer, thinner stalks and from their tips sprout thousands of pale silken threads a few centimeters long, waving gently in the breeze from the doorway. Sensors for motion, heat, shadow, scent... fear. The Hunter Killer drone rotates so that a cannon faces the cat-woman, who has spilled her tea. The stalks bend towards her, swaying gently from side to side, almost hypnotically. The sounds from the city outside spill through the shattered doorway but inside the bar there is no sound but a soft hum, almost too high-pitched for human ears. The chaingun spins up, adding its distinctive whir. And then spins down. In a voice as human as anyone's in the room, with no trace of the mechanical about it, the drone whispers "Woof. Woof Woof." And then backs out step for step the way it came in, until it is framed in the doorway. "Tag! You're It!" And it vanishes from sight in a mind-numbing burst of speed. Article 33 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu (Hubert Bartels) Subject: Tales from the Chatsubo 1.5 Date: 18 Nov 90 19:19:50 GMT ( Carl Rigney [cdr@amd.com] continues...) >The Hunter Killer drone rotates so that a cannon faces the cat-woman, >who has spilled her tea. The stalks bend toward her, swaying gently from >side to side, almost hypnotically... > The woman with the cat ears falls off the barstool, crashing to the dirty floor. She regains her feet, backing away from the mechanical horror, spilling her tea on herself, her boots, the ground. Her ears stand straight up, her pupils narrowed to thin vertical slits. Now she is against the stained filthy wall of the Chatsubo. Her jacket is dusted grey as she slides along the wall into the corner. She turns her face into the corner, opening her hand and letting the teacup shatter. > ..The chain gun spins up, adding its distinctive whir. And then spins down. > >In a voice as human as anyone's in the room, with no trace of the mechanical >about it, the drone whispers "Woof. Woof Woof." And then backs out step >for step the way it came in, until it is framed in the doorway. "Tag! >You're It!" > >And it vanishes from sight in a mind-numbing burst speed. "Nooooooooooo......" The woman with the cat eyes presses against the cold cracked concrete corner of the Chatsubo. Her eyes are screwed tight, her forearms covering her head, her face rigid with terror. As the moments pass, she slowly slides down the wall, slumping into a sobbing heap. Her tears come with great rasping breaths, her entire body shaking. At her feet, the shattered shards of the teacup lie in a muddy puddle of black tea and dust. Silence, broken only by sobs and hiccups. Liralen steps from behind the wreckage of a table, and kneels next to the woman lying, partly propped against the corner. Liralen reaches down and takes the woman's head in her arms, brushing away the soft blonde hair from the woman's eyes. The woman is repeating over and over, "Nai ya... Nai ya... Nai ya", in a soft child-like voice. Liralen studys the woman's face, with its angular features, thin-lipped mouth and slightly tilted eyes. There is dirt from the Chatsubo wall on her forehead and cheeks. The eyes are open, fixed, glassy, staring into unknown distance. Tears roll off her high cheeks to the dirty floor. She is still crying with ragged moans. "Young, so young," Liralen murmurs. She lightly slaps the woman's cheeks. The woman closes her mouth, takes a deep breath though narrow nostrils, hiccups, and focuses her eyes. "Are you OK? What is your name?" Liralen asks gently. "Nekoko" the woman with the cat eyes hiccups. "And you think this drone had something to do with your story?" "Maybe... I couldn't see a company logo..." "There was a ARES logo at the top of the sphere," says the razor boy wanna-be, "Red, about 10 cm high." "Yeah, its the same company," Nekoko sniffs. "How do you think they found you?" asked Liralen, wiping away Nekoko's tears. "I don't know. Unless... Unless..." Nekoko tries. "Boy, you must have lost one of your nine lives there," grins the razorboy wanna-be. Both Liralen and Nekoko turn to glare at him. Nekoko gets up, knocking away Liralen's arm and steps toward the razor boy. Suddenly she turns to Liralen. "Those bastards. Those BASTARDS. THOSE BASTARDS!!!" "W-W-What?..." stutters Liralen, standing up. "I think I know what happened. That hunter-seeker on the island had a video uplink. Someone watched the whole thing. My little trick. How stupid I've been. I was so smug, thinking I outsmarted the hunter-seeker. Can you see the scene? I on fours, creeping up to my helicopter. Some mega-corp suit, watching it on video; 'Come here, look what this dumb broad is doing' And I survive only because I make a good show for some bastards..." Nekoko begins to cry again. "So today...," starts Liralen. "That was their way of telling me that the joke is on me", moans Nekoko. She looks at her feet, then quickly reaches down to pick up a shiny little square. Holding it up against the dim lights of the bar, she studies it carefully. "I think I know what this is. A vid-chip with my little act on it. The drone must have spat it at me when it was threatening me." She drops it onto the floor and grinds it to dust with the heel of her boot. "I betcha that every guy working on the project has one of these." Nekoko rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving them red and swollen. "I guess the vid-chips are used to train the hunter-killer to recognize the target. " "Oh, I see," says Liralen, "The hunter-killer builds a map of the target with the images on the vid-chip using a type of binary network." Nekoko nods her head and sniffs, "Once they have the target loaded, they program the drone to start searching. An hour, a day, a week later, bamm!" "It didn't look like the hunter-seeker you described in your story," says Liralen. "I... I think we saw a much more improved model. The hunter-seeker on the island didn't speak, had only a chain gun, and lacked the stalk mounted sensors. I think this model was even faster..." Nekoko looks at the ruins of the door. She slowly walks over to the bar and drops herself onto one of the remaining barstools. "Maybe you street samurai don't realize what has happened tonight," Nekoko starts, "but if ARES get those things into production, you're dead meat." She looks down at her black pants, soiled now. "I'd better go and wash up." She looks at Liralen. "Thank you." Nekoko slides off the barstool and disappears through the shattered doorway. Article 42 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: joan@uncmed.med.unc.edu (Belladonna) Subject: Belladonna Date: 20 Nov 90 19:16:06 GMT <> More coffee. Arm's stiff? The augmented one. Ratz: Yea, I had to belt some idiot last week - bastard didn't tell me he had an iron ball instead of a brain. Do you want me to take a look at it? Ratz: How much? How about a hot meal and a warm solitary bed? Ratz: Tonight? No, but one night I may need one - be nice to know if I had one up my sleeve. Ratz: Only if you fix it. Deal. Lay your arm on the counter, this should only take a minute. Ratz: Find the problem? Problems, Ratz. Christ, you rattled everything up, I'm surprised this damn thing still works. I got to go through every single connection in this thing. Do me a favor and watch my back for a minute. Ratz: What are you going to do? Just watch. <> Ratz: What the...? Yow! How about another coffee, Ratz? .... and a light? Feels good. Article 43 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: tracker@wpi.WPI.EDU (The Renegade Ranger) Subject: Crowds tonight chummer, frekin' crowds Date: 20 Nov 90 15:24:51 GMT People comin and goin. Everyone has an attitude and a half, not to mention some of the hardware so wired it's thinkin by itself. Not a problem, I like it fine. Here's not a place where you sit and think you're the gleamed chrome and the rest k'n fold up and blow away. You handle it. I've been sittin back in the back for awhile, watchin who thinks they're who, and I kn't say yet that I k'n find one I mind. You gotta have the edge. I ain't talkin wire, chrome. I'm talkin about your mind. You walk in a place like Chatsubo's without your attitude, you've stepped into hell naked. Might as well go visit the maxtrix in a friggin abacus, chummer. This corner is cool for what I want. Close to the back, view of just about everythin, specialy the door. It's my job to watch, to know. I dont work for no one, not now anyway. I might have a call when I step out the door, but in here I'm just drinking. Someone I'm on a job lookin for walks thru that door, might as well be invisible for all I care. I'm no hunter in here, I leave my bounties at the door. Bounty huntin might be what I do, but I got enough respect for Ratz to leave it at the door. Not my attitude tho. Damn'n I'm off, thinkin bout myself 'stead of whos walkin in. Cant do that, not a whit. The smoke is hazing round my head, not that I mind with my filters runnin. Neon palor sets round the chums, each with their own little smoke aura. Don't see no halos, never do in here, least for long. I don't think any chums notice me, which is half the point. My dark corner blends me with the cracked wall, the jacket that used to be black faded well, to almost match the concrete. Does enough to cover the kevlar tee under, too. The three knives on the chest strap don't reflect, nice things you k'n do with metal. The fourth holder is empty, a reminder to myself from a long time past. Black light-kevlar pants with reinforcement where it counts, most of my playmates don't believe in rules and conduct. Me either. The sawed-off looks a bit out of date in here, if anyone could see it, but strapped to my left leg under the table its my business card. I don't have my Kilrase out and about, its chillin in the shoulder holster. I don't expect to fire lots of shots in Chats. I saw the hunter-killer tail out. Cat lady freaked..not a good doggie. S'pose they're right, Ares is gettin a bit out of phase. We run through life, they run out our lives. No dice chums, I'm not splicin with that idea. I make the motion to Ratz. He knows me by nature, not by name, and recognizes when I mention I'm in without saying a word. I've never tracked a hunter-killer, don't have the juice. My wires aren't cheap, but they aren't top either. Some of these others..yeah, they've got what it takes, the gleam in their eyes isn't just chrome, its hunger for action. Yeah. They and I, we think a lot alike. I like that in a person. Specially when I track them. Specially then. I'll wait a bit and see whether who I've seen are as good as they look, and who's in. Whatever, I'm going. It's time to play. Sit back, watch the show....and wait. -Tracker