January 2
Index
04:18:46 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
There were few things in this world that Cosmo enjoyed as much as these quiet contented moments, this deep breath after the storm. She smiled softly, letting her active mind wander as she stared into the depths of the fire, her subconscious mollified by the strong presence behind her and the beautiful body that housed it. For the first time in a long time, she was not alone.
This was not to say, however, that her guard had been lowered. That mistake had already taken place tonight and she'd vowed not to do so again. She was aware of everything around her; she knew where the closest weapons were and which of them Caska would be most likely to choose if there was an intruder. She knew where her handbag had landed, where each of her shoes, her stockings, undergarments, and both pieces of her dress were and more importantly, that her slender knife was within vaulting distance from where she lay and that the thick king-sized mattress, flipped over onto its side, would provide the quickest, easiest, soft cover in the room if there was trouble. No, her guard had not been lowered.
Cosmo's smoothly sleek muscles stretched and bunched beneath his gentle touch, a faint purr rumbling in her throat as she glanced over her shoulder. Her breath caught; that look, that languid predatory smile, was what had drawn her in the first place ... what had kept her here wallowing in pure, hedonistic bliss much longer than she would have anticipated. She smiled more broadly, offering up plush, beestung lips for the taking, her warm gaze informing him that she was satisfied ... for now ... but that as soon as he was ready ....
Again? He raised an eyebrow inquiringly.
Again. She nodded, her arms already slipping about his neck, already drawing him close ...
**********************************************************************
04:41 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Anne's doss, Auburn
Struggling, pinned against the floor, trying to fight, failing. Pain ripping through her. Heavy hands around her throat. A buzzing in her ears, louder and louder --
She bolted awake to the persistant signal of an incoming call. "What?!" And then, as she blearily picked up on the caller identification, far too tired to realise just yet that he must have specifically keyed her telecom to identify him, "Damn it, Grail, do you know what time it is?"
"0442:38, your local time. ... Oh. Right. Were you sleeping?"
"I'm awake now." She struggled to one elbow, then swung her feet to the floor to blindly feel for footware -- at least, she tried to. Overbalanced, the front half of her body pulled her forward and down, and she ended up half-rolling, half falling out of the narrow bed with a moderately-sized thunk. She had been running on empty for far too long.
"You okay, Lance?" asked Grail into her ear.
"Yeah. Just banged into something." It was a struggle to pull her thoughts together. Soykaf. Soykaf would help. She groped toward the small kitchen, set the strength to nuclear, and hoped the water would run more or less clear this time. And then she remembered: "Grail -- how come the trace picked up Anne?"
"Oh, that. He was just working off prints, right? So first thing I always do is to spoof prints across the board. You can't just frame it either, you wouldn't believe where some of yours tracked to --"
She froze with the soykaf pot in her hand. "Grail --" Anger? Demand? Pleading? Damned if she knew.
"Hey, null sweat. I took care of it. And stealthed the flags on them. There's no punch-line scheduled. You're pretty hot, huh?"
"Grail --"
"Hey, chill, Anne-type person. I owed Hobbes a favour anyway, and the two of you are paying enough for this one. It's a question of relative value, you see."
Her brain was refusing to shift properly into gear. "What?!"
"Will you chill? Of course they don't keep those booths wired. That'd just lead to a bug/counterbug arms race, and what's the point of that? Not that it keeps anyone and everyone from bringing mega-bugs and counterbugs to the meets anyway. They're a paranoid bunch."
She laughed, wishing silently for some long haul. "This from the man who watched the whole thing through the cameras behind the trid. Of course you'd have access: you probably set the system up too."
Background trumpet fanfare in her ear; she winced, and tried to will the soykaf to kick in more quickly. "I am the wizard of all things Matrix," he proclaimed, "and there are some who call me ... Tim?"
She was trying desperately to remember: had her back been to the counter the entire time? It would have been set up so that anyone who insisted on keeping their back to the wall would have their face in full view ... "And then you ran the footage through a lip reader program."
"Right in one. Very good, young Skywalker."
"What?"
"Nothing. I know a couple of Teresa's ex-partners, sort of. Real piece of work, that one. Did you want me to check out the chip he gave you?"
She sighed. "Why, do you think he beetled it? But if you'll do it for exchange for his number ..."
"I've already got his number. ... Oh right, you're still deck-challenged. One thing is for sure, the sheep is not a creature of the air. Well, slot it in the local, and I'll stealth it." She closed her eyes and did as he suggested, hearing the soft whir of the electronics as he accessed it through the Matrix, wishing without much hope that the conversation might reach out enough to shake hands with sense. "Oh wow," he said suddenly, laughing. "You didn't slot this yourself, did you? No one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition."
"What?" She seemed to have been saying that far too much in the last few minutes.
"Oh right, Calvin mentioned that you probably didn't have headware memory. Saved you this time for sure. It's got his number on it, all right. It's also got this neat worm that downloads into your memory and tracks all your on-line activity. I think I'm saving this one." He hesitated. "I'd better tighten up the SIN a bit since he's marked you, Lance ..." -- and she could almost hear the mischief creep into his voice -- "if you answer me these questions three. What ... is your name?"
She sighed. "Mariah Anne Tenisat. You knew that."
"What ... is your quest?"
"To find the holy Grail," she snapped sarcastically, not at all sure where this was going, not at all sure she wanted it to go there, but, at a depressing hour of morning framed by far too little real rest on the longer side of at least a month, no longer really caring. So it took her far too long to register his silence, and then the delighted laugh that followed it: "Oh, very, very good. One more question and you're home free."
"Go ahead," she growled.
"What ... is your gender?"
She stared stupidly into the darkness. "What?"
"Well, I'd been cleaning up the fake SIN you got me earlier -- shoddy piece of work, that was -- and I'd already got it mostly cleaned up when Hobbes sends through this other SIN for you, name of Anne. And I'd only spotted you a couple of times around the kiddie boards, Lance, and I'd only heard you the once before and you've got this kind of neutral voice, and, well, I sort of assumed you were a guy?"
He sounded distinctly flustered, so much so that it almost forced a smile from her. "Don't sweat it, Grail. The Kevin SIN's just for emergencies anyway. But for the record, I'm female."
"The clarity is devastating," and she heard the relief in his voice. "But where is the ambiguity? Over there in a box." No. She would not say it again. But then he asked suddenly, "You free now to go on a date to Shadowland?" and almost reflexively she did say it after all: "What?"
"Well, Hobbes suggested I should show you the ropes ..."
And then, as the meaning slowly registered: "You can get me onto Shadowland?"
"Null sweat. Well, er -- but I'm sure they've forgotten all about that."
**********************************************************************
05:03:27 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
Caska splashed water on his face from the tap in the bathroom before cupping his hands to drink from the refreshingly cool flow. Shaking his head, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Straightening, he examined the ten parallel red scratches down his chest. This time had been more ... playful. The sound of metal against china drew his attention back to the bedroom.
Cosmo leaned against the doorway, naked save for a wicked little smile. She held a bowl of gelato in one hand, a spoon in the other. As he watched, she lifted a spoonful of the treat to her mouth, small pink tongue darting out to catch a taste before letting the rest spill deliberately across her skin.
"You're insatiable," said Caska matter-of-factly as he crossed the floor to her.
"You say that as if it were a bad thing," she replied in a husky whisper.
**********************************************************************
05:15 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Anne's doss, Auburn
Scarcely worth trying to grab any more sleep at this point, even if the sounds of the Ancients' choppers had faded away hours ago. Anne still had a vague headache from the earlier exchange. Come to think of it, the previous conversation she'd had with Grail had had exactly the same effect.
At least non-meatbody interactions came with an "off" button.
With a sigh she stood up, stretched. She'd slept in her clothes too much of late and last night had been no exception, but now she shed them completely, let them slip to the floor and puddle around her feet as if shedding a skin of water. The icy draught bit at her bare skin. She ran her fingers over the length of her body, feeling for telltale scars or the flaring of a new infection, found a vague pleasure in finding nothing but goosebumps. Finally she was in the clear. She stooped to gather the bundle of clothing into the dry-washer: a welcome surprise that had been, a luxury she had not expected to find in this place. Against the soft sound of the sonics in the background she moved into the remainder of the sun salutation and then took the stretch routine a bit further to finish in a full sideways split with her breasts and her chin touching the floor and her arms stretched out in front of her. It placed her directly at eye-level with the cockroach just in front of her. She flicked it away absently, then brought her legs together and pushed up with her abdominal muscles alone to arch her back, drawing her arms back, before shifting into push-ups in earnest.
She'd hoped -- well, she didn't really know what she'd hoped to find on Shadowland. Data -- yes, there certainly was a lot of that. Newscast spins and counterspins and commentary. Flaming arguments up and down the boards, kept just short of icing arguments by the sysop. A couple of spell formulae she could make neither heads nor tails of. A useful background file she'd be assimilating for some time yet. A couple dozen attempts by posters to self-advertise. A couple dozen backdoor LANs she'd have absolutely no luck making use of without equipment she didn't have and couldn't afford, and that would almost certainly have been plugged by the time she could.
Her arms were trembling. Already. Irritated, she shifted into a routine of alternating leg-lifts and flat dumbbell flies and crunches and hammer curls, using a pair of light weights improvised from the combat boots Ripper had scared up for her, until she was drenched in sweat and breathing far too quickly, and then she slowed once again into the sun salutation until her heart rate had steadied and she was no longer gasping for air.
Data was useful, certainly, even essential -- but by itself all the data on Shadowland meant nothing whatsoever. When you really got down to the heart of it, it was nothing more than a collection of people talking about things. Its usefulness, its meaning, had to lie in the viewer's ability to context all that talk against personal experience. She'd thought she had experience. Now she knew she was a babe in the Barrens.
Into the third part of her morning routine, the least familiar: but here space was against her, and even though she'd deliberately truncated most of the movements to allow for the restricted environment the chain in her left hand took out a lamp she'd not noticed until she heard it land -- but at least not break, this time -- on the linoleum. After that she abandoned the chain altogether and confined herself to the isolated techniques, hoping that despite the butchered form at least some part of the movement might begin to make itself second nature to her atrophied muscles. For this as well, she'd eventually have to find a larger space, if she wanted to refine her skill. Enter it into the growing list of "wants".
She was startled to find herself planning for a future.
She finally gave up on the still-unfamiliar forms -- resentfully, she needed those skills -- and shifted into a gratifying series of punches and snap kicks at the 20 kilo bag of rice she'd hung from the ceiling as a makeshift punching bag until she was shaking with fatigue, the sweat dripping into her eyes suddenly too irritating to ignore. After a last half-hearted swipe at the bag, she let herself drop, fold from the hips to touch her ankles and wrap her fingers around her toes ... and swayed for the third time into the slow, formulaic movements of the invocation to the sun.
To have coincided that third salutation with sunrise would have been nice, maybe -- but this was Seattle, and midwinter, and she'd be lucky to feel the sun at all behind its cloud cover, even after its rising, still hours away.