Article 44 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: v055nmvy@ubvmsd.cc.buffalo.edu (David A Gaidasz) Subject: ChatsuboLit Date: 20 Nov 90 19:50:51 GMT White Knight opened the battered door to the Chatsubo, peering through the dim lighting seeking Lady Li. The assault cannon slung over his back cut through the air, like a shark's fin through water. He flipped a coin to the bartender as he passed the bar. "Shinin' Avalon, please. Keep the change." Grabbing the drink, he waded through the masses to where Liralen was sitting. "Good Evening Lady Li. May I be granted the honor of speaking with you a moment?" "Of course." She smiled. "Thank you." He sat down. "I have a question, and I figure since you know most everything that's going down around here, you may be able to help me." he continued, sipping his drink. "You see, ever since that raid that my group pulled, when we got burned, I've had the feeling I'm being followed. Today, a punk tried blowing me away with this." He placed the assault cannon on the table. Liralen looked at it. "That's an Ares Mark XII assault cannon. That's not supposed to be out on the streets yet." "That's what I'm afraid of. You see, that raid we did was on the Ares arcology out in the boonies. We, or perhaps I should say I, snagged alot of research type data, stuff that talks about some sort of HK 'bot. Unfortunately, I don't have the skills necessary to finess any more information out of it. Think you could get someone to look at it?" "Of course. But what will you do in the meantime?" she asked, her hand already snagging the datachip. "I think I'm gonna spend some time here first, with my friend DarkAngel over there. Then I'm just gonna sit in the shadows, to see what comes up." He got up. "Talk to you later." Article 45 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: v055nmvy@ubvmsd.cc.buffalo.edu (David A Gaidasz) Subject: Chatsubo lit Date: 20 Nov 90 22:41:18 GMT White Knight stepped over to the table where his "friends" sat. Making sure his back was to the wall, he pulled up a chair. "Yo, DarkAngel. So you're back in town. There goes the neighborhood." "Laugh it up. At least I didn't spend the 90% of the battle in the infirmary." Darkangel chuckled. "Considering that you put me there some of the time, how could I refuse." Suddenly, a darkness came over him. Looking up, he saw this huge hulking figure of a man standing over him. "You White Knight?" the figure asked, it's rumbling basso voice echoing through the now quiet bar. "Depends on who needs to know." White Knight responded quietly, his hand ever-so-slowly wrapping itself around the assault cannon at his side. "ARES wants what you have. NOW." the looming figure demanded. "Who wants WHAT? Sorry, chummer, think you got the wrong guy." White Knight turned back to his drink. A hamlike hand grabbed him around the throat, threatening his air supply. "I said, HAND IT OVER." The figure pulled White Knight closer. In a blur of motion, White Knight's left arm came up, and raked the thug across the face with razor sharp spurs which hadn't been there a moment ago. As the wounded thug reached for his bleeding face, White Knight kicked the man away, brought up the assault cannon with almost superhuman speed, and proceeded to fire one round into the man. The man's chest exploded, and he collapsed to the floor, already dead. As the thunder subsided, White Knight looked around. "Sorry about any inconvience folks." He flipped another gold coin to Ratz. "That enough to cover the mess?" "Yes, that will suffice." Cleaning 'bots scurried out of the corner to clean up the already cooling body. "So where were we..." Article 55 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: joan@uncmed.med.unc.edu (Belladonna) Subject: A little life history Date: 21 Nov 90 16:28:25 GMT <> Shit!! Let go, I was only trying to feel the material. "Why?" she turns and stares at him through her dark glasses. "Who are you?" Something in him is afraid - when he went to brush the cloth he felt a surge of power through his fingertips - they still tingled from the encounter and now he can feel the blood supply being cut off from his hand. "I told you before, Belladonna? You want a life history?" "I..I..I would like my hand back." She suddenly opens her hand and his wrist falls like a dead weight. "Christ - what is that thing you call a hand?" "It's an alloy under the skin." "Just the hand?" He rubs the wrist praying that the blood will once again flow freely through his fingers. "Both hands, left arm up the the shoulder, collerbone, a few vertebre, left side of my face and skull, left leg, and both hips." She answers cool and soft. "What happened, a tank roll over you?" his fingers satrt to tingle. "Close - got beat up and burnt pretty bad." He can hardly hear her. "Listen, are you really interested in hearing all this?" She looks at him carefully. He thinks for a moment, it might be a good idea to get to know this woman better - he doesn't think he wants to have her as an enemy. "Sure," he swallows hard, "Tell me your life story." He hopes his voice sounded calm and even. She laughs and whispers, "Come along razor child and I'll tell you a story sure to make those spikes on your head stand up even straighter." She grabs her cigarettes and coffee and nods in the direction of an empty booth..... Article 56 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu (Hubert Bartels) Subject: Nekoko's Story - 3 Date: 21 Nov 90 22:20:51 GMT Nekoko blew into the Chatsubo, dressed in a single-piece motorcycle leathers, carrying a Heckler & Koch HK227 submachine gun slung across her chest and a 9 mm pistol in a midthigh holster. She paused only briefly to watch the carpenters fitting a new door to the front entrance. As she watched them struggling to pull the frame into alignment, she unslung the H & K and rested it on the floor. Then Nekoko reached up to her neck, pulled the leather's zipper down to her waist, and pulled her arms out of the sleeves of the leathers. Under the leathers, she wore a sleeveless T shirt. She knotted the sleeves around her waist and picked up the H & K again. The Chatsubo wasn't too crowded, other than a tight grouping of street samurai and toughs at a single table. The vidscreen flickered over the bar, showing the last night's carnage and body count. The announcer on the vidscreen continued, "and in other news, several Shadowrunners were killed during a raid on ARES' dockside warehouse area. ARES refused comment, other than to say that the new security system recently installed at the warehouse worked admirably. Unfortunately, ARES would be unable to release the bodies to the County Coroner as there was not enough left of the bodies to autopsy. More news after this message from our sponsor, 'BUXOM BABES'..." The vidscreen brightened, showing snapshots of young nubile women. "BUXOM BABES is hot. This month's issue is hot, sexy, erotic! The latest genetically-enhanced women. And once again, this is our special issue with those funny sex videos you send in. We have a new winner this month, sent in by those fun folks at ARES Advanced Research ( Seattle), featuring ..." Nekoko reached up, snapped off vidscreen's blaring and turned around. She raked her fingers through her long blonde hair, perked up her ears and smiled at the ugly bartender. "Haaii, Ratz, I see you finally are going to get that door replaced." Ratz looked up from the glasses he was rinsing and glared at her. "Hey, don't bring those guns in here. Watcha think this is, a Wild West saloon?" Nekoko approached the bar and smiled sweetly at the embittered old bartender. She leaned across the scarred surface and flipped a small ID card at him. Ratz gave it a quick glance and looked at her as if to say, 'so what'. "Says on this card, I'm a registered and bonded DataCourier. Means I can carry any type of armament, anywhere I want to. See?" Nekoko swept up the card and slipped it into an inside pocket. She flipped the H&K and placed it on the bar top. "Hey Ratz, can I borrow your phonescreen? I think ARES might have placed a tap on mine." Ratz scowled, pointed at the phonescreen at the end of the bar and said, "No long distance calls without a credit stick, OK?" "Hai, Ratz" As Nekoko moved towards the phone, she passed the razor boy wannabe. He put out a hand and stopped her. A nasty expression on his face, he asked, "Have you seen this month's ish of BUXOM BABES? The streetboys over there got it. You might be interested in it. It's a real wiz!" "Uh... No, why?" He just smirked and backed away. "Chotto matte...." she called after him. She turned and strode to the small circle of street toughs around the table. As she stepped into the circle, someone said, "Hey, look who's here. Hey Garry, reset that and play it for the lady..." Nekoko looked down at the table top, where a vidplayer, a flat color screen, about 40 cm by 40 cm, was resting between bottles, drug vials and other trash. The vidplayer had a small membrane keyboard and a pair of slots for vidchips. Garry pulled a BUXOM BABES vidchip carrier out of his pocket and slotted it into the vidplayer. The screen of the vidplayer darkened, then started showing the BUXOM BABES logo. "Garry, don't screw around." Garry's fingers tapped on the keyboard of the vidplayer, bringing up the Table of Contents menu, then choosing the funny sex video section. He waited for the menu to flash on the screen and choose the first entry. Bright garish colors filled the screen, which then focused into the image of a man and a microphone. "All right...," shouted the announcer on the screen. "The winning entry in this month's funniest sex video. Sent in by our friends at ARES Advanced Research Division, Seattle.." Nekoko had a bad feeling about this. "... recorded on their private island resort. OK, you hentai, for your enjoyment..." The screen flashed again, and Nekoko saw again the airstrip where she had landed the mercenaries. There was the helicopter, there was the scrub brush in which she had hidden. "Watch what's in the bushes. We'll switch to infra-red...." The screen changed colors, black sky and dull red plants. Nekoko could see a figure, white hot, hiding in the brush. "...We'll zoom in here, watch what this babe does next..." Nekoko watched the screen blur, then fix on the white-hot figure. She watched herself removing her guns and other metal, taking off her clothes, and then slide into a mud puddle. The figure, a dull yellow rather than white-hot, looked up and started on all fours for the helicopter. Nekoko start to feel a warm anger. "OK, folks, back to visible light. Isn't it a scream!" Coated in mud, knees bent, on all fours, the