She stepped into the shower and turned it on full-blast -- and gasped as the icy water scoured away the sweat. She'd heard the heating was done with solar panels, something about the building owner being environmentally conscious. Between the combination of Seattle's persistent cloud cover, the low temperatures outside, and a dying rechargeable battery, the water's heat hadn't a hope in hell of surviving the night. Maybe the reverse would be true when it hit high summer. Still, maybe one of these days the building would surprise her and the morning "hot" water would still be at least tepid?
**********************************************************************
06:11:52 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Hollywood Hills, Los Angeles, CFS
Steam. Wonderful, heavenly, marvelous steam.
Cosmo sighed blissfully and adjusted a few of the shower heads to her height. Whoever's house this was (and she was reasonably certain it wasn't Caska's), they were taller than she ... and had remarkable taste. The shower was spa quality and the light from an enclosed fireplace in one wall painted the billowing steam in shades of red and gold. She ran warm soapy fingers across a tender shoulder, gently massaging a knot that had only just started to bother her, feeling instantly revitalized by the hot water and sandalwood scented bubbles.
Sensing his presence before she actually heard him, she glanced idly over that slick shoulder and fixed Caska with a smouldering, self-satisfied smirk. The look he shot back at her though was enough to elicit another one of her low, throaty chuckles and a devastatingly dimpled smile.
"I'm insatiable?" She arched an eyebrow, laughing as he answered with a growl and an animal grin of his own.
**********************************************************************
06:55 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Auburn, in transit ... and about to be late to work
But the Westwind was sitting there, just asking to be stolen.
Asking?
Swept along in the crowd of transferring commuters returning to work after their day-after-the-night-before holiday, one anonymous face among hundreds, Anne was able to take a surreptitious second glance at the lone curb-parked vehicle which seemed to pull at her attention -- why? An odd intensity, for a piece of inanimate plastic. And it so didn't belong there, out of place the way a watery tart with a sword would be out of place in the Sound (-- oh frag, she'd picked that one up from Grail --) Maybe if it were about to be used as a getaway car, or as --
Bait.
Now that she knew they were there, she spotted the Lone Star sting operation readily enough: not even gold shields, these, but a bare step above beat cops. A less than competent snare and the incompetents were all it would ensnare -- and, she suddenly realised, that was exactly the fragging point. Joe Q Wageslave gets a glimpse of what's out there on the scary, scary streets. Then he gets a privileged close-up-and-personal of Lone Star working to make those streets safer. Warm and fuzzy feelings all around.
She vaguely wondered if the whole operation would make the evening COPs! trid feed. Not that she cared, much. She flowed briskly with the crowd, more or less average movement, more or less average height in a sea of standard deviations and some others. No one talking, no one interacting, everyone staring neutrally ahead or with their eyes slightly downcast, more than a few still with hangovers. A couple of newbie gutterpunks making to check out the car, not knowing or not caring that they had been under surveillance even before the sting picked them up and began to close on them. From Shadowland, she had learned where all the intersection and PATH and odd private security cameras were. Biometrics hadn't a hope in hell of making her.
Welcome to the sunny side of Auburn.
**********************************************************************
07:15 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Auburn, in transit ... and about to be late to work
Now officially late for work, Alleycat is a bit surprised when she walks in and instead of yelling at her, Hobbes takes her into the back. Surprisingly, the woman is a bit uncomfortable. "Hey sweetie, I know you've been in need of some money ... well I got word about something that might help you get a bit more on your feet financially, you might say. I don't know much about you, but if you want to take a stab at it, I heard there's a meeting happening at the Paradigm Shift in two days, on the 4th at 2300. No RSVP's required, just tell the guys up front that Mr. Fan sent you."
She shifts a bit uncomfortably and holds up her hands. "Now I don't know too much about you, I admit, so I don't even know if this is the kind of thing you do. But while I respect your privacy, I know that sometimes people need to ... jumpstart themselves, you know? I just figured that maybe this might help. What do you say?"
**********************************************************************
07:20 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Auburn, The Last Drop, and startled
Sweetie?
And then Alleycat felt the cold adrenalin wash through her as she realised she'd not been properly "Anne" since she'd been street-named yesterday -- or maybe even earlier, maybe at least since Teresa had caught her out. She spared the moment of self-irony: no doubt he'd been hassling her as one of his street contacts, the person you razz to get the low-down on the gang buzz. That would also explain the abnormally large tip. And the early hour talk with Grail couldn't have helped ... although she was honest enough with herself to admit that she'd been off-balance long before she'd known there was such a creature on this sixth world as Grail. But for Teresa to have picked up that much, for Hobbes to be vibing this way: she was slipping, and slipping badly.
Without a word she accepted the mug of hot soykaf the woman held out to her -- and half of it slopped over the side, her hands were shaking so badly. Hobbes reached out to take them in her large ones and steady them. She could feel their warmth against her cold skin. She couldn't move, not in the slightest. If she moved, she would begin shaking again, and she'd never stop.
No wonder Hobbes was uncomfortable, not quite sure how to approach this. The woman was dangerously perceptive. Right about now she'd know she was seeing Sedna, who'd had to become Anne, and who'd already talked the idea out with her as something she felt she'd have to do -- but her gut would be telling her -- what?
Or maybe Hobbes was just being gentle about it, trying to ease her way into that "jumpstart" into the shadows they'd both agreed was necessary. That was a possibility too. She didn't know. She hated not knowing.
She stared at the floor, frozen. "Anne" would stare at the floor. Why would Anne stare at the floor? Because the whole thing was new to her, there's a start. Because -- oh, let's assume Hobbes was just being nice to her. Anne's had a difficult few years, she'd be almost afraid of niceness. It's for sure she wouldn't trust it. It's when people are nice that the other shoe drops. But Hobbes is absolutely right, she's got to get on her feet somehow ... jumpstart herself, pay off all the debts she's got on her back and the new ones she's been incurring with Hobbes and Grail. But yesterday it was still kind of abstract, and here the moment's upon her. Is it the kind of thing Anne does?
"I guess I'll find out," Anne said at last, still not looking up. "Yes. I'll go." She downed the rest of the soykaf in a hard gulp, managed a brave smile. "Hey, thanks."
**********************************************************************
08:35:14 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFS
Caska holds the door for Cosmo, handing her out of the vehicle before the lobby doors to her apartment complex. The sun, in a cruel irony, shines brightly in a surprisingly smog-free day. After the second shower, they'd eaten breakfast at Rich's Deli, an out-of-the-way spot in West Hollywood. It had done much to heal the exhaustion of the night's activities. Caska was still worn, though, operating at three-quarters efficiency. Still deadly enough for the streets, but without the edge he was accustomed to having.
"I had a really good time last night. This morning. I'd like to see you again. I'll call you on Wednesday."
**********************************************************************
08:35:21 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Riverwalk Apartment Complex, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo smiled meaningfully and quirked an eyebrow as she glanced from Caska to the lobby doors and then back again, a devilish dimple peeking out of one cheek. Come with me, she said wordlessly, knowing full well that he wouldn't ... not that she had all that much time before her meeting with Tino anyway.
"I'd like that as well," she nodded, "Wednesday."
Tomorrow. Cosmo grinned, blowing a soft kiss in his direction before she turned and gracefully made her way inside the building. They'd made a point of saying their farewells hours ago so there was no point drawing anything out (as much as she would have liked to graze her lips across his cheek one last time ...). As pleased as she was with the night's success, there was a certain delicacy she would have to use from now on; questions she'd expected to ask the night before would have to be re-evaluated ... a couple key portions of her plan for tonight would have to be reworked. She could not ask him to work with her, not while they were still new to one another; it was a strain neither of them needed.
She sighed and stepped into the elevator, weary but completely alert, carefully assessing the interior before selecting the button that would take her to Megan Richard's cozy apartment for a short nap, tall cup of java, and a couple of pastries before she made her way to Il Grano.
**********************************************************************
09:00 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Klaus's Doss, Tacoma
The morning looks like the other mornings in Seattle. Grey, with a steady drizzle of cold rain. Heavy enough to make the trash in the gutters wet, but not heavy enough to sweep it away. Putting on his hat and trenchcoat, Klaus heads out into the street.
He walks 5 blocks south, and slots his certified stick into the payphone. Speaking into Lucy's dead drop, Klaus says, "I need a mage to assist me in a ritual. No actual spell casting, and virtually no risk. 2 to 6 hours of work. I need some one competent but not greedy. I'll have my phone with me."
Klaus heads down to the Starbucks to have a triple mocha grande, read a scream sheet or two and wait for a call.
**********************************************************************
09:00 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Land's End magic shop, Auburn
"What a night. Uneventful and boring," Andie says to himself and gets off his cot. "Time to check the goo."
Andie walks over to the furnance to check the orichalcum batch's progression and stokes the furnance for the coming day.
Day 2 ... he thinks to himself.
**********************************************************************
11:13 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Local Starbucks, Tacoma
Lucy calls Klaus back as he's about to finish up with the local screamsheet. "I've got a couple people I could send your way. How much are you offering, and is there any follow-up to the ritual to speak of?"
**********************************************************************
11:13 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Local Starbucks, Tacoma
Klaus says, "I am willing to part with ¥500 for the ritual, and offer first crack at any additional work generated by my current job."
**********************************************************************
11:14 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Local Starbucks, Tacoma
"All right, I can have someone for you in a few hours or so. Where do you want them to meet you, and when?" Lucy replies.
**********************************************************************
11:14 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Local Starbucks, Tacoma
Klaus replies, "Same place as the last meet, at 2000. By the You Should Not Eat So Much stand."
Lucy smiles into the phone, "Clever. OK, 2000. I'll give him a description. Keep your hat on."
"You got it. Thanks."
Klaus finishes his coffee, drops the paper on the table and heads out the door. Walking to the trusty phone booth, he calls Norman.
"Hey, Norman, I need a ride at about five. Can you pick me up at the Starbucks?"
Norman shouts over squealing tires and the occasional gunshot, "Yeah, no problem. You won't be wanting to head into the barrens tonight, will you? I'll have to charge for ammo. The Rusty Stillettos are feeling upitty."
"No I won't, Norman. Sounds like you're busy, I'll see you this evening."
"OK Klaus, I'll be there."
Klaus laughs, hangs the phone up and heads home. After some soy-egg rolls, and some Sports Center, Klaus switches from receive to interactive, calls up the Yellow pages and looks for "talismongers" listed in the Renton area.
With a couple of addresses written down, Klaus hits the bed about 1400 for a two hour nap.
**********************************************************************
11:58:43 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
The facade of Il Grano was no less impressive by daylight than it was among the harsh shadows of the Los Angeles night, the lovely pale bricks and terracotta accents almost seemed lit with a soft inner glow in the bright January sunshine. Cosmo was in an infinitely better mood than she was at the beginning of her last meeting with Tino; a full day's worth of rest and ... recreation had seen to that. A satisfied little smile played across her lips as she remembered that exercise had always helped her find focus. Now, focused as she was, she was quite ready to get to work.
And get to the bottom of this ...
She'd spent another full forty minutes this morning going over the FTL Matrixware blueprints, poring over the surveillance photos, and picking her own brain over what she'd seen the other day. There would have to be a few alterations to her initial plan. Ultimately, she'd decided not to ask Caska to join her tonight; there were too many variables with the man who had proven just as adaptable as she'd worked so hard to become, too many questions she'd have to put to him later that would already be difficult considering their as yet undefined relationship. There was no point complicating things with a business relationship as well.
You're flying solo tonight, girl, she mused, glancing down at her watch. It was almost like old times, actually. Those first confusing weeks in the shadows when she was grasping for something, anything, that could tell her who she was and where she'd been all this time had taught her to rely on her own skills and intelligence above everything else. Gear, cred, and contacts were a luxury, not a necessity. Working alone eliminated a lot of the guesswork inherent in team-play but also required that she be at the top of her game. There was no room for a mistake, even a small one.
11:59:53
Cosmo began glancing around casually for signs of Tino, one hand idly brushing a few strands of sleek auburn hair out of her eyes.
This would be very much like old times.
**********************************************************************
12:01:05 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
The heavy-set Italian fixer steps from the dim recesses of the bar, a tumbler of clear liquid in one hand and data display unit in the other. He smiles and winks at Cosmo as she waits by the maitre d' stand.
"Ah, signora, just on time. Come with me."
With a deft move, he slides back into the kitchen, past the long stainless steel tables full of food and utensils, to the large walk in freezer in back. The outer door opens silently on oiled hinges, revealing floor to ceiling racks stocked with boxes and crates. Making his way through the narrow aisle, Drago keys in a ten digit code to a second door in the rear of the freezer. The room revealed is narrow, but large enough to hold five times the gear currently waiting on the tile floor. The jumpsuit came in its own disposable plastic bag, while the patches were sealed in a hard-sided case about the size of a cigarette pack. The grenades shipped in an OD green plastic carton that still carried the NSN and manufacturer's part number stenciled on in yellow paint.
"Double check to make sure you have everything," advised Drago, sipping from his mojito.
**********************************************************************
12:03:46 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo was careful to clear each of the rooms they stepped through on their way to the shoebox on the other side of the walk-in freezer. There were places she would have rather gone, of course, places that had an alternative exit, at least. Still, the fact that even the kitchen staff made a point of ignoring the two of them was comforting. She was dressed to stand out ... not to be remembered.
Even the briefest glance was enough to tell Cosmo that all of her gear was present. She made a show of glaring over her shoulder at Tino's kindly advice before winking broadly and chuckling as she went over to the small pile of gear.
"Four stun, two smoke, two IR smoke, two patches, and the jumpsuit, size five. Tino, you are a wizard!" Deep dimples peeked out of each cheek as she grinned up at the Italian. "How was breakfast?"
**********************************************************************
12:05:03 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Drago finished his mojito in one long gulp, pretending to ignore Cosmo's looks.
"She was delicious, thank you. Oh, you mean the food? That was palatable as well."
The self-satisfied curl to his lips would not have been out of place on a fox in a henhouse. Cosmo didn't doubt that that was a situation Drago had been in a dozen times before. The older Italian shifted gears with the smoothness of a Ferrari's transmission, a charming smile the promised all the attention she could want appearing on his face.
"I don't suppose I could interest you in some lunch, bella signora?"
**********************************************************************
12:05:48 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Unable to help the laugh that slipped out at Tino's smile, she wiggled her eyebrows and carefully packed the new equipment into her soft-sided duffel bag. Rising gracefully, she offered a slim credstick and another wink.
"Business first, Drago. Thirty-two hundred for the gear and two hundred for your breakfast, should do it, hmm?"
At Tino's slight nod of assent, Cosmo nodded as well and passed the credstick into his waiting hand. "Lunch would be lovely, Tino. Grazie."
**********************************************************************
12:37:21 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Drago leaned back in his chair, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his napkin and sipping from his wineglass. Lunch was light; ensalata, prima pasta, and then a sautéed chicken breast dusted with a white wine sauce that Drago would not reveal the ingredients to despite Cosmo's best efforts at persuasion. Well, maybe not her best, but certainly the most persuasive she could be in public. A soft chime rang from his wrist chronograph, and Drago stood, bowing slightly and brushing his lips across the back of Cosmo's hand.
"Grazie, signora, your presence made the meal divine. But I regret that I have a prior engagement, prego, stay as long as you like, the fare is on me."
Straightening, he retrieved his data display unit from beside his chair and headed back into the bar.
**********************************************************************
13:11:06 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
Cosmo hadn't lingered over her lunch despite the excellent quality of the fare and the charming ambiance of Il Grano's less formal dining lounge. Even though she hadn't budgeted time for her lunch today the opportunity to cozy up to a contact wasn't lost on her; the value of that prospect alone was well worth postponing her schedule by half an hour.
She smiled, balancing an awkward paper tray on one arm while she buzzed apartment 3G. The four tall cups of coffee threatened to splash at any moment with the very real potential to ruin the soft white cashmere sweater she'd paired with jeans for this trip. A paper bag filled with delectable pastries dangled from her fingers, anxious to find out if Mr. Andersen was in this afternoon.
"Sean? Hello? It's Lisa from yesterday and ... and ... I need your help!"
Lisa Taylor put just the right amount of desperation into her voice to keep her true motive a secret.
**********************************************************************
13:13:28 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
After a long pause, during which any number of myriad contingencies spin through Cosmo's mind, the speaker clicks on.
"Who?" asks the tinny, obviously confused voice.
"Lisa, Lisa Taylor? You let me in yesterday when I forgot my keys," Cosmo enunciates very clearly, keeping her tone light and sweet.
"Oh, right." Sean's voice was less confused, but he was obviously still having trouble placing the name. The front lock buzzed anyway, and she snatched at the handle, carefully balancing the weight of her packages against the torque required to pull open the security door. Once inside, she headed for the elevator.
**********************************************************************
13:14:03 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
Cosmo was on a low simmer all the way up the elevator, no weapon she'd ever held in recent memory seemed as inviting as a cup of steaming hot coffee.
It's barely been a day! She fumed, her pale cheeks flushed with irritation. How could he have forgotten so soon? Stalking out of the elevator with an indignant huff, she strode down the hallway, undeserved gifts in hand, and rapped on the door.
3G, I'll ram it up his ...
Lisa took a deep, calming breath and stepped into character, hoping that she wouldn't sound too sweet in her effort to remain pleasant. A shy, dimpled smile was locked and loaded, ready for the eventual appearance of Sean Andersen and her flushed cheeks would appear to be nothing more than an embarassed blush. She held out the tray of coffee and the bag of pastries as an offering once the door was opened.
"Hey, Sean," she started breathlessly, "sorry to bug you. Do you like coffee?"
**********************************************************************
13:14:27 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
Sean blinks in surprise and recognition, his face flushing as he recalled not only their brief encounter but the subsequent dreams. He's dressed in his work uniform, although his shirt is unbuttoned and untucked. He runs a hand through his hair, glancing back ruefully at his unkempt apartment before returning Cosmo's smile.
"Ah, yeah, hi. Come in, please. Sorry for the mess."
He closes the door after Cosmo then hurries to clear off the dirty plates and dishes and dump them in the sink. The drink cartons are swept into the trash bin, and he quickly closes the door.
"So, uhm, it's nice to see you again."
**********************************************************************
13:14:52 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
"It's nice to see you too, and don't worry about the mess. It happens, right?"
She winks slightly and sets her packages down on the newly cleared counter, figuring that her place would likely look like this as well if she could ever stand to stay still. His flush was adorable and clearly he did remember who she was. The soft, sweet smile came more easily as she began pulling pastries out of the bag and arranging them onto paper napkins from her purse. Her constant stream of chatter would hopefully help him calm down a bit.
"Again, I hope I'm not intruding, Sean, but I was supposed to meet a few of my girlfriends for coffee this afternoon but we had to cancel so I figured I'd get them something to go. Well apparently, the lawyers at their firm all decided to go out for lunch so the girls went too and now I have all this," she gestures towards the food and designer coffee, "to share. If you're interested, of course."
Cosmo trailed off with a bit of a question, her gaze flickering to his unbuttoned work shirt.
"Did I show up at a bad time?"
**********************************************************************
13:15:59 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
"Uh, no, it's fine. I'm, ah, just getting ready for work but I don't have to leave for another couple of hours."
Sean seems at a loss of what to do, standing in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets. After Cosmo lays out the spread, he scoops up a steaming cup of coffee and pastry.
"Thanks," he smiles.
**********************************************************************
13:16:40 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
Cosmo returns the smile with a shy duck of her head and a bashful grin.
"Any time. I mean, well, I'm glad you were around to help me out again and ... it's good to see you again."
Blushing, she raised her paper cup. "To my rescuer ..."
They'd spend the next ten minutes or so standing in the middle of the room and chatting about fairly regular things. Lisa displayed a fair amount of interest in his job, even showed a bit of concern over how dangerous security jobs could be if things ever went wrong, hoping that he was well protected at in his line of work. She'd hate to hear about someone as nice as he was getting hurt in the line of duty.
After a little while longer it came to the point where they were both holding their first empty coffee cup. Cosmo affected a bit of a pout and set her cup aside, dusting her fingers off on a clean napkin.
"So I guess you work a lot of late nights, huh?"
**********************************************************************
13:20:11 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
"Oh, it's not so bad, we're well equipped and the building is secure against the usual rabble. Plus, if things get really bad, we've got back-up waiting at the Hard Corps depot just down the road. But yeah, the night shift is where we expect to see trouble, so we keep the guard rotation up."
Sean talks easily about his job, pleased at the attention from Cosmo. He is not a braggart, though, and does not disclose useful casual details. He's been exposed to basic Operations Security Training, and Cosmo finds herself having to be circumspect about digging for the information she wants. Their protocols seem to focus around containment of valuable merchandise, as well as area denial against an intruding force. He doesn't explicitly state as much, but Cosmo is willing to bet that the security system is matrix-based and heavily automated, with advanced pattern recognition software running on the security cameras in order to detect unauthorized personnel and to initiate lockdown.
**********************************************************************
13:21:48 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
Ahh, crap.
Cosmo made a point of smiling in spite of the slow sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, her expressive eyes taking on a faraway look as she tried to remember what she'd read about matrix-based systems and some of the software they ran. But then what did you expect with a name like FTL Matrixware?
"So tell me, Sean," Lisa dimples as she takes a sip from a fresh cup of coffee. The high colour in her cheeks suggests a bit of embarassment over her current train of thought as does her more ... pronounced breathing.
"Are there a lot of pretty girls where you work?"
Crap crap crap crap crap.