figure scuttled across the field of view. Nekoko watched herself try to look feline, not human. The figure was taut, smooth muscles moving quickly under skin, mottled in greys and browns. Nekoko's anger grew hot. "We'll send our camera in for a closer view..." Nekoko seized the vidplayer, pulling it out of the reach of the street toughs. She stepped back and threw it against the Chatsubo's concrete wall. The case of vidplayer cracked and the screen crumpled but the audio continued, "Miaow, Miaow.." "Enough!" screamed Nekoko, pulling her heavy pistol from her mid-thigh holster. She grabbed the pistol with both hands, brought it out to eye level, and emptied the pistol into the vidplayer. The vidplayer jumped once and then exploded into a cloud of plastic. For the third time that week, the patrons of the Chatsubo dived for cover with a crash of tables and shattering of glasses. The roar of the pistol echoed and reechoed within the filthy walls of the Chatsubo. Ratz started for the scatter gun under the bar, but stopped himself when he saw that Nekoko was just standing there, pistol at firing position. The only sound was the cold metal ringing of the 9 millimeter shells rolling on the floor. Echos of the pistol reverberated in Nekoko's mind. She stood there for a moment, the smell of cordite in her nostrils. The street toughs began to stir. She quickly reached into a pocket and pulled out another clip of ammo. She tossed the empty clip on the floor and inserted the new clip. Nekoko turned and aimed the gun at the street toughs. "Uh, madam, no problem here, OK," started Garry. "Nekoko," warned Ratz, reaching below the bar. She flicked on the safety, flipped the pistol up, and replaced it in the holster. Then, she reached down on the ground, picked up the empty clip and put it in another pocket. Nekoko kicked one of the empty shells against the wall and said, "Sorry Ratz. I'd better make that call and go, huh?" Ratz watched her, one hand still under the bar. Nekoko went over to the phonescreen, watching the bar patrons moving to stay out of her way. She flicked on the power, watching the blue LED indicate that the system was ready. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, bringing up the icon of the Yonhon-Hana corporation in California. She felt a light hand on her shoulder; she looked up to Liralen's steel-blue eyes reflecting the soft grey pixels of the phonescreen. Liralen's fingerless gloves gently squeezed Nekoko's shoulder. A few more keystrokes, and the icon of the corporation was replaced with the image of a man, late forties, balding, with large glasses that made him look like a panda. The borders of the image flashed, showing Nekoko that his phone was ringing. The image melted, and started to move. Nekoko quickly tapped a command and the image expanded to the full size of the screen. "Konnichi wa, Sensei-sama," Nekoko said and then bowed. "Ojosan, I am very disappointed in you," the image said. "Nanda?" "I have seen your performance," the image spoke, holding up a copy of the BUXOM BABES vidchip carrier. "I have heard that this is how you escaped a Hunter-Killer drone?" "Hai, Sensei-sama," Nekoko spoke in a small voice. "This is not the 'Bushi' way. You should have died honorably, fighting. I trust you will do the right thing. I assume the woman in blue is your 'kaishaku'? Have someone send me word when it is done; I will send someone for the ashes." The image shrank and winked out. "Sensei-sama..." began Nekoko. "Ojosan?" asked Liralen. "He calls, no, called me that in class. It means 'honourable daughter', just like I call him 'Sensei-sama', Lord Teacher." Nekoko spoke as if far away. She turned away from the soft grey glow of the phonescreen and began to move from the bar. "He is... no, was my teacher." As if in after-thought, Liralen powered off the phonescreen. She stepped in front of Nekoko. She grabbed Nekoko by the shoulder, stopped her in front of Ratz. "Are you all right?" Nekoko looked at Liralen with dead eyes. "I... I don't know." Ratz looked up from the draft Kirin he was drawing and asked, "What did he mean by doing the right thing? Who or what is a 'kaishaku'?" "He thinks I should commit 'seppuku'," Nekoko answered dully. Her ears were flat, dispirited. "And what is a 'kaishaku'?" Nekoko gave no sign of hearing the question. She walked slowly toward the hallway at the end of the barroom. Liralen spoke quickly, "When a 'bushi', a warrior, commits 'seppuku', the bushi drives a long knife like this," pointing at the combat knife strapped to her lower leg, "into his or her guts. The 'kaishaku', you see, is there to strike off the bushi's head if the dying takes too long. The 'kaishaku' helps the bushi to death." Ratz, who had seen worse on the street, shuddered. Liralen turned towards the bar and noticed Nekoko's HK227 still on the countertop. "Wait..." Nekoko had disappeared in the hallway leading to the bathrooms. Liralen grabbed the H & K off the countertop and rushed towards the hallway. She stepped into the narrow, dimly lit fetid hallway, her eyes looking for the direction that Nekoko had taken. She saw the lights on in the women's bathroom, pushed the creaking door open, and stopped. The room was small, stank, and contained a single toilet stall, painted a peeling lime green, a sink, coated in rust and slime, and a small table, on which used bottles were piled. "Nekoko?" Liralen asked. "Go away." Liralen pushed at the door of the toilet stall, but found it locked. She then hopped up, put her hands on the top of the toilet stall door, pushed herself up and dropped inside the narrow toilet stall. Where Nekoko was sitting on the toilet, knees drawn up, hands around her legs, staring into space. "Kinda tight in here, even for thinking," began Liralen. Nekoko put up her head and gazed at this woman in blue eyes, blue jacket, blue leathers. Her gaze was dull, lifeless. "You forgot your submachinegun. You're gonna need it if you're going after the people who did this to you." Liralen unslung the HK227 and handed it to Nekoko. Nekoko reached out for it, cradled it for a moment and then put it down. "Fancy shooting there, a vidplayer at 5 paces. It never had a chance." "I couldn't watch it anymore. I had to shut it up." "So that's what it is, huh? You're ashamed of what you did to stay alive, right?" "Sensei was right, it was shameful, not worthy of a bushi." "There is no shame in doing something to stay alive. Your teacher is a fool. Had you stood up as a warrior, it would have killed you without a thought." "But the Hunter-Killer can't think," Nekoko pointed out peevishly. "That's part of my point. There is no honour in getting yourself killed by a machine. But more than that, there is no honour in getting yourself killed period, no matter what your teacher says." "But... but" "Nekoko, what's most important is survival. It's the surviors who continue, not dead heroes." Nekoko looked at Liralen dully, thinking. Her ears were flicking up and down slowly in bewilderment. "So. so..." she began. "Besides, if you commit 'seppuku', the guys who did this to you will still be laughing at you. There is no honour this way..." Nekoko narrowed her eyes. "You might be right. You must be right." "Here, Nekoko, clean your pistol. You must clean your pistol after every use. Didn't you learn that at least?" Liralen pulled a small gun-cleaning kit out of her jacket and offered it to Nekoko. Nekoko twisted herself in the effort to get the pistol out of it's holster in the narrow toilet stall. Breaking the pistol down, she began to polish off the burned power. "So, Nekoko, what are we going to do?" Liralen started. "Information, right?" Nekoko said slowly. Liralen nodded. "Before anything else, information," Nekoko continued. She pulled the ammo clip out of the pistol and slipped the polishing cloth inside. "Who are we dealing with, what are their resources, what can we bring up against them?" She flipped the pistol over and slid a bore cleaner into the barrel. "We might be over our heads..." "ARES is pretty big, true," agreed Liralen. "We only want the guys in, what was it? Ah yes, the Advanced Research Division." "Still a tough bunch of guys," Liralen said. "Say, Nekoko, how about getting out of here? I can't stand the smell any longer." Nekoko finished up polishing the pistol and closed up the gun cleaning kit. "Just open the door behind you, and we'll go." Liralen squeezed herself around and wiggled at the toilet stall latch. "Uh, Nekoko, it's stuck." "Shit! Let me see," said Nekoko, pushing herself past Liralen. "You're right. Let's see, when you hopped over the door, you must have bent the latch. Shall we yell for help?" "Nekoko, no! Those guys out there don't think we can wipe our own butts, let alone start a campaign against a mega-corp." She laughed. Liralen looked around for a moment. "If we use the stock of the HK227, we could probably pry the door open." She pushed herself over to the HK227, pulled it up and pried at the door. A loud crack and the walls of the toilet stall collapsed. Laughing, the two women stepped out of the ruins and left the bathroom. As they walked into the Chatsubo barroom, Liralen waved OK at Ratz. The women tipped a table over, clearing it of bottles and debris and sat down. Liralen pulled a sheet of paper from somewhere and dropped it on the table top. "First things first. Information. You said you're a DataCourier. Could you get some jobs delivering at ARES?" "Probably," Nekoko replied. "About your appearance. With those ears and eyes, you're easy to remember. Can you do something about it?" "No, Liralen. That's something I can't change anymore than you could clip off your nose. I'll just be careful. Look, I've been made out to be a fool. They won't suspect me. Who suspects a fool?" Liralen made some notes on the paper and circled a few items. "Can you visit the people at BUXOM BABES?" I think that should be your first stop. I'll make some discrete inquiries; I've got some contacts I can use." "Sure, I'll visit BUXOM BABES," Nekoko smiled. Her ears stood up. "No shooting, Nekoko. If they even suspect something is up, that Hunter-Killer drone will be back, and this time, it'll be for real." Nekoko stopped smiling suddenly. "I'll be careful," she said slowly, her ears drooping. "Meet you here later. Let me know what you find," Liralen said as she got up and headed for the doorway. Nekoko rotated the paper and studied the scribblings. Folding it carefully, she put it into a pocket, zipped up her motorcycle suit, slung her H & K over her chest and stepped past the carpenters. As she passed the guys trying to get the frame straightened, she stopped and said, "When you