**********************************************************************
13:22:11 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
Sean coughs in surprise, almost choking on the bite of pastry in his mouth. Clearing his throat, he takes a drink.
"Uh, I guess so, sure, but they're just the people I work with. Certainly, ah, not as pretty as you."
What seemed like a good thing to say in his head is altogether different when said out loud, and he flushes with embarrassment.
**********************************************************************
13:22:37 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
There was only a split-second to make the decision and out of all the things she'd done in recent memory, few things had hurt as much as this would. Offering a silent prayer to the Powers that Be, Cosmo feigned a look of wide-eyed surprise as Sean coughs ...
... and promptly spills her cup of coffee all over the front of her exquisite white cashmere sweater. The tears that fill her eyes are real but calculated to seem as though they're more from the pain of the steaming hot java than the loss of the designer top.
"Oh no," she sobs, pulling the soggy garment away from her chest, looking up at Sean with imploring chocolate-brown eyes.
**********************************************************************
13:22:43 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
"Oh! Uh, here!" Sean scoops up a rumpled dish towel from the counter, moving to help Cosmo dab at the spill but stopping just short of actually touching her.
"Uhm, why don't you ...? And I'll ..." He motions towards the roll of paper towel on the sink, smiling gratefully when Cosmo takes the towel from his hand.
"The, uh, bathroom is just through here," he opens the door to the bedroom and motions to his left. "There's towels in the drawer under the sink. Are you, uh, burned at all?"
**********************************************************************
13:22:56 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
Cosmo shakes her head gratefully in spite of the two great tears falling down either cheek. My poor, beautiful sweater ...
"I don't think so but I'd better check, just in case." She rests her hand delicately against the curve of his bicep but pulls it away just as quickly with an embarassed laugh and a bright blush. "Thanks, Sean, I'll hurry so I can help you clean up."
Hurrying into his bedroom with her small satchel tucked under one arm, she begins pulling the garment up over her head without a thought as to whether or not he might be watching. There's no sound of either door closing, though.
"I'm all right but these are going to have to soak right away if I'm ever going to get the stain out." She peeks around the doorjamb with a worried smile, holding her sweater out for his perusal. "Do you have a t-shirt or something that I could borrow? Just for a little while?"
**********************************************************************
13:23:39 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
Cosmo smiled, a thin towel clutched to her chest as she took the extended t-shirt with a soft sigh.
"Thanks, Sean. I owe you, big time, for this."
Spotting a rumbled work shirt not too far away from where she stood, she waits for Sean's harried exit and kicks a pile of clothes over where it used to be, scooping the garment up and bundling it with the grey t-shirt as she makes her way into the washroom to change. Less than two minutes pass before she steps back into the kitchen, looking positively adorable in the oversized urban brawl t-shirt. Her satchel (with the tightly packed work shirt at the very bottom) is slung over one shoulder. Her ruined clothes are in a plastic bag.
"I hope you don't mind, but I grabbed this on my way out." Cosmo smiles bashfully and sighs again. "These need to be cleaned right away, too, but I wish I could stick around. When's a good time to bring your shirt back? I can bring something less likely to stain next time ..."
**********************************************************************
13:23:56 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
"Huh? Oh, yeah, that's fine. Um, how about lunch tomorrow?"
Sean smiles, his eyes travelling over her form in an appreciation of how good she makes the simple shirt look.
**********************************************************************
13:24:17 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
Cosmo nods, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink as he looks her over.
"Lunch." She grins. "I'll stop by around one. Take care of yourself, Sean, and have a good night." Thanks for the shirt.
After taking a halting step towards him, she pauses, laughs softly and turns around, leaving the apartment without another word, a shy smile playing across her lips all the way to the elevator. It was pretty funny, she thought, that she'd be seeing him much sooner if things didn't go according to her plan.
What is the plan, anyway?
She chuckled, stuffing the plastic bag into her satchel with a wry shake of her head. No plan ever survives first contact anyway, right? Be prepared. Stay flexible. The thought was somewhat comforting, though it didn't help her feel much safer. Pattern recognition systems and a Hard Corps office right down the street from the target would do that to a body, though, no matter how detailed their plan might be. The first stirrings of adrenaline tingled in her fingertips as she picked up her pace, checking to make sure that the back door in the lobby was inconspicuously wedged open before she strode through the front entrance and towards her car.
"Time for more shopping," Cosmo sighed as she slipped into the sleek sports coupe, resisting the urge to gun the engine and drive until the knot in the pit of her stomach unwound itself. She had a uniform to pick up and a few alterations to make to its components before she started packing her bag for the trip and she still hadn't decided on where she'd leave her car tonight.
**********************************************************************
14:10:24 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Tokyo, Japan
The five figures flowed through the shadows like sharks through deep water, weapons shouldered. The heavy cleats of their boots were quiet on the steel grating of the catwalks, even at the rapid pace they moved. Each wore the armor and stylized helmet of a Red Samurai, but unlike the dress armor these weren't painted red with silver piping. Instead, they were done in digital subdued urban camo tones, patterned to break up their silhouette in front of all optical sensors. Their weapon and equipment loads were all identical to prevent identification based on tactical roles on the team. The assault rifles they carried were Ren Raku standard, firing caseless 7x43mm 120 grain FMJ TEC rounds with an underbarrel 30mm grenade launcher. Each was equipped with an EOTech holographic weapon sight, along with a laser designator. The team's lasers were all keyed to the same digital code, allowing them to spot for heavy ordinance delivery alongside other Red Samurai assets.
The team cornered the hallway silently, moving with swift predatory precision. Each member covered his assigned sector, switching smoothly as new threat vectors opened up. Constant communication flowed among them, heads up displays on their helmets presenting tactical data in sidebars or visual overlays. Radio traffic from external obeservers and drone surveillance snapped over the commlink, providing a macroscopic picture for the team.
As they came to the doorway at the end of the catwalk, they fanned out, two to one side, three to the other. The point man tried the maglock with no success, stepping back and joining the defensive formation while the intrusion specialist bypassed the jammed device. Before the final command was sent, the two operators closest the door palmed flash-packs from their tac gear, thumb pressure on the arming switchs setting each to constant strobe.
The doors hissed open and the flash-packs soard into the room, clattering along the floor. The high intensity halogen strobes shuttered at an offset 120 Hz, dazzling the room. The team moved in from both sides of the doorway, weapons up and ready. No one crossed a muzzle line. Gunfire stabbed across the room as targets sprang from concealment. The team's response was immediate, short controlled bursts scything down their opponents. The Terminal Expansion Control rounds were designed to defeat both light cloth armor and ceramic splinter plates, as well as light vehicle armor. It was over in seconds, ten targets lying dead on the dirty concrete.
The overhead floods came on, bathing the room in harsh, shadowless light. The Samurai rose from their defensive crouches, finishing the motions of reloading and safing their weapons. Two men entered the room from the second doorway, one dressed in a conservative gray business suit the other in dress armor. They ignored the steaming bodies strewn at grotesque angles amidst the wreckage of combat, gazing instead at the five warriors. The man in the business suit coughed once, to clear his throat from the haze of cordite fumes and effluvium that hung in the air, before speaking.
"Congratulations, Class 3352. Your final graduation exercise is complete. You are now Fourth Squad, Fourth Company, Second Battalion, Atlanta Brigade. Well done."
As one, the five Samurai came to attention and saluted.
**********************************************************************
14:42:06 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Pasadena, CFS
Well ... I'm as ready as I'll ever be.
Admittedly, she felt somewhat less than secure, strapped as she was to the underside of Sean Andersen's Americar ... with a small arsenal secured against her stomach, no less. Cosmo was already sweating from the layers upon layers of clothing she was wearing; the black nylon stocking covering her face did not promote proper air circulation nor did the clinging kevlar-reinforced suit that covered her from top to toe allow for optimal ventilation. All in all, she was not terribly comfortable. The armored leather longcoat she wore (with the long tails wrapped about her ankles) saw to it that the trip to FTL Matrixware did not become even more uncomfortable.
It had been a busy hour but overall extremely productive. She'd been able to make a fair copy of the FTL security uniform, complete with transplanted patches for that degree of authenticity and while she lacked a working key card, something that might pass for one at first glance was clipped to the front pocket of her work shirt. Now that she had a bit of time to think (heck, she wasn't going anywhere for a while), Cosmo took the time to study the building's blueprints again using the heads-up display function of her eyeglasses. There wasn't much else to do besides wait for Sean to drive them to work and go over the loose details of her plan, taking all that she knew, and a few things she assumed, into consideration.
And hey, if things don't go well at least the car is only six blocks away ...
**********************************************************************
15:19:31 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Sean slotted his ID through the cardreader at the entrance to the parking lot, waiting as the gate scaled back to allow him access. Pulling into the lot, he parked in the section reserved for security personnel. With a sigh, he stepped out of the vehicle and headed towards the service entrance of the building.
Cosmo waited until the sounds of Sean's footsteps faded before releasing the webbing which held her in place. She set her left arm down first, trying to cushion her back from the hard asphalt. She taken two good whacks from the road on the way here, one of which she knew had torn skin from her shoulderblades. Getting out of her jumpsuit was going to be a painful endeavour.
**********************************************************************
15:23:04 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo ground her teeth as she laid perfectly still against the cool pavement, letting the burning pain in her back seep into the ground. She gave herself a slow count to fifty to relax before glancing around the parking lot at ground level to clear herself and get her bearings. Slowly, deliberately, she'd begin the slow process of shrugging out of her long coat, moving by the smallest degrees possible until the garment lay beneath her and then finally on the side of her opposite the building. It was a calculated risk to remain beneath the Americar but she was counting on the shadows already beneath it (and the residual heat from its engine) to conceal her until full dark.
Stay sharp. Wait for nightfall, she reminded herself, look for the larger vehicles then, move, and wait for someone to be leaving for the night.
The bright smile that flashed across her face was quickly suppressed. So what if she'd made it in? There was still too much to do before there'd be any reason to celebrate.
**********************************************************************
16:30 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - the Last Drop, Auburn
As busy a shift as ever and maybe a bit more so, still at least five hours yet to go and the supper crowd not yet arrived, the work so steady and demanding that Anne had no time to think, only to be.
Morning staggered rush of commuters blended almost seamlessly into mid-morning hurried brunchers, few of whom spared any more time than to grab the styrofoam cup of soykaf and maybe a bagel and take off, even fewer thinking to leave anything resembling a reasonable tip. To those, she was little more than automated machinery. She'd already noticed that those paying with coins were much more likely to leave her their change than those slotting credsticks. She'd made a point, second day on this job, to focus a genuine smile on each separate person as she took their money and gave them their soykaf. The few that took the moment to catch it did drop some extra nuyen her way.