get that done, you need to go work in the ladies bathroom. The toilet stall latch is sticking." Laughing, she disappeared down the street. Article 65 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: phyllis@amc.com (Phyllis Rostykus) Subject: Tales from the Chatsubo 2.5 Date: 23 Nov 90 03:54:53 GMT The "door" to the Chatsubo -- now merely a tarp -- flaps open, and Running Wolf and Li walk in. The pair seem the worse for wear: patches of Li's blue leathers are purple-brown with blood, and her face and left arm are wrapped in stained bandages. Wolf is limping slightly, and his face is bruised along the jawline. Both are unwontedly grim. Li gets tea and a yakisoba from Ratz, finds a chair against the wall, and sits down, warily despite her wounded state. Wolf is still too keyed up to sit; he prowls restlessly back and forth. "Hey, chummers," says an anonymous patron, "like, maximal lacerations. What's chillin'?" Wolf spins around, glaring at the questioner. For a moment, his eyes glow green, and he bares his teeth. Then he regains control "What's chilling, chummer," he says, very softly, "is a new Ares toy, the same one that burst in here last night. A very sleek, very fancy new toy, that came damn close to putting the pair of us on ice tonight." Li breaks in cooly, after finishing off a half of her meal "Close. We were down on the Waterfront, on Biz, contract stuff." She takes another mouthful, enjoying the savor of the sauted noodle dish, "After the job, we were on the way home when we heard sounds of a firefight. Bein' curious, as to Potentials and learning opportunities, we followed the sounds. And what we found..." she frowns, thinking, and takes another mouthful of noodles, meat and vegetables. "What we saw," says Wolf grimly, "was Stalking Death. It was a warehouse, and inside there were dead men and dying men and there was death like a giant spider, ripping men apart with chain guns and razor claws. I don't know how many there had been there, to begin with; we got there in time to see the last of them die. And then..." Wolf's voice drops even quieter, "then the thing stopped, and stood there humming, looking around. And then it found us." He stops. "We hit the ground," Li says, "and it missed us with it's first burst, I think, because one or two of its eyestalks were damaged. And then we ran." "We ran," Wolf says, "and I pulled some shadows around us, which must have confused it's sensors enough that it couldn't get a lock on us... it came after us, and the only thing that saved us from dying right then was that somebody must have gotten in a lucky shot, and crippled a leg. It was damned fast still, but we could keep ahead of it. It was firing randomly, tearing up the street, but it didn't hit us." Li touches a scratch on her cheek. "Not enough to count, anyway," she grins, and saunters off to return the empty plate to Ratz. Wolf nods. "Eventually, we got far enough ahead to get some cover. The thing was casting around behind us, like a dog, clanking and humming and firing the occasional burst at whatever triggered its sensors. I took a chance that it wouldn't find us for a moment or two, and tried working some kind of spell on it... rust it to pieces or something. No go -- the thing had some slick counterspells on it. I probably could have gotten through them, in time, but time we didn't have. I looked around on the spirit plane, and the only other living things I could see were some rats. So I did a small magic." "I caught some movement, out of the corner of my eye," says Li, as she returns to her chair. "For a minute, I thought it was another pair of Shadowrunners caught out in the open by the thing... then I realized it was us." "I cast an illusion on the rats, to make them look like us," Wolf explains. "It must have been good enough, because the HK saw them and started firing. We ran, under cover of the noise, and behind us the robot slaughtered rats. It evidently wasn't smart enough to notice that it was killing the same people over and over again." He sighs, and Li looks at him sharply, then squeezes his hand. "They were only rats," he says, "but I used them, and they died for it..." He shakes his head. "Once it was done with the rats," Li says, "it cast around for a while, and then it started after us again. I don't know what it was following... scent, maybe, or IR signature." "No," Wolf says, "I was cloaking us on IR too. It followed us because it was Stalking Death, and we were it's prey. We ran, and we found a boathouse with an open door, and we went in. It was empty, nothing but an echoing space. So we went up, past fishing equipment, into the rafters, and lay quiet. The thing clanked in, dragging its useless leg, and began to stalk the floor. We lay in the rafters, not moving, scarcely breathing. I was cloaking us as best I could, but it could tell we were there... eventually, the sensors and the guns started tracking up. I was preparing to meet my ancestors in a blaze of kamikaze glory, when it started shooting upwards... it got a skylight, and rained broken glass onto itself... and then it stopped, and clicked a couple of times." "It had run out of ammo," Li says. "Wolf and I looked at each other. We knew what we had to do, and we knew how unlikely we were to survive it. Basically, it was either die hiding in the rafters, or die trying to kill the thing. Unfortunately, there wasn't time to say anything. So..." she pauses. "So I jumped down from the rafter and faced it." "It leaped at her instantly, of course," Wolf says. "And what happened then was Dance incarnate." Li looks at Wolf, and then notices that the patron is looking at her. She meets his eyes with hers of blue steel, and chuckles, "And I have little memory of it. All I remember was deciding to go into it 'tai tai no sen', accompanying its every move with a move of my own, leaving no room in my mind for anything but sheer reaction and constant attack. Those multiply jointed legs and the arms were probably the only things that I could do anything to. The armoring couldn't be touched by anything but explosives. Luckily, I only had to occupy it for a couple of minutes. Otherwise I would have been dead. But you know..." her voice goes soft, "it was Wonderful." "You know what it's like, in the middle of a fight." she says, an odd light behind her eyes, "All chaos, all insanity, where there are too many things for a conscious mind to take in and keep and process. And all you have is your training, your body, your will to make some order out of the chaos, to put your print on the Dance of death. And to Do that with something as skilled and unrelenting and completely committed as that machine..." Her voice grows with the intensity of someone discussing their life's path, "It had no Spirit, no soul, no heart, nothing to distract it from its purpose or intent. The ultimate samuri." she says, softly. "Hurt as it was, damaged as it was, it still fought with all it had, and I would be dead if Wolf hadn't found what we needed." "Meanwhile," Wolf says, after a moment, "I was getting the old fishing net we had climbed over on our way up. The thing was too busy trying to gut Li to pay any attention to me, so I was able to crawl over it with the net... and then drop it on the damned thing." He pauses, eyes narrowed at the memory. "It tangled up beautifully, with all those legs and things. It was thrashing around, and Li looked like she was trying to come out of a trance, and I jumped down and together we managed to pull the thing over to the dockside doors..." he touches the bruise on his face gingerly. "Not without difficulties. And we dumped the bloody thing into the drink. It sank like a stone, and we just stood there, breathing and bleeding, and waiting. And waiting. And after a while, it hadn't come out, and we began to think we might live to see the sun rise. I patched us up as best I could -- " he looks at Li. "I would have healed her better, but she's too wired, and there's not much my magic can do, so I have to rely on bandages and antibiotics. But we're alive. And that HK is, if the gods are kind, rusting itself into pieces on the bottom of the harbor." His eyes are green again, and he looks into the distance, as if trying to see the destruction of their enemy. After a moment, he comes to himself. "And that," he finishes softly, "is what happened to us tonight. Chummer." Li sighs, softly, and the patron turns to look at her. "I... shoot..." she says, and puts her head in her hands, "I wish I could be sure we actually offed the thing. The logical answer is that we did, but the side of me that meshed with that thing while we were fighting. That part ain't so sure, at all, chummer, not sure at all..." Article 74 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: ee0r+@andrew.cmu.edu (Elliott Conan Evans) Subject: entrance Date: 27 Nov 90 02:52:20 GMT jackin>>>128.2.29.69<<< As the kid dashes out, a slow figure saunters in through what passes for a door nowadays. From the neon and black of the night into the dark of the bar walks an average height cauc dressed all in white. Among the black leather clad legions in the Chat, white cotton is like a big arrow pointing at him. When the intermittent ultra-violet lights kick in, he lights up like neon sign. Like he wants to be shot or something. Deck with about fifty visible modifications to the outside slung across his back. Above the deck, on the back of his jacket is his only identification. It's a felt patch; gray donkey, tacked on tail. He smirks. His credit chip buys him 5 strength darjeeling tea with grain. He's gotta be mad. He scrawls with his finger on the message screen by the door. #4445P Thos who know chuckle, the rest just smirk. The thought hangs in everybody's "He must want to die. What a fuckin freak" He leans against the wall and stares out over the heads of the Chatsubo crowd. <<<128.2.29.69>>>jackout Eeyore Article 75 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu (Hubert Bartels) Subject: Nekoko's story, part 4 (long) Date: 27 Nov 90 05:33:13 GMT Nekoko stood on the sidewalk before the offices of BUXOM BABES. A four story, grey concrete building, poorly constructed, scarred with gang graffiti, streaked with rust, stained by the rain. The sidewalk was crowded; she could barely keep her place in the moving masses. The air was filled with the smells of the street vendors, selling krill, ramen, sushi, soup. Sellers offered talismans, drugs, vidchips, discarded technology, information. Each vendor had their mat or stand from which they alternatively shouted, implored or cursed. No one seemed bothered by Nekoko's cat ears or cat eyes; there were stranger people on