Around 1030, more or less, there'd be a break in the flow and she'd find a large plate of seasoned eggs or something waiting for her at the counter. Real eggs too, lightly dusted with rosemary, pepper, and paprika. The place generally served a subtle mix of real food and soy, but it seemed to be a matter of pride for Johnny that those working at the Last Drop should be well fed. The only time he was not in the kitchen by choice seemed to be when he had to oversee some delicate piece of magical manipulation over an extended period of time. He honestly seemed to enjoy the process of cooking -- and he was also very good at it. Maybe it had something to do with the meticulous nature required for enchanting. Maybe not. After the first couple of minor disasters, Anne had been banished from the kitchen except in a dish-washing capacity whenever the automats died.
She'd have maybe fifteen minutes or so to bolt those eggs. Sometimes she spared the time to sit. Today, not.
The lunch crowd mostly did spare the time to sit, spaces at the counter being occupied almost as quickly as they were freed up. Still mostly wageslaves, but there were also a few scattered students, they'd started making an appearance around brunch. The tips here remained relatively low, but much more reliable than with the breakfast crowd. Sometimes Anne could even spare the time to exchange words with one of the regulars. As with the breakfast menu, lunch choices were limited -- although they did include the near-compulsary stir-fry -- but easily the most popular, and the reason for so high a percentage of returning clientelle, was the stew. To the best of her knowledge, that pot never left the burner.
Another break mid-afternoon, this one a bit longer, when a bowl of that stew and its accompanying hunk of white, crusty bread made an appearance for her. It involved real onions, she knew that much: she'd smelled them when he'd been chopping them earlier. Besides that? There might have been meat involved at some point, if certainly much less than the aroma suggested. Potatoes, definitely real: she'd asked once and gotten an expression in response that suggested she'd just commited sacrilege. A couple of carrots, freeze-dried, stretched to go a long long way. Some other unidentifiable green things floating around.
She usually did sit for this one. The stew deserved it.
**********************************************************************
16:45 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Klaus's Doss, Tacoma
Klaus makes sure he's got everything, puts his hat on and heads out the door to meet Norman. He gives Norman the address to The Magic Touch in Renton, and relaxes for the long drive.
**********************************************************************
17:25 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - The Magic Touch, Renton
Klaus arrives at The Magic Touch.
**********************************************************************
17:25 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - The Magic Touch, Renton
Klaus walks into The Magic Touch. Like most talismongering shops, it's a small, individually-owned operation. One of the workers, a young teenager probably there just to clean up and dust the shelves, looks over at him and asks, "Can I help you with something today, sir?"
**********************************************************************
17:25 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - The Magic Touch, Renton
Klaus smiles and says "Yes, my dear, I need a few things. I need materials for a big shamanic lodge, I need ritual materials, and I need to speak with the proprietor of this establishment."
After a half an hour of rummaging around, Klaus slots his stick and watches ¥ 3500 tick off. As Klaus is stuffing his new stuff into his new synth-leather patchwork backpack, the girl disappears through one of the beaded doorways, and Daisy appears.
So far as stunningly beautiful elven mages go, she's nothing special, Klaus thinks. Until she smiles. Great, I'm in love.
Attempting to keep his composure, Klaus smiles and says "Hi. I have a favor to ask. It's one I'm willing to pay for, but I'll understand if you say no.
"You have a beautiful place out here. There is natural beauty all around. I have a ritual I must conduct, and I was wondering if I could use a space in the woods in back. It's not an attack or anything, I'm just looking for someone."
**********************************************************************
17:26 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - The Magic Touch, Renton
Daisy purses her lips slightly. It's quite an appealing look. "Well, I don't know ... how long do you plan on keeping the lodge up there? If it's a temporary thing, I don't see why not, especially if it won't bring trouble ..."
She looks up at Klaus. "How much time do you need to rent back there?" she asks, cutting directly to the chase.
**********************************************************************
17:26 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - The Magic Touch, Renton
Klaus ponders for a moment, then says, "Overnight should take care of it. I'll be gone before you open in the morning."
**********************************************************************
17:27 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - The Magic Touch, Renton
Daisy smiles winningly at Klaus. Despite his valiant attempts to maintain his composure ... he fails miserably. He blushes slightly and clears his throat. "Ahem ... so, um ... er ... would that be ok with you?" he stammers, and then quickly recovers towards the end of his sentence.
None of this is lost on Daisy. Giving him a wink, she says, "Well, I close in about two hours, at 1930. And unfortunately, it's been such a busy day, I don't think I have the energy to cook dinner. How about you take me out to dinner and we can talk about your little ritual then?"
Just as Klaus is about to respond, "HECK YEAH!" or something much more controlled and less overly enthusiastic (but nonetheless something to that effect), he remembers. Curses! I have a meet at 2000. But a dinner date with Daisy? Don't know if she likes me or whatever, but still! Blast! Decisions decisions ...
**********************************************************************
17:27 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - The Magic Touch, Renton
Klaus does some quick math in his head, and it adds up to making a quick phone call.
"That would be most excellent. Please allow me to take a few minutes to reschedule a couple of things."
Still grinning, Klaus walks out the door into the parking lot. Keying his cell he calls Lucy's drop. A man's voice answers: "You've reached J&L’s pest control. We are currently away from the phone, please leave a message."
"Hi, it is me. Can't make the meet. Reschedule for midnight at Club Penumbra. I'll throw in an extra hundred for the inconvenience. Please get back to me if there's a problem."
Calling information next, Klaus gets the LTG for Aztecha International, 16206(42-2309).
"Hello, Aztecha International? My name is Klaus Ebert, and I need a table for tonight. Yes, I'm aware that it's short notice. Get me a decent table for two, and I promise to leave a generous tip. Yes, 9:00 is fine, thank you very much."
Stepping back in, Klaus finds Daisy again and says, "So, I'll pick you up at 8:30 if that's all right?"
**********************************************************************
17:30 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - The Magic Touch, Renton
Daisy smiles at Klaus's response. "Sounds great! I'll be ready at 8:30." Her smile widens. "I can have my assistant close up while I get ready."
Turning to her assistant, she says, "Sharon, I'm going to run home early to start getting ready in a little while. Can you close up the store for me today?"
Sharon replies with a smile, "No problem, Daisy. Enjoy your date." Half turning towards Klaus but technically still talking to Sharon, she says, "Oh I am quite certain that I will, won't I, Klaus?"
Smiling back at the two ladies, Klaus assures both of them that he will make quite certain Daisy has a good time. Bidding both of them a good evening, he leaves the store, feeling pretty darn good.
Reflecting back on it, he thinks to himself, Hmm ... if my watcher hadn't failed, I wouldn't have ended up coming here and needing to cast a ritual ... and so forth and so forth and so forth ... Bottom line, I got a place to do the ritual AND a hot date with Daisy. Maybe I should ask my watchers to fail me more often. Grinning, he debates how to spend the next two hours ...
**********************************************************************
17:30 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - The Magic Touch, Renton
... and decides to spend it out back setting up his medicine tent. Since it must be done anyway, why not now?
It takes an hour or so to get everything in place, and another hour of chanting and dancing to make it feel right.
That done, he walks back past the shop and into the parking lot, where he calls Norman.
"Hey buddy, I need a favor. I need a cab for the night. Just one way. I'll catch another for the trip home. Pick me up here at 8:30."
"But I started at 9 this morning. I'm tired and my arthritis is acting up," Norman says, suddenly sounding more like 85 than 65.
Klaus doesn't miss a beat. "Would an extra hundred nuyen buy you that operation you need so badly?"
"Yes, that would just about cover it. See you at 8:30."
Still laughing, Klaus walks back into the woods behind the shop, relaxes in the medicine tent, and meditates till 8:20.
Klaus stretches, combs his hair, fixes his tie, dusts off his jacket and his shoes. He pulls his overcoat and hat back on, and walks through the freezing January mist to the front door of The Magic Touch. At exactly 8:30, he waves at Norman as he pulls into the parking lot, and knocks on the door.
**********************************************************************
17:47:21 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Come out, come out, wherever you are ...
Cosmo smiled as she lay beneath a battered '59 Ford Texan, her body pressed close to the chill black asphalt. The digital readout on the inside of her glasses indicated that it was just coming on ten to six and the small cluster of vehicles she'd chosen for her battleground were the coldest in the parking lot. A small, hard-sided case was clutched in her left hand, a single slap patch concealed in her right. Taking out a random employee for their ID card was almost as important as securing Sean Andersen's Americar for the ride over but she saw no reason to connect the two. Sean had seen her face, after all.
So here she lay, poised and ready to strike, her keen eyes scanning the building for signs of someone heading to their vehicle after a long shift at FTL Matrixware. She would take them out quietly and advance to the next stage in her plan.
**********************************************************************
18:24:49 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo watched the workboots approach the pick-up truck, controlling her breathing. They stopped at the driver's side door as the individual fumbled briefly with their keys. With one swift motion, she scissored her legs across their ankles, using the momentum to swing her into position to bounce their head off the ground with her hardliner gloves. The driver gave a single ooof before relaxing into unconsciousness. Cosmo yanked the body beneath the truck, lifting the man's ID card from the lanyard around his neck. We're in business now ...
**********************************************************************
18:25:14 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Growling softly under her breath, Cosmo turned the card over in her hands just to be sure.
No RFID. I guess it's better to know for sure than to guess, but ... She growls again and removes his jacket, quickly wrapping a long strand of duct tape around his forearms before rolling him onto his back and fastening a smaller strip of the tape across his mouth. One of the tails of her tattered long coat is pulled over his head like a hood and secured around the neck, and then all over, with still more duct tape. She reviews her handiwork carefully, nods, and tosses his keys, along with the roll of tape and the tranq patches, into her soft-sided duffel. The ID card is hung about her neck and secured behind the fair (unworking) copy she'd created earlier that day.
A feral grin plays across her features as she pulls the black stocking up over her head, revealing a face that is both hers and not hers all at once. The soft contours of her features are sharpened with makeup and darkened to seem vaguely hollow, her eyes, diminuitive and all but hidden behind her glasses are ringed with brownish yellow circles. Full, soft lips are lined to seem smaller, coloured to be paler than average in a lined face that might have been pretty ... once upon a time. Cosmo slips out of her armored jumpsuit quickly and bundles it into one of the zippered sides of her bag. Her uniform, though a little rumpled from the trip, seems remarkably similar to the one of the man she'd just taken down and it is with a great deal of confidence that she straightens, shrugs into the oversized jacket, and begins striding towards the building.
Tilting her head somewhat away from where she judges the cameras to be, she slots the fallen sec agent's ID card and waits, barely able to keep from crossing her fingers.
**********************************************************************
18:27:43 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
The armored external door slides open on soundless pneumatics, admitting Cosmo to the well-lit corridor beyond. The floor is tiled with sound deadening anti-static polymer hexagons, while the walls are plain construction plastic. Overhead lighting is provided by halogen glowstrips. According to the map on the wall, the warehouse section is to Cosmo's right.
**********************************************************************
18:27:47 Tuesday. 02 January. 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo hunches forward in the large jacket, subtly rolling her shoulders forward to give the illusion of a smaller, less confident individual. She turns to her right, keeping a careful eye out for surveillance cameras, indications of sensory equipment, and any signs that things here may not be as they seem.