the street. Her long skirt layered over a bodysuit and waistpouch contrasted with the shabby wornout clothes of the passing crowd. They pushed and shoved her, making her dance to keep on her feet. Nekoko took a deep breath and pushed her way through the crowd to the side of the building. She slipped between a soba stall and a fortune- teller to the alley behind, stepping over the stacks of rotting paper that blocked the entrance. Rusted dumpsters overflowing with garbage, piles of broken drug vials and puddles of dirty water smelling of urine filled the alley. Nekoko studied the backwall of the BUXOM BABES building, noting the large windows on the top floor and the fire escape. She returned to the noisy street, walked to the front entrance, pushed the door open and stepped inside. Nekoko walked across the dingy lobby and rode a creaking, wheezing elevator to the top floor, where she was greeted by a door marked 'Editor in Chief'. She pushed it open and entered a large cluttered office. At the desk, a elderly pot-bellied man sat looking at a vidplayer. Dagit Basel, the editor, had a gentle face; small white mustache, round bulbous nose, soft grey eyes looking through thick black reading glasses. He was almost bald, with white wild tufts of hair over each ear. Nekoko saw him as someone's grandfather. Intent on his reading, he did not look up as Nekoko entered. Behind him, windows gave a view of Seattle's dock area. A quiet roar came from the streets below. A vidscreen on the office was showing scenes from the waterfront. In the foreground, the announcer spoke into a microphone. "...ARES gave no reason for the closure of the East Dock, other than to say it was for security reasons. Informed observers reported that ARES was undertaking a marine salvage project in the area. When asked to confirm this, ARES spokesmen warned the media about fruitless speculation..." As Basel gave no signs of noticing her, Nekoko cleared her throat. "If you have come for the vidchip," Basel growled, "it is not for sale, as I told your people this morning. All submissions become property of the magazine, as it says in our bannerhead. Oh!" Basel looked up at her. "I thought you were my 12:00 appointment." "I am your DataCourier. I brought you this." Nekoko reached into her pouch and pulled out the packet of vidchips. She dropped the packet onto the cluttered desk. Basel adjusted his glasses. "Thank you." As he reached to sign the receipt, he took a closer look at the DataCourier. "You! You were in the funny sex video!" "Not willingly." "We always wondered if you had survived. Your trick was so funny, it would have been a shame if it didn't work. Are you mad at us for publishing it?" Nekoko thought for a moment. "No, not any more..." "Still, it was a good trick. We could only use that part of the vidchip in our magazine. The rest was simply too bloody." Nekoko's ears stood straight up. "You saw the rest of the vidchip?" "Yes, I scanned through it. It wasn't good for anything. Scenes of soldiers getting slaughtered. Doesn't sell real well." "How was the vidchip identified?" Nekoko asked. "I remember the title 'Muenchen Turbinen und Roboten Werke', a date, and the words 'Project: Model 60'". "Do you know where the vidchip came from?" "My assistant editor found it on the doorstep the other morning. ARES Advanced Research markings on the vidchip carrier, but nothing else. We often get submissions that way. We asked at ARES for the Advanced Research Divison, but never got a response until today." "Why do you think you got the vidchip?" Nekoko asked. Basel turned off the vidplayer. "We often get vidchips with strange things on them. I thought someone might have been showing off. They, the anonymous submitters, often do that." "I know that the vidchip is not for sale, Basel-san," Nekoko asked very slowly, "but could you arrange for me to see it?" "No problem..." Nekoko started to say something, but was interrupted by tapping on the door. Basel turned to his desk and checked his desk vidscreen. "Sorry, it's my 12:00 appointment with the ARES Advanced Research Division people. Do you mind waiting outside for a moment?" "Those are the people asking for the vidchip back, aren't they?" Basel nodded. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not meet them. Could I wait in your washroom back there?" "No problem. Shouldn't take long." Nekoko moved over to the washroom, closed the door, sat on the toilet and sighed. Below her feet, on either sides, and on the ceiling, there were mirror tiles. She looked into an infinite number of cat-eared, cat-eyed, blonde-haired women. She amused herself by making faces at her reflections. From the direction of the office came the murmur of a discussion, ending in the sound of a muffled shot. Nekoko crept to the washroom door, knelt down, and listened at the door. She could hear the voices of a man and the electronic voice of a comlink. "Red-1 here. Primary target terminated," said the man. "Kommodore here. Have you found the vidchip?" asked the electronic voice. "We've got all Basel's vidchips. It'll be in there somewhere." "Have you found the secondary target?" Kommodore asked. "No. We know she's here." "Good. Find her copy of the vidchip. Then terminate." "Is the building being cleared? Don't want any unnecessary deaths." "Yes, Kommodore. Red-2 is telling people to leave quietly, there might be a killer in the building." "The girl with cat's ears? Good idea." "Yeah. She'll take the blame for Basel's death. And the explosion." "Good. Are the explosives ready?" The electronic voice asked. "Yes, you may detonate on my command." "Understood. Will detonate on your command. Endtrans." "Endtrans," said Red-1. Before Nekoko could react, there was a loud crash. The washroom door fell in, the lock and hinges splintering from the wooden frame. Nekoko sprawled across the floor. She turned to stare up into a small black hole, mounted at the end of a automatic pistol. Behind the pistol stood a tall gaunt man with frizzy blonde hair, light blue eyes, aquiline nose and soft smiling mouth. With his tan and good natured features, he looked like a gym teacher on sabbatical. He wore a blue business suit, carefully tailored, a pair of leather gloves, and a gym bag over one shoulder. He smiled gently at Nekoko. Only in the eyes could Nekoko see the soldier in him. "Hi girl. Thought you might be in there. Come up here. I won't hurt you," he laughed. He fingered the small comlink mounted on his shoulder. "Red-1 here. I've located the second target." "Red-2 here. Good. The building is almost cleared." "Kommodore says he is ready to detonate the explosives." "Just a minute Red-1, got one more office to check." "Endtrans, Red-2." "Yeah, yeah. Endtrans." "So, girl, come with me." He grabbed Nekoko by the hand, pulled her to her feet and waved her into the office with the pistol. "Here, give me that pouch. Never know what a girl's got in her handbag." Nekoko sullenly slipped off the waistpouch and handed it to the mercenary. He laughed, dropped the gym bag and slipped the waistpouch over his shoulder. Nekoko looked around the office. Basel lay in a pool of blood behind his desk. The desk was covered in vidchips and datapaks. The mercenary waved her into the center of the room, took a step back, lowered his gun and smiled at her. "Well, you are a pretty little thing..." Nekoko watched his face. He was smiling, but his smile never reached his eyes. When he knew she didn't have the vidchip, he would kill her. "It'll be a shame, girl, but I have my orders..." Nekoko knew he would kill her. She studied his eyes. "Where's the vidchip the drone gave you?" "I crushed it," Nekoko answered. She curled her hands slightly, leaned slightly forward, balanced herself. "Maybe you did..." He laughed. Nekoko took several short little breaths, then exhaled slowly. The mercenary looked down to search her waistpouch. "Gee, nothing but junk. The things some girls carry..." Nekoko's eyes narrowed. Nekoko stepped forward and launched a sweeping sideways kick to the merc's head. The merc's head snapped hard. He fell, his head hitting the desk. He rolled over slowly, reaching for his pistol. Nekoko struck again with the palm of her hand against his chin, breaking his neck. The mercenary's body slumped. She stood up, shaking, dazed. There was not much blood, just a thread from the corpse's nose. A cut on the side of his head. The side of her foot tingled, her hand was sore. It was the first time she had to kill. Nekoko limped over to the wall, gathered the vidchips and datapacks from the desk and poured them into the gym bag. She turned to the mercenary's body, looking for her waistpouch. The strap of the waistpouch was lying under his torso so Nekoko steeled herself to roll the body over. When the body flopped over, several items dropped out of the merc's pockets onto the floor. Nekoko swept the items into the gym bag, trying not to look at the dead merc's eyes. As she grabbed her waistpouch, she heard the footsteps of the other mercenary. Nekoko rushed across the floor to the window, opened it, and stepped out onto the fire escape. Gym bag and waistpouch in hand, she began down the fire escape. As her head dropped below the window sill, she could hear the doors of the office open. She hurried, hearing the cry of the mercenary above her. Faster, faster, she jumped down the steps of the fire escape. There was a bang, a whistle, and Nekoko realized that he was shooting at her. At the ladder, she dropped the gym bag to the ground below, and stepped onto the ladder's rungs. A flash of white light lit up the alley; everything in monochromes, walls, dumpsters, garbage. Thunder rolled. The ladder shook, her hands opened, and Nekoko fell, landing in a dirty puddle of water. She looked up to see the top floor engulfed in flames. She rolled over, pulled the gymbag and waistpouch together and ran. Behind her, the walls of the building slowly fell in on themselves. Late afternoon at the Chatsubo. Nekoko stared into the glass of Kirin that Ratz had poured for her. The beer was flat, the taste sour. She traced the scars of the tabletop with the tips of her fingers, wondered how she had survived. Had the mercenary not considered her harmless, had he not hit his head against the desk, she would have died with the others in the explosion. Ratz had taken one look at her, her tangled hair, her filthy skirt and called Li. The vidscreen behind her continued to blare. " ...body of Claus Lagervelt, a vice president of ARES Corporation, was pulled from the water near the ARES Corporation's marine salvage area. ARES has refused to comment. Recovery of the body was made more difficult