30 meters and counting. 29 ... 28 ...
**********************************************************************
18:29:08 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Turning the corner of the hallway leading to her target, Cosmo spots the security cameras in the corners, their positions given them excellent views down both corridors. She tilts her head towards the cameras, shielding her face. Footsteps announce the approach of a guard down the hall towards her. The man, dressed in an identical jacket and pants, nods as he passes.
"Hey."
Cosmo returns the nod, lowering her voice to a harsh growl.
"Hey."
The guard passes on, and Cosmo slips the ID card into her hand, ready to open the door ahead of her. The guard's footsteps stop behind her.
"Hey!"
**********************************************************************
18:29:12 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Barely missing a beat as she dissects the pitch of his voice, she turns around and raises an eyebrow.
"Yeah?"
Cosmo looks the guard over before offering a gloved hand.
"Jess Chaplin."
**********************************************************************
18:29:50 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
"Rob Haney. I haven't seen you around here before, did you just start?"
He smiles at her, resting his hands on his web belt.
**********************************************************************
18:30:17 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
She affects the smile of an overall unpleasant person trying to be nice, smiling tiredly as she rests her hands on her padded hips.
"Yeah, just a coupla days ago. I'll be seein' ya around I guess."
Cosmo notes the lack of a wedding ring on Rob's finger and looks him over again, her raised eyebrow taking on another meaning entirely.
**********************************************************************
18:30:37 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
"Yeah, looks like we're working the same shift. Say, how about we go for coffee tonight?"
Rob grins, his eyes running over Cosmo's form.
**********************************************************************
18:31:12 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo shrugs.
"I'd rather it was a brew but coffee sounds okay. Where'd ya wanna meet?"
**********************************************************************
18:31:30 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
"How about the breakroom?"
Rob glances at his watch, mentally counting how long he would have to wait until he saw her again.
**********************************************************************
18:31:53 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Charming fellow. I didn't know they still made this model of Caveman ...
Mentally, she couldn't help but shake her head; it was all Cosmo could do to keep from rolling her eyes. Instead, she fixed him with a frankly appraising stare and considered the variables.
"How about the ..." she grins wolfishly. "How long have you been here, anyway?"
**********************************************************************
18:32:07 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
"Oh, going on about four years now. I'm a veteran of this job. They recruited me from the military and put me in charge of the High Threat Response squad. But I had to transfer from that job after a year, I'd been in too many firefights. They said I was too stressed out, so they sent me here."
Rob flexes minutely, sucking in his stomach a little as he recounts his dubious achievements to Cosmo.
**********************************************************************
18:32:51 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Her eyes widened slightly as if she was both surprised and impressed by his accomplishments.
Firefights, hmm? Maybe brawl; those knuckles look like they've been broken a few times.
"Stressed, were ya." She smiled meaningfully. "Do you fellas have a procedure for this sort of 'High Threat Response'? I'm not so sure I want coffee any more."
Cosmo hoped she wouldn't have to hit him over the head, well, for him to understand what she was talking about, anyway ...
**********************************************************************
18:33:02 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
"Well, most of the procedures are classified, I can't tell you. But if you're interested, I suppose I could show you a couple of martial arts moves. I'm a level four master in krav maga."
Rob grins, making no effort to conceal his appraisal of Cosmo's body.
**********************************************************************
18:33:02 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Of course you are. Did you know that my aunt Fanny was the first Irish woman to tunnel through the earth?
"Interested? Depends on yer moves, don't it?" She looked him over at least as boldly as he was checking her out.
"Any way you can tell yer buds to keep their eyes away for ..." Cosmo raised an eyebrow, the question clear in her gruff voice, "ten minutes?"
**********************************************************************
18:33:29 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Rob's eyes grow a little wider as he realizes that Cosmo means right now.
"Oh, yeah," he whispers. Quickly glancing around, he spots the door to the warehouse section. Checking the hallway, he takes Cosmo's hand and pulls her towards the door. Reaching up to his shoulder, he keys the mike clipped to the lapel of his jacket.
"Six, Four-Six, can you give me a loopback test on the warehouse section cameras?"
He winks at Cosmo. "That'll put 'em out of service for nine minutes, so we'll have to be quick."
**********************************************************************
18:33:56 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo reached into her pocket and depressed the timer button of her pocket secretary, winking broadly at Rob before giving him a genuinely smoldering stare. She dropped the act for half a second and gave him her best 'hurry the hell up' look and very nearly laughed when he did.
Nine minutes and counting ...
"No complaints here. There's always time for another round later, ka?"
**********************************************************************
18:34:12 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
"Goddamn, girl, but you're a hungry one. Well, all right then."
Rob slips his jacket off and lays it on the floor, before unhooking his webbelt and tossing it on a nearby shelf. He glances at Cosmo expectantly.
**********************************************************************
18:34:25 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo takes half a second to look around the interior of the supply area, planning her next few moves and grinning when she spotted the inventory computer not too far away as well as a narrow exit in the far corner. She chuckled as he set his coat down on the floor and approached him slowly, her gloved fingers hovering over the buttons of her blouse.
"And here I thought you were going to show me some krav maga ..."
Her voice was soft, sultry, and more of a purr than a growl as she leaned in to whisper warmly into his ear, her hands trailing up his chest. She grinned and shook her head even as one hand darted up to cover his mouth. Her knee struck into his padded stomach next and she placed a wet kiss on the brute's cheek while she spun around behind him, her forearm pressed into his throat to slowly cut out his supply of oxygen.
"Sorry, Rob, I'll have to catch you some other time. Tonight's my busy night," Cosmo cooed as he began falling asleep, gently brushing aside the shaggy hair that was falling across his eyes.
**********************************************************************
18:34:42 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Already stunned from the blow to his solar plexus, Rob struggles for air, his vision graying out to black within a minute. Cosmo lowers him to the ground before stuffing him on to one of the lower shelves.
Now, let's work ...
**********************************************************************
18:35:17 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo adjusted her unconscious friend's earpiece and boom mic until she was satisfied with their fit, a self-satisfied smirk playing across her lips. Slinging her duffel over one shoulder, she jogs towards the inventory computer, pulls out her p-sec and brings up a list of the components she was sent to find.
4CX1Q21-4327E: server controller, 6 port, configurable, pack of 4
EW780B5-0210P: optical memory storage deck, RW-R, 5000 Mp capacity, pack of 10
7HK1950-1974J: FICON express 990 superscalar processors, pack of 6
8LP1011-H60B: blade RAM, optical, 1000Mp capacity, pack of 8
6XU4263-92C3: rack power supply, 220V, 600W, 80A, air-cooled, pack of five
There wouldn't be much time to spare in retrieving everything but she fully intended to hurry through her search ... and pick up a few extra bits along the way, of course.
**********************************************************************
18:41:35 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
The search didn't take long, the storage system was remarkably effecient. The problem was, each box that Cosmo pulled from the shelves measured 50cm by 50cm by 40cm and weighed about 5 kilos. The pile of five boxes wait for her on the cement floor. Now, to shop for herself ...
**********************************************************************
18:41:41 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
Grinding her teeth under the weight of the five boxes she carried, Cosmo judged that she had time to grab a few more if they were all in one place. She spotted a handtruck against one wall, grinned, and set the boxes down quickly before rushing over to the section she'd noted earlier and the few boxes of MPCP chips she knew were there.
Ten boxes altogether, not bad.
Allowing herself the briefest moment of enjoyment, she took the remainder of her 9-minute loop to haul her payload out into the cold, awaiting night. The biggest part of her success rate came from looking like she belonged and while she knew that someone would question the intent of a security guard carting away several boxes from the FTL warehouse; she hoped to seem confident enough in what she was doing that whomever thought to question her would pause long enough to give her time to get away. She strode around the building, looking for all the world like she was just another guard doing some crap job outside, listening closely over the radio frequency for any indication that she'd been noticed.
**********************************************************************
18:44:09 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - FTL Matrixware, Los Angeles, CFS
The truck bed makes an excellent place to stash her ill-gotten gains, and for speed and an instinct not to waste tools unnecessarily, Cosmo loads the handcart as well. Checking to make sure she's not about to treat her first victim to a short and surely lethal ride, she climbs into the cab of the pick-up and makes good her escape. The sensors on the entrance gate open once she slots the pilfered ID card, and as the last of the daylight fades she disappears into the vast sprawl of the City of Angels.
**********************************************************************
18:44:30 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Somewhere in Seattle
Zeyda sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in a tired gesture. Information continued to scroll past on the flat panel display set on his desk. Standing, he shifted the ride of the pistol on his right hip in an unconscious gesture, his eyes glancing out the window to the rain outside. A pile of empty Thai take-out containers cluttered the desk, along with a handful of hard copy printouts and indexed OMCs. Stretching again, he cued the wireless headset he wore.
"Rack."
"Go ahead."
"Tell the boys to get ready, we're heading out to the club in fifteen minutes. We've got a couple of hours of business tonight, meets with half a dozen people." Zeyda double-checked the schedule on his pocket secretary.
"Got it. We'll be ready."
The fixer switched channels manually, opening up a phonecall. He didn't expect an answer, waiting the obligatory four rings before the message service picked up.
"Tenmou, it's Zeyda. I've got business for you if you're interested, a quick job. Meet me tonight at 2000 at Miner's Landing."
**********************************************************************
18:57:42 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Issaquath, Renton
Tenmou knelt before a makeshift shrine in his bedroom with his eyes closed in meditation. His Daisho sat on the shrine, set in their scabbards as incense burned. The scents were relaxing and set his mind at ease, save for the stick the burned at the center of the shrine. The incense at the center had been his father's favourite scent and it served as a reminder as to why he was here, in Seattle.
He slowly came up, out of his meditation and as he did he became aware of a nagging beeping from the living room. Stretching as he stood, Tenmou walked out of his bedroom into the living room and saw a light blinking on his telecom.
Pushing the message replay button, the message was short and succinct: "Tenmou, it's Zeyda. I've got business for you if you're interested, a quick job. Meet me tonight at 2000 at Miner's Landing."
Looking at his watch, Tenmou muttered, "I have roughly an hour ... I'd best get dressed for work."
He began removing the old kimono he had, opting for a clean shirt and jeans for work. Sliding into his form-fitting body armor, before his primary clothes, he decided his weapons were not subtle enough to carry into a public place. He would meet Zeyda as he was. It would allow him to grab some food before heading out to Miner's Landing.
Checking his cupboards and finding little in terms of food, he decided on some quick ramen and tossed it in the microwave. He turned on the trid to catch the weather as he waited for his food to cook. When the microwave signalled that it was finished, he barely waited for his food to cool before shovelling it into his mouth with chopsticks. The night was cold and damp, as per usual, so Tenmou dug out a heavy jacket before grabbing the phone and calling a cab service to pick him up.
**********************************************************************
19:30 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Auburn, The Last Drop: We Never Close
As nearly as Anne could tell, the place never did, not completely.
She herself worked irregular shifts, usually between 12 and 14 hours at a stretch, usually days, almost always topside. She'd have been willing to work those straight through the week, but Hobbes had explained to her about hourly-wage labour law and accounting, and, perhaps more relevantly, the ability to store up extended periods which she could take away from the job when she needed to -- and, Hobbes emphasised, if she went through with what they had talked about, she would need to.
Sometimes Hobbes would be there when she got there in the morning. Sometimes not. Hers were unpredictable hours, much more so than Anne's, although she could usually be relied upon to turn up sporadically between the supper rush and the upper level lock-up, the latter usually around 0200 or so, although it could be earlier if biz was running exceptionally slow, or -- as very recently -- considerably later.
Then again, her biz had rather less to do with the details of food preparation and accounting than one might expect of an eatery owner.
It was Johnny who took care of all those details; Johnny who'd be keeping the ledgers for the IRS audits and the -- others; Johnny whose cursing she'd occasionally heard coming from the small back office just over the kitchen, directed sometimes at the numbers and sometimes at the trid and sometimes at the computer that persisted in allowing the kitchen steam into its innards and then objecting to it. She'd fixed it a couple of times for him now, a fairly straightforward job, first cleaning off the unused jack connections so that at least those would function properly and let her get a sense for what else was not. (She was a bit surprised there were jack connections at all. Neither of the orks had one.) Wasn't the equipment's fault. Nice, basic, reasonably durable machine -- but the things just weren't intended to function for extended periods in a kitchen environment.
She'd felt the mana wash over her the first time as she tinkered, losing herself completely in the familiar circuits, first cleaning and then trying to tease a system interestingly empty of any meaningful data into restoring its connections just this once (again, again).
The second time, the files hadn't been emergency-purged from the system before she was called up to help. As before, she'd not copied or backdoored anything ... but in fixing it, she had seen everything he kept on the computer. What she did do was to overwrite the RAS override. How else, while jacked in, to follow his description of the funny noise it made when he did this and then that?
He was a morning person, a cheerfully dour one. She'd heard that at least one Seattle judge had found being in the presence of a morning person sufficient evidence to constitute self defence in a homicide case. After yesterday's marathon shift, she might have come close to agreeing. He also knew how to make decent soykaf, which saved him.
The other regular dayshift person she'd seen in the kitchen -- and only in the kitchen, he never once ventured counter-front -- was Mouse. Street kid or maybe former street kid, barely tall enough to stand over the burner on which he was holding the wok, Cityspeak so thick that Anne had difficulty understanding him at all. Although he didn't talk a whole lot. He'd stared through Anne for a rude amount of time when she first began working at this place before he finally pronounced, "You're weird," and she'd laughed and tossed the pink-tinged curls and said, "Yup." Mostly, though, he ignored her. It was easier to do since he didn't spend all that much time in the kitchen, really; mostly he was somewhere in the back with Johnny. Besides his cooking skills, he helped Anne with the dish-washing when it was necessary.
There were a couple of other staff around below and she knew someone else usually oversaw the night shift, but she'd yet to see them.
Hobbes was back -- early, considering the Johnson hadn't returned and the supper crowd hadn't settled yet. On her way in, the woman stopped to talk to the people sitting at a couple of tables, smiling in a way that lit up her whole aura -- and then she snagged Anne and took her once again into the back kitchen area. Twice in a single day ...
**********************************************************************
19:37:04 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown Seattle
Although not a great distance away, the cab ride still takes the better part of half an hour from Tenmou's flat to the restaurant. The downtown streets are still thronged with holiday crowds: shoppers returning unwanted gifts or trying to pick up what they didn't get during the post-holiday sales, New Year's revelers making a second night of it, and those home for the holidays touring the city one last time before leaving for another twelve months.
Miner's Landing is located south of downtown proper, amidst the shops and hotels which form the Waterfront. A successful restaurant with a menu focussing on meat and potatoes type fare, the Landing also features an upstairs Jazz and Cigar bar. Zeyda, a longtime jazz fan, preferred to do business there not only for the atmosphere but also because the Waterfront was busy until late at night, providing plenty of cover for his clients to come and go unseen.
Tenmou slid through the doors of the restaurant, shaking off the light rain that fell outside. In answer to the waitress at the maitre d' stand, he nodded towards the stairs leading up to the bar. Taking them two at a time, he followed the rich smell of tobacco and the throaty wail of a saxophone into the dimly lit second floor.
His eyes adjusted automatically to the smoky interior, and he caught sight of his contact at a back booth close to the stage. Zeyda was in deep conversation with a well-dressed Ork female. The fixer's eyes glanced across him, though, and he nodded. Tenmou hid a surge of disgust, turning to find a seat at the bar.
**********************************************************************
19:39:01 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown Seattle
Tenmou found a stool at the bar where he could keep an eye on his fixer, for when he became free and ready to talk to him.
"What kin I gitcha, chummer?" the barkeep asked.
Tenmou barely spared the bartender a glance. "Sake, please."
"Comin' up ..."
Tenmou stared at the ork Zeyda was speaking with. He had been in the shadows for a couple years now, doing little jobs for the fixer here and there, but in that time, he still hadn't quite acclimated to working with the kawaruhito. They made him uncomfortable. He realized some of the most ... durable ... shadowrunners were often orks or trolls, but he had grown up taught to hate them. It was a hard lesson to ignore.
"There ya go, mac," the bartender stated, placing the sake in front of Tenmou.
"Arigatau," Tenmou replied, as he slotted his credstick into the available port and paid for his drink, with a sizeable tip.
"Yer welcome. And if ya need anythin' else, jest holler."
Tenmou risked a glance at the barkeep as he turned away, impressed that the man had recognized Japanese. He took a light sip of his drink and found that the sake was of a decent quality. He nursed his drink as he watched for his fixer to finish up.
**********************************************************************
19:40 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Auburn, The Last Drop, small bit of storage shelving enclave just to one side of the kitchen
"You know," Hobbes began uncomfortably, "there's a couple of things -- well -- what do you know about Touristville?"
Anne shrugged. "Can't be worse than Puyallup, if the corpers let their kids go slumming there."
A sharp laugh from over by the stove from Johnny. "She's got something there."
Hobbes grimaced. "A meet's not the same thing as keeping your head down. For one thing, it'd be wise to make yourself look a bit different -- the coat'll do, but lose the spectacles, maybe, style your hair different? Meets go down all kinds of ways. You're always hoping for the best of course, but, just in case -- you'd not want to lead someone straight back here, you scan?"
The girl neck-bowed in the reflexive gesture of acceptance and understanding: hai, wakarimasita.
"And you'll need something, I picked this up for you today --" The woman held it out to Anne. She took it, a bit gingerly, her hand lowering a little with the weight. "Do you know how to use one of these?"
Her hand locked around the cold, blued metal of the haft. As she pulled it out of its holster, slowly, she bent her head in a single, short nod.
"This is the basic street heavy pistol," Hobbes was saying, "for a reason. Everyone's shot one of these at some point, everyone's modded theirs their own way, and everyone knows how to trouble-shoot one if they need to. Not that they need a whole lot of trouble-shooting. This one's a bit modded -- not smartlink-fancy, but it'll give you clean single action, you can get it adapted for burst fire action later if you want. Caseless ammo, again nothing fancy. Oh, and I had the magazine and clip modded, I usually work it so there's a couple of extra shots in the clip. What with so many people knowing a Pred shoots 15 -- here, hold up your arms."
She held up her arms, the heavy pistol still in her hand, while the woman began to fit the shoulder harness around her: "Kibo, you're skin and bones! I thought we'd been feeding you better than that! Maybe I should have gone for the 18 mil instead." She spared a glance at Johnny, who shrugged without looking up from what he was doing. "You're right-handed, ka? Watch me now, how this goes on, and then the coat goes overtop --"
She had the girl pull the harness on and off a few times, and then walk a little with the Predator in its holster until she'd got out of the instinct of visibly balancing against its weight.
"You'll be practicing drawing at home and at the range -- oh, I've covered your first five hours at Teaser Rat's for target practice, you're due there at 21, so you may as well take off now, ... no, on second thought you might as well take the next two days off too and get really familiar with it -- no, don't take the harness off, I want you to get used to wearing it, and you won't be hassled for it as long as it stays concealed and you stay off corp territory. Wait, you'll need to take the clips with you, did you think I'd give it to you loaded? I just get it for you and walk you through the wearing. He'll take you through the basics. He's expecting you to be fairly new at this, so don't worry about asking stupid questions." The woman paused. "If you're really having a problem with its recoil, let me know. It's not too late to get something lighter."
With the overcoat on, over her waitress outfit, Anne stretched a little, feeling the weight, how it shifted her balance, how it bunched the cloth beneath the coat. "I owe you," she said softly.
"Tanstaafl -- there ain't no such thing as a free lunch. It's all going on your tab, sweetie, but it'll hold until you get a bit more on your feet. I mentioned to Grail you're running deadlined, he said he'd have the "Anne" SIN ready day after tomorrow. Don't know if you caught the weather reports, but tomorrow'll be a respirator day, what with the wind shifting around to the southwest later on. Renraku's issued a level 1 air alert for later tomorrow afternoon."
Johnny coughed, catching her attention and directing it up to the outdoor camera monitor in the corner. "We've got trouble."
"What the -- oh, good." Considering the sudden shift in her mood, the irony in her voice had been surprisingly light. "I suppose I should be glad Teresa's not here."
Johnny had turned the burners down and was already moving to the kitchen door, still swinging from her sudden departure. "Mouse, can you cover in here for a bit?"
"Yeah, sure." The kid's eyes were big. "But I could --"
"Don't you dare." Blunt. Flat. And more than a bit distracted.
Anne glanced at Johnny. "Want to tell me what's going on?"
He gestured at the screen. "Look for yourself. Don't you recognise him?"
"Recognise who?"
She had to ask twice before she got a response, all his attention focused on whatever was going on beyond those doors. "That's >Gianelli's messenger," he finally said, irritable for the fraction of attention the answer cost him. "Familia, Bigio, and half of Lone Star outside. She's dealt with them before, of course, and she's good enough to keep anything from happening now -- probably. It's dicey, but she can handle it."
"So?"
"So we're not in bleedin' Family territory. We're in yak." He paused, heavily. "And that bloody blow-in knows it."
**********************************************************************
19:55:07 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown Seattle
As the portly Japanese man on stage wrings one last soulful note from his saxophone, Tenmou sees the female ork give one last nod of her head and slide out from Zeyda's booth. The slim fixer ran a hand through his hair in a tired gesture, staring intently at the small screen of his pocket secretary. After several minutes of data entry, he leans back with a satisfied smile and drinks deeply from the tumbler of amber liquid next to him. With a nod, he beckons Tenmou over from the bar.