by the extreme ARES security in the area. Identification of the body was difficult as Lagervelt's face was severly mutilated by the micro-fletchettes that killed him." "Closer to home," the vidscreen continued, "the offices of BUXOM BABES was destoryed in a mysterious explosion around noon. Authorities have identified about five dead, with several others still missing. Amoung the dead is Dagit Basel, popular editor of the magazine. Police are seeking the Cat Woman made famous in this month's issue of BUXOM BABES." Li and Running Wolf arrived an half an hour later. Nekoko watched Li stride through the crowds in the Chatsubo, a cobalt blue samurai. Nekoko was in awe of Li's bujitsu, her smooth skill at the cold business of death. She had heard of Li's dance with the drone. She compared it with her own awkward attempts to discover the truth behind the drones. Nekoko weakly waved to Li. "Konnichi wa, Li-sama..." Li turned off the vidscreen and looked at Nekoko. "I thought you could be discreet. The editor dead, the BUXOM BABES office blown all over the block," Li started. "It's not my fault" "Well, Nekoko, the media is telling everyone that the Cat Woman who was featured in this month's BUXOM BABES killed the editor and blew up the building. You were seen leaving the building." "It's not my fault," said Nekoko. "They tried to kill me." She stood up. "First, they made me into a fool. Then they made me into a killer." She thumped her hand on the table. Glasses wobbled and fell over. "All I want to know is," she screamed. "Who the HELL are these guys?" She swept her hand across the table, tossing bottles, glasses, ashtrays over the surrounding crowd. "Oops! Gomen nasai..." Li pushed down on Nekoko's shoulders, making her sit again. "What really did happen?" Running Wolf asked. Nekoko told the crowd around the table her story. She told of Basel's death, of the killing of the mercenary, of the explosion. Li looked at Nekoko and asked, "So, Nekoko, what did you get?" Wordlessly, Nekoko poured a cascade of vidchips, datapaks and ROM packs onto the table. "Rad wiz!" said the razor boy wanna be, "All the BUXOM BABES pictures on vidchips." Li and Nekoko glared at him. Nekoko stirred the pile with her fingers. "I think that someone in the drone project is worried about the direction of the project. He or she sent these vidchips to Basel and me as a warning. Whoever sent out the vidchips couldn't have forseen that Basel would see the vidchip as a submission to the funny sex videos. Or that I would crush mine." Nekoko flicked her ears. "There is something on that vidchip that we are supposed to see. We need to see that vidchip." "Nekoko, there must be 500 unlabeled vidchips here," remarked Li. "Hey, I'll screen them for you," smirked the razor boy. Nekoko rose to slap the boy. Li grabbed her arm and forced her back into her seat. "No, Nekoko, he's right. We're going to have to screen all the vidchips. In the meantime, it might be good for you to go to MTRW and ask around. Get out of Seattle for a while." "Something else is strange about your story," mused Running Wolf, who had been listening carefully. "What?" asked Nekoko. "Kommodore didn't want anyone to survive this mission. He set off the explosions early." Running Wolf said. "Hey what's that?" Nekoko picked up the card from the pile of chips. "A cash voucher." "Rad," whispered the razor boy. "Take the cash, get a flight, get out of here. We'll follow up on the stuff you found today. Don't worry. Enjoy yourself," Li said. Nekoko pocketed the card. She got up and gathered her things. "Nekoko?" said Li. "Yes, Li-sama?" "Be discreet. Don't blow up the place." Article 78 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: phyllis@amc-gw.amc.com (Phyllis Rostykus) Subject: The White Knight's Chip Date: 27 Nov 90 08:49:02 GMT Li sits, the datachip in her gauntletted hand, as the White Knight goes toward the table dark angel, Del, and shades are at. And she wonders, a bit, where in hell is she going to find someone who knows enough about weapons system engineering, and has the software tools to understand the data, AFTER the data's been unencrypted or detoxified. She thinks about Darc, and knows that the knows enough to probably get the raw data out; but he probably doesn't know enough about the engineering to be able to make out if the data's any good or not. Then she hears the rumbling basso of a very large man saying "ARES wants what you have. NOW." She slips out of her seat, making her quick way towards the dark angel's table. The White Knight's reply is lost in the noise and distance, but the giant's actions indicate that it was not an affirmative. She hears the huge giant's voice say, "I said, HAND IT OVER." and, at the White Knight's first move, Li quickly takes cover. Stuff spatters everywhere. She sighs, and slowly gets out from under the table, and walks over to the gelatinzed body. The cleaning 'bots come out, and she shooes them away from the body. She looks at the Knight with a wry grin, "You ever think about taking prisoners? Perhaps finding out where the guy *comes* from?" She shakes her head at his wide eyed innocent look and chuckles. "Finesse, my boy, I think you're gonna have to learn a little finesse." Then, resignedly, she starts searching what's left of the body, hoping, beyond hope, that the bounty hunter had kept his ID somewhere other than his front, shirt pocket. Nothing in the pants pockets, nothing along the legs. She pulls out the belt and finds a low-tech 1mm monofilament strung along the center and two credsticks/datasticks with normal chips in the tip. Two? She stares at them, for a long moment, and then continues her search. She finds a third in the dirty right sock. She looks at the tip and sees a platinum chip. She looks over to where one of the 'bots has found the head with its hydrostatically burst eyes. And Li sighs very deeply indeed. A presense comes up, behind her, and, as it moves slowly, carefully, she does not whirl when it puts a hand, slowly, on her shoulder. "Lady Li, it looks like you have a bit of a problem, there..." Article 86 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: phyllis@amc-gw.amc.com (Phyllis Rostykus) Subject: Re: The White Knight's Chip Date: 29 Nov 90 09:55:41 GMT The decker in white puts down his 5 strength darjeeling with grain alcohol and saunters over to Li as she crouches over the ruins of what was once a human body. Slowly, carefully, he puts a hand on her shoulder, and says softly, "Hey, it looks like you have a bit of a problem, there..." "Don't I know it." she mumbles, and looks up at him sharply, "You think you can help?" Eeyore slides his Ono-Sendai around to the front. The words 'Cyberspace 3' have been crossed out with black marker and beside them has been written in a neat hand, 'Modified'. "I'm not the best," he says, "but I'm good. And I'd be honored." "Name's Eeyore..." He doesn't extend his hand, but his head tips a little to the side. "I'm Li." she says shortly. Then continues curiously, "You know any weapons system designers or engineering experts?" "Will I do?" the voice is cool, amused. Belladonna smiles up at the two. Then in a light voice all the more deadly for its coolness she says, "I'm not too keen on fixing a weapon's system, but I'm a decent engineer. Besides, ARES *is* kind of pissing me off with this mechanical killer thing. I've been hearing stories about it having fun and games down in the sewers. Remember, I told you about how they would send down mercs to try out new weapons down there where I grew up? They especially like shooting at kids: they are small and quick..." the light voice fades away into the sounds of the bar. Li looks at her, "Lady, you'll do just fine." And the three of them get drinks from the bar and sit and talk for a while in one of the booths. Eeyore and Belladonna leave together, while Li sits a while longer, quiet over her drink. Bella's leavetaking "Stay alive another day." echos in her head. Then she leaves as well, a crumpled note from Ratz in one of her pockets. Article 91 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: palmer@nntp-server.caltech.edu (David Palmer) Subject: Re: Looking for a story Date: 30 Nov 90 05:45:28 GMT A clown came in with a camera on his shoulder and started shooting. Then he fiddled nervously with his weapon. I could tell that he was transmitting and recording everything. The Chatsubo is pretty heavily shielded against RFI, but it has an active relay for data, video, u.s.w. A guy like this could disturb a lot of privacy. He found a place in the back and sat down. I followed. "Hey Cronkeit," I said, holding my hand in front of the lens of his shoulder camera. He got a good shot of some finger and palm prints, but they belonged to someone else. I appeared oblivious to his eyecam. Politely, he turned up the shouldercam to point at the ceiling. He didn't appear to take offense. His media history was probably better than his German. "There are a few things you should know about this place. The one of greatest immediate importance is that recording what happens here can get you very quickly dead. I would suggest you stop it, and erase everything for the past couple of minutes. Then I'll talk to you, not for attribution." He made a show of turning off the recorder and erasing back a ways. "By the way, I'm also in the communications biz. I really would suggest that you do it for real." He sheepishly got out the real controls, halted, and wiped. I had no doubt that he first checked the feedback loop to make sure that everything was being properly transmitted and recorded back at home base. I remained an outfoxee. "That's better," I said, "I always feel better talking to one person." "I'm Goldeneye," he said, offering his hand. I gave him a normal-feeling handshake. "You can call me Viadd in person, but outside the Chat, I am just 'a regular customer.' My handle is never made public, and it would be unwise to refer to the this place by name." "What is this place, anyway?" "That's kind of hard to explain," I explained. "It is a market for the transaction of High-tech laissez-faire economics, but to you it is just a source of local color and deep background. Any story here is not in the specifics, but if you are willing to deal in composites and reconstructions, omitting any names, locations, details etc. that could lead to a traceback, you'll find it a valuable resource." "How will I know when I get too specific?" "You'll find out rather quickly. 'Noses in the wrong places are quickly cut off,' as they say around here." He decided against bravado as he began to notice the flecks of blood that specked many of the patrons. "I guess there's nothing wrong with doing composites and reconstructions," he said, "it has a long tradition in the news biz, and it gives better footage." "Verisimilitude is verity," I said, repeating the newscaster's creed. He treated it as a toast, and we drank to it. "Anyway, that's the most important thing about newsgathering here." "What else should I know?" "Don't fiddle with your gun. People cut you a little slack as you came in because you didn't appear openly hostile, but it's still a bad idea. Tensions run high around here, especially when there's been violence in the previous hours. If you're going to shoot--shoot. Otherwise, keep your hands away from anything that looks dangerous." "I understand." "Another thing, keep your shouldercam at home. It's okay to carry a backwatcher, but ENG equipment carries bad connotations." He agreed, resigned to the idea of using only his eyecam, which, fortunately, no one knew about. "When you see people ducking, duck. People around here don't do things unless they have a good reason." "Those are all good tips to stay alive, but what about stories?" "Don't talk to anyone who looks like they're in a killing mood, of course, but you can ask for the story later. Don't put on airs, but if you're polite you can talk to most people. If someone doesn't want to talk about something, it's best not to talk about it. "Make yourself useful. Information is a medium of exchange around here, so if you just sit there like a sponge, you'll find it gets pretty dry. Offer your services as an investigator to help people find out how what they know fits in to the big picture." "I think I can do that," he said. "Are there any good stories floating around now?" "There's one big story going down, but it might be dangerous, and you'll have to quid a lot of pro quo to get in on it. ('Nothing but life is cheap in life', as we say here.) Talk to Liralen." I pointed her out, so that she would know he was coming. "How about the cat woman with her," he asked, "she looks familiar." He looked like he was about to remember where he had seen her. "You have never seen her before in your life, _never_. If you remember her from somewhere, forget her. I say this not just as a colleague, but as someone who has seen too much death already today." "I get your point," he said. He started over to talk to Liralen. I fingered a datatap on the wall. The active relay was still repeating Goldeneye's transmission to home base, in slightly modified form. I made sure everyone looked approximately similar to their actual appearance, but different enough that they would not be matched by a facex. As he glanced back at me, I could see that the image sent back, ostensibly from his eyecam, had a broader nose, wider mouth, and sharper chin than the face that had been greeting me in the mirror in recent months. I dropped a few ferrets into the bitstream and left the tap. They would call me if they found anything interesting. I went back to the bar. "Everything taken care of?" Ratz asked. "The filter's working fine," I said. As a communications engineer I was pleased with my installation of the active--hyperactive--relay. "You'll look almost pretty when he sees you on tape at home tonight." Ratz scowled and poured me a milk plus. Article 102 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu (Hubert Bartels) Subject: Nekoko's story 5 reposting (long) Date: 2 Dec 90 20:43:17 GMT Nekoko took the last set of stairs at a run, panting, stumbling. At the top of the stairs, she saw that the train had just closed its doors. She ran. "Matte kudasai! Matte. Matte Shimatta! MATTE!" As she arrived at the last car, the train began to humm and slowly pull away from the station platform. Nekoko ran alongside the car, pounding on the doors to the stare of the passengers inside. "Matte, Matteee...." The train sped up and left Nekoko stumbling in disbelief. She stopped and watched the train round the curve and disappear southwards. "Kuso!" She began. Then, she cursed loudly, outrageously, screaming, swearing. After a few moments of tumult, she was interrupted by a quiet comment in Japanese from behind her. "Sugoi...." "Ara....." Nekoko turned to see an elderly Japanese gentleman standing behind her. He was small, wizened, bald with only a few wisps of hair. His dark eyes sparkled from their deep sockets, his mouth curved in a smile. He may have been old, but he stood ramrod straight with a quiet dignity. The old gentleman was dressed in an almost black suit, carefully fitted, very correct. He carried a long umbrella, tightly coiled in one hand and an oxblood leather briefcase in the other. He continued in his quiet Japanese, "I had to come up and see. Miyamoto, I said to myself, someone is cursing like a dockworker. I have not heard cursing like that since I left the Osaka dockyards forty-two years ago." "I am very sorry for my rudeness.." She blushed. Her Japanese was high-pitched, like a child. "No, no, no," the gentleman smiled. "But I would like to know where you learned to curse like that. It was a masterful business." "My father was a teacher of Japanese in California. He taught his only daughter all he had learned." "Your father instructed you well." "Thank you." She told him her name. "But I am called 'Nekoko'" The old gentleman bowed slightly. "My name is Miyamoto Yoshiro, but I am called 'Ojiisan' by my grandchildren." He smiled. "Choojo, is 'Nekoko', a street name? Are you a street samurai?" Nekoko started to say something, but stopped herself. She thought for a moment. After a while, she said, "No, I am a helicopter pilot. Nekoko is my callsign on the comlink." Miyamoto looked at Nekoko's cat's ears, her slightly tipped cat's eyes and answered, "'Cat-child' is appropriate, maybe, but I will call you Choojo, eldest daughter. Come, keep an old man company. We have forty minutes before the next train. I will tell you of myself and you can tell Grandfather why missing a train is the cause of such magnificent cursing." Nekoko looked up from the old gentleman's face to see an empty platform, swept by a chilling wind. A wall of clouds lay to the north, dark, cold, threatening rain. She shivered. Miyamoto took her by the arm and led her into the waiting room. After setting her at a table, he left her for a moment and soon returned with two cups of tea in styroform cups. "What these people do to tea is criminal. But it is warm." He said. "Thank you." She took the cup in both hands, and sipped slowly. "Miyamoto-san," she began. "Please call me Ojiisan like my grandchildren." "Ojiisan, where did you come from?" "Originally? I worked with Doctor Akechi in Osaka. After retiring, I moved with my wife, Meiko, to New Gifu, in California. It was part of the agreement we made with the zaibatsu's, that we would have a place to retire. You know, Choojo, there are two million people in New Gifu? They built it and the other cities for retirees. The zaibatsu did not see that people would come to make New Gifu and the other cities into real Japanese cities." "Honto?" Nekoko asked. "Really, Choojo. We came to retire, others came to sell us things, others came to build, repair, and finally live. Now, you can look around and cannot tell that you are not in Japan. My wife, Meiko, says that it does not feel like home, but she doesn't see that we could never live as well in Japan. There would be no room for her teahouse in Japan. And I can get a tee-off time without a long wait." He smiled and dropped the empty cup in the trash. Behind him, through the windows of the waiting room, Nekoko could see the clouds gathering, covering and uncovering the sun. The wind picked up. To the north, the black wall of clouds advanced. The waiting room was warm. Nekoko started to get sleepy. "Besides, the old woman is being foolish." Miyamoto continued. "All of our children are here in America. Tetsuya is a lawyer in New York. Akemi is married and lives near the Napa Valley and Nabiki, the youngest, is about to start college. That is why I was in Seattle. I visited the Dean of Admissions of the University of Washington. Luckily, he spoke Japanese. All civilized people should. I convinced him that Nabiki should be admitted this winter. She is very much like you. You must meet her." Nekoko drained her cup. Outside, the clouds covered the sun. The light turned dreary and grey. She looked up at the clock in the waiting room. Miyamoto caught the direction of her gaze and said, "Yes, the train will be here. We should go now." They stepped out of the warm waiting room into a bitter biting wind. From the distance, they heard the bleat of the train's horn. "It's pretty bad out here, isn't it?" Miyamoto remarked. Nekoko nodded. The train approached and hissed to a stop before them. As the doors opened, Miyamoto and Nekoko stepped on board. They moved down the car's corridor and found an empty compartment. When they had settled down, Miyamoto leaned forward and smiled at Nekoko. " Now, Choojo, tell me what was the reason for your cursing." With a small lurch, the train began to move. She started to tell her story. She began with the charter flight to the island, and finished with the head she had been given. She told of the man in leathers, and his final question. "He asked me what I would do, when I found out out who was behind all of this. I had no answer I could have given him." She spoke of the accusations, the questions, the guilt, her doubt. Miyamoto did not speak; he just nodded at times, his eyes deep in thought. When she had stopped, she looked up at him, through her eyelashes. "You have told me a dark tale, true, and I will have more to say on it later. No. Not now." He thought for a moment. "Choojo. When you get home, take a rucksack..." Nekoko looked up at him, puzzled. "Fill the rucksack with those items you need, if you had to leave suddenly. Warm clothes. A knife, matches, such stuff, and keep it near you." "Wh-Why?" Nekoko started. "You now have a powerful enemy. You must prepare yourself. You may have to leave your home suddenly." "ARES?" "Perhaps. It is hard to tell." He turned to look out the train window at the gathering gloom. "You do not need to worry about the police." "But. But the press said..." "Choojo, the press says many things. They must say that the police are looking for you. But the police have too many other problems. A murder and an explosion is a small item in their day to day problems. Bounty hunters, now..." "Bounty hunters?" "The police will wait for a bounty hunter to do their work. It is easier for them." Miyamoto leaned back in his seat. "However, someone has to put up the reward money first. You are safe until then." "When am I in danger?" Nekoko asked. "The street will tell you. Listen to your street samurai friends. They will let you know if someone has placed a price on your head." Nekoko shivered. "But, come, tell me of other things, tell Ojiisan of your father, who taught his eldest daughter to curse so well." Nekoko turned to the window, watching the houses and factories pass in a blur. After a moment, she began to speak. "I was born in Sakumento, the only child of my father and mother. When the Japanese empire took economic control of the region, my father took Japanese citizenship, changing our name. He had been a pilot, so I learned from him what it is to fly." She turned back to Miyamoto. "When I was nine, my mother went into the hospital to have another child. She never returned." Nekoko dropped her eyes and sat quietly for a moment. "I entered boarding school that year. Later, I applied at Yohon-Hana as a pilot trainee." "Yohon-Hana? That explains something that puzzled me. Go on." "The only openings were in the ESWAT division, the Extra Special Weapons and Tactics division. After they accepted me, I underwent the surgery that marked us as Yohon-Hana samurai." She pointed to her eyes and tugged on an ear. Miyamoto interrupted her. "Yes, I have heard this before. Go on." "Yohon-Hana trains you for a while, equips you with the equipment you might need and sends you to a Sprawl city, to learn to survive. They think that those who learn the streets will be better ESWAT samurai." She sighed. "Before I left for Seattle, I visited my father. He had not seen me after my surgery. He disowned me... He turned his back on me and left... I still do not know why." A tear ran down Nekoko's cheek. "I write, but I have never heard from him. I don't know if he reads my letters..." Miyamoto reached into an inside pocket, pulled out a soft hankerchief and wiped her face. Outside the train, the gloom deepened. Lights appeared and rushed past. A station, bright lights, grey and empty, a moment in the compartment window, and then gone. "Yes, I see.", Miyamoto started. "Choojo, you have been raised well. However, I cannot see the samurai in you." Nekoko looked up at him. Her ears stood up. "What?" "No, you were not meant to be a samurai. A pilot, yes, but not a pilot carrying soldiers to die in some small unimportant action." Nekoko flicked her ears in bewilderment. "But. But..." "Choojo, the way of life you have seen, the streets, the people, the Chatsubo may be doomed. They are like the masterless ronin at the beginning of the Tokugawa period. Today, things are unsettled. There is chaos, unrest, troubled times. Some companies thrive on unrest and trouble. Yohon-Hana is one of them. Others do not. The mega-corps are like the 'daimyo' of old. They may decide that chaos and trouble costs them. They will try to reorganize society. Like Lord Tokugawa of old. Then, your Chatsubo, your Lady Li, and all the others will be no more. Not right away. Maybe ten years, maybe more. And the drones..." "Li-sama?" "Yes, even Li-sama. She has no patron, no mega-corp to help her." "The drones?" Nekoko asked. "I think I know what the drones are..." Miyamoto mused. "I think they are supposed to be the new samurai of the mega-corps. They do not feel, they cannot be corrupted. And they can be trusted." Nekoko shuddered. "Your future is not in Seattle, Choojo. Seattle is a Sprawl city. There are many Sprawl cities, but the future is not in them. Seattle is dying. Slowly. That's why you have your Chatsubos, your street samurai, your violence, your death." Nekoko turned away, looking into her reflection in the darkened compartment window. Houses rushed by, each lit with the flickering blue of vidscreens. Large rain drops started to splat against the window. They rode in silence, listening to the rumble of the train. Miyamoto pointed to the houses passing by. "They will not care if your friends disappear. They are cattle, herdbeasts. It may sound fascist to say that, but they are. Because they did it to themselves. No one enslaved them to the vidscreens, to cheap entertainment and cheap alcohol, they did it to themselves. You read, right?" Nekoko nodded. "Most of those out there," pointing to the rows of houses, "are illiterate. And it does not bother them. Their parents and grandparents did not read. Choojo, most all the students at the University of Washington are from Japan, California and other countries. The cattle out there, they don't care. They will just as happy with the drones as with the police they have now. They might not even notice the change. If it does not interfere with the evening's sports schedule." "Ojiisan, what did you mean, that being in Yohon-Hana explained something that puzzled you?" "I wondered why the killer drone spared you on the island." "I had thought it was my trick at first..." Nekoko said. "No, it was not your trick. Nor your body. ARES, if it was ARES, knew that with your eyes and ears, you could have been a Yohon-Hana samurai. They could not kill you without endangering themselves in a war with another mega-corp. Your ears and eyes saved you, Choojo." "But someone sent a team of mercenaries after me, Ojiisan." "True. I am guessing now. ARES has not heard from your mega-corp. Yohon-Hana would have protested if you were a regular samurai. So, now ARES assumes you are just another girl with cat's eyes and ears. There are many out there..." Large dark raindrops beaded up on the compartment window. The lights of the city were veiled behind sheets of water. An empty station flashed by, cold fluorescent blubs, puddles, lit signs, and then darkness again. "Ojiisan, what should I do..." She asked. She turned and looked out the compartment window at her reflection again. They sat in silence for several minutes. "No, not now. Later..., Choojo ," Miyamoto started. He was interrupted by the announcement of Nekoko's stop. "Your stop will come in moments. I do not think we have enough time to talk tonight. Choojo, you must come visit us." He reached into an inside pocket. Nekoko was awake enough to start searching in her waistpouch for a clean meishi. When Miyamoto pulled his business card out, she was able to respond with her own, somewhat bedraggled business card. She took his card and looked at it. Her eyes widened and she looked up. "Come to New Gifu. Doctor Akechi and I will be able to answer some of your questions. We will discuss the drones with him." He smiled. "Next Thursday at three? Nabiki will be there. You will like her. Good. I assume you have a kimono? Bring it. Meiko likes to be formal for company." She got up slowly, moved to the door of the compartment, turned and said, "Ja-mata ne." "Saynoora." Nekoko descended from the train, stepped into a cold rain. Behind her, the train started, hummed, and rolled into the dark, a row of brightly lit rectangles. She glimpsed Miyamoto's face in a window, smiling. Then she ran for shelter and home. Article 106 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: joan@uncmed.med.unc.edu Subject: Nekoko's Story Part 6.B (Bella & Eeyore) Date: 3 Dec 90 19:17:40 GMT Bella and Eeyore stepped out of the bar clutching their flying cloaks - the wind had picked up since either had been out last. Eeyore felt as if every drop of the warming vodka he had drank evaporated from his body. Bella shivered next to him. The street was nearly deserted, only a few scurrying people could be seen and most clung to the shadows. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen this much of the street before." Eeyore pulled his cloak tighter about himself. "So, what's next?" "I need to make a quick stop, then I guess it's your place or mine." Bella scanned the street, her face uneasy in the glow of the Chatsubo neon sign hanging above their heads. She felt a chill in the air that could not be blamed entirely on the wind. "By the prickling of my thumbs, my dear Eeyore, something wicked this way comes?" "My dear Belladonna, I don't think you need to be psi to figure that out." Where the hell is everyone? Eeyore asked himself looking up at the dark grey sky. Bella caught sight of Focus hurrying towards them. "Bella, what's going on?" The once tough looking razor-boy wannabe seemed to have shed years with the change in wardrobe. The muted colors softened him, his blond hair, damp from washing, curled about his face. His eyes were frightened and looked at Bella for comfort and safety. "Sorry, love, there's been a change in plan. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning you," she pulled a vidchip, some cash, and a bronze metal card from a pocket and pressed them into the boy's hand. "Go to the address on the card, ask for Yung-Si, she will look after you. Do exactly as she says." Bella took the boy's face in her hands, "Don't worry, the people there will take care of you, teach you." The expression on Bella's face, the warmth in her voice surprised Eeyore. Eeyore had surmised, like most of the other patrons at the bar, that Bella's intrests in the boy were carnal. He could see now that her interest in him was maternal and protective. He felt like an intruder but he couldn't turn away. The moment ended. Bella kissed the boy on the cheek, "Be careful, Focus, it's very important that you stay alive tonight and get to this address. Once you are there you will be safe. Ok?" The boy nodded. Eeyore saw that his eyes were bright - he wondered offhandedly when the boy had last cried, then he tried to remember the last time he had. When Eeyore looked up from his contemplation the boy was gone and Bella was looking at him expectantly. "No, I'm not going to ask what that was all about," Eeyore spoke tersely, he felt his temper cut short. "How secure is your place?" "Very, it's not far from here either. Do you have everything you'll need?" Eeyore patted his cloak, "My deck, a bottle of vodka, and thee is all I need. Lead on, but carefully. I don't particularly want to run into any of Nekoko's six-legged friends tonight. Come to think of it, that's probably why the street are so deserted tonight - everyone's laying low." Belladonna and Eeyore melted into the shadows, observed only by a strarving rat looking for dinner and wishing he was home. Article 107 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo: >From: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu (Hubert Bartels) Subject: Nekoko's story, 6 (long) Date: 3 Dec 90 20:54:09 GMT Nekoko lay in her futon, staring at the ceiling. She was tired, the day had been long and disturbing. The killing at BUXOM BABES, the escape from the mercenaries, the trip home, the head in the box, the talk with Miyamoto Yoshiro. Her body was tired, her mind wide awake. She fing