"Evening, omae, thanks for coming on short notice. When this job came down the pipe I originally had it slotted for someone else, but they fell through. It's yours if you want it, but I'd be careful with it. The Johnson say's it's straight wetwork but there's never anything straight about them. It's a virtual meet, tonight at midnight. This is the LTG number. If you don't want to hook up from home, I know a place that's out of the way. If you're interested, though, the Johnson was offering 6K for the hit."
**********************************************************************
19:57:32 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown Seattle
Tenmou studied his fixer for a moment before replying.
"I don't typically consider wetwork ... it's a messy job with too many repercussions. Any idea who the target is supposed to be? If I call this J, can I back out if I don't like what he tells me?"
**********************************************************************
19:57:50 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown Seattle
Zeyda nodded. "I know it's not your usual line of work, but like I said, something came up and I figured I'd at least offer. Johnson didn't give any identification for the target other than it was a civilian to be determined at time of hire. Standard practice is for you to be able to back out at any time prior to knowing the identity of the mark. Think you're going to pass on this one?"
**********************************************************************
19:58:03 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - An Undisclosed Location, Los Angeles, CFS
Well, well, well. It would seem as though my dear Mr. Johnson has opted to maintain his secret identity.
There wasn't anything particularily surprising about the rough neighbourhood she was cruising through or, for that matter, the seemingly abandoned brick house she'd driven past twice already. Two storeys, though, she countered, and solid, considering the location. What were you expecting, anyway? A house in the Hollywood hills? The security grates over the windows and doors would give even her a bit of trouble. She glanced at the hard, hungry faces of the people on the streets here, recognizing their expressions as she drove past in her bloodred BMW. There was no way to help it of course, the pickup truck had been abandoned as soon as possible, left at a 24-hour car wash along with her target's ID tag, keys, and a package of Sugar Blasted Berry Bombs (by way of apology).
"Okay, so it wasn't necessary," she said to no one in particular, a small smile pulling at one corner of her mouth, "but he didn't do anything wrong. These things have to balance themselves out, you know."
Please don't tell me you're expecting an answer, girl, 'cos there's no one here but you and me.
Cosmo looked up into her reflection in the rearview mirror as the sleek sports coupe pulled to a halt; she looked like herself again, finally, with all traces of Jess Chaplin wiped away. Sporting a snug black turtleneck sweater and a pair of supple suede trousers, she pulled the hood of her long coat over her head to obscure most of her features but left the coat itself open, subtley displaying the heavy pistol nestled against her hip. She made a point of clearing the long tails of her coat away as she stepped out of the car, just in case any of the kids nearby were feeling brave, but carried on as if nothing was out of the ordinary as she engaged the vehicle's security system and crossed the street to investigate this new building. She hoped, at least, that whomever was cleared to accept the delivery was quick enough that she'd be able to get back out before her car was stolen ...
**********************************************************************
19:58:47 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown Seattle
"Yeah, I think so. I may be hard-up for cash, but killing for money doesn't sit well with me ... if it's a them-or-me situation maybe ..."
Tenmou shrugged. "Sorry Zeyda. I hope this doesn't land you in too tight a spot."
**********************************************************************
19:59:04 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown Seattle
Zeyda shakes his head. "Not to worry, I'll shop it to my third string and see what he has to say. If you're still interested in work, I've only got one other thing. It doesn't pay as well, only 2K, but it's low key. Meet's tomorrow night at 1900. 10441 Pacific Court Way, Suite 302."
**********************************************************************
20:00 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Land's End magic shop, Auburn
Andie makes a phone call to his parent's bar to make sure everything is OK. They found someone to work Andie's shifts at the bar for the next month.
Sara checked up on Andie a couple of times today to see how thngs were going. She suggests keeping a journal of notes on his observations through out the process. Something tells me that is just something to keep my mind off being bored, he thinks to himself. But sometimes you have to do boring things to prepare you for the exciting ones.
**********************************************************************
20:00:22 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown Seattle
Tenmou nodded. "I am still interested in work. Any finer details on this smaller job?"
**********************************************************************
20:00:23 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - An Undisclosed Location, Los Angeles, CFS
The doorbell chimes faintly from inside. Cosmo stands back and to the side of the door, out of direct line of sight and line of fire. The door opens after only a heartbeat, as if she was expected, revealing an unlit hallway. Illuminated by the faint orange light from the streetlamp on the corner was a child, really, a boy about twelve years old dressed in a form-fitting slate gray jumpsuit. His eyes are an unnatural pure white.
"I am Kald. Have you brought the items?"
**********************************************************************
20:00:39 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - An Undisclosed Location, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo masked her surprise as only a true actress could, smiling smoothly at the small boy.
"I have. Now that I know this is the correct place, I will bring them to you, Kald."
Inclining her head slightly, she spun about and headed back towards her car. The handtruck itself was not heavy and she had trained with more weight than the boxes added up to, but hefting the handtruck up the three steps to the house was somewhat difficult. She maintained her smile, though, and rested the top of the cart against the doorframe.
"Now where should I put these?"
**********************************************************************
20:01:01 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown Seattle
Zeyda consults his pocket secretary for a moment before answering.
"Not much, looks like it's an escort job. Get the package from point A to point B safely. It's all intercity so you won't have to worry about papers or checkpoints or anything."
**********************************************************************
20:01:05 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - An Undisclosed Location, Los Angeles, CFS
Kald stands back from the door, and gestures to the living room.
"You can leave them in there."
He follows and stands by the rear wall, his face expressionless. As Cosmo sets the handtruck down, he nods once. Moving across to the endtable, he lifts another black dossier and offers it to her.
"This contains your next tasking."
**********************************************************************
20:01:42 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - An Undisclosed Location, Los Angeles, CFS
Wait, next tasking?
Shaking her head slightly, Cosmo kept her hands at her sides and fought down a growl at the audacity of her employer.
"I'm sorry, Kald, but I'm still new to this. How many 'taskings' will there be before I'm able to meet with the person in charge, here? I'm afraid I won't be able to continue unless we're able to reach some sort of agreement, negotiate a short-term contract at least. Are you able to help me with this?"
**********************************************************************
20:02:00 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown Seattle
"All right, that sounds more my speed. I'll head for that meet tomorrow night then. Thanks, Zeyda. Unless you need me for anything else, I suppose I'll take my leave," Tenmou said, sliding to the edge of his seat.
**********************************************************************
20:02:02 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - An Undisclosed Location, Los Angeles, CFS
"The contract was signed when you accepted custody of the equipment provided by us. If you find the terms of employment to be unacceptable, please return all of the items provided and we will return you to the stasis chamber. Otherwise, your mission tasking will continue until we have recouped our initial investment at which time we will renegotiate your contract."
Kald trains emotionless eyes on Cosmo as he explains.
**********************************************************************
20:02:17 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - An Undisclosed Location, Los Angeles, CFS
She appraised the boy for a few long moments, wondering how such a young person could be so cold and what, exactly, his role in all of this could be. Cosmo accepted the dossier with a barely cut off growl, flipping through its contents right there and then.
I'll kill him.
**********************************************************************
20:02:19 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown Seattle
"Not tonight, partner, good luck and watch your back."
Zeyda makes a final notation in his p-sec before closing out the file.
**********************************************************************
20:02:32 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - An Undisclosed Location, Los Angeles, CFS
The dossier contains the same high quality digital surveillance stills as before, although this time the target is AMI Networking. Again, the list of serial numbers of products, only four this time. And it ends with another latitude and longitude.
**********************************************************************
20:02:38 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - An Undisclosed Location, Los Angeles, CFS
Of course, she fumed, closing the dossier with a resounding 'snap'. Who would care about the rights of a criminal anyway?
"This is not a contract, Kald, this is indentured servitude; let's not confuse the two." Cosmo glared, working hard to focus her anger towards her "employer" and not the strange boy that stared at her without expression. "If you would be so kind as to inform my new Master that this arrangement will only continue until I'm able to end it more permanently, I would greatly appreciate it."
Her eyes turned darker and darker until they were almost black, a stark contrast to the emotionless gaze of the 12-year old. The sheer malevolence brewing there indicated that this was no empty threat.
"Take care of yourself." Watch your back, child.
She turned abruptly, her fingertips digging painfully into the slim black folder as she stalked towards the door and out into the street, almost hoping that someone had been stupid enough to start breaking into her car. While the pistol at her hip beckoned, she imagined the 'crunch' of her fists and feet breaking bones ... and smiled.
**********************************************************************
20:02:59 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown Seattle
"All right, thanks, chummer. Once this next run is over, I'll buy you a round ... you need some downtime, my friend," Tenmou said with a smirk, as he rose to his feet.
**********************************************************************
20:03:23 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Miner's Landing, Downtown Seattle
Zeyda nodded. "I'll hold you to that, Tenmou. Good luck with your work tomorrow."
Tenmou nodded with a smirk and made his way through the crowd, eventually stepping outside, into the rain. Pulling his coat tighter around him, he made his way down the street, heading for the dojo where he practiced his martial arts. It wasn't too far away and his funds were pretty tight, so rather than grabbing a cab, he decided to brave the elements.
He looked forward to a good spar with his sensei and burn off some of the energy he had stored up for the possible job tonight.
**********************************************************************
20:30 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - The Magic Touch, Renton
After two knocks, an absolutely stunning Daisy walks out the front door. Her long blonde hair is up in a fashion that highlights her deep blue eyes, and her makeup is carefully applied and dramatically enhances her already attractive features. Wearing a long elegant coat to protect against the January chill, she is quite the picture of high fashion. OK ... so maybe I was wrong about that whole 'not particularly special as far as stunning elven mages go' thing. She obviously wasn't trying very hard ... Klaus thinks.
Looking up at him and unleashing her devastating smile, she asks him, "So, handsome, where are we going?"
**********************************************************************
21:05 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - at Teaser Rat's, Auburn
So it hadn't been about to explode into violence at the Last Drop after all. Anne still wasn't quite sure how it hadn't exploded into violence. Even Mouse had been prepared for something to happen, for someone to be too quick off the trigger. There had been absolutely no love lost between the cops sitting outside and the mobster. There had been tension. There had been a moment when she had been absolutely certain someone was going to do something unfortunate ... but somehow it never happened, and the mobster left, and life went on.
She'd made it here a couple of minutes late, at least in part because she couldn't find the place. Boarded up, a couple of broken windows: she'd really thought it was deserted. Maybe she'd have been on time had she run that last block ... but, somehow, that hadn't seemed a particularly good idea while carrying a concealed, unregistered Predator.
The one-eyed dwarf barely glanced at her as he waved her over. "Well, get on with it, girl! Time's nuyen."
"She said you'd be expecting --"
"Ctchaa! Alleycat, right? I'm the Teaser, but that shouldn't be no surprise. And you're carrying so obvious I'm amazed you weren't stopped. If I was amazed any longer about anything in this whole world. Which I'm not. Well, frag, girl, you just going to stand there, or are you going to draw the thing? It doesn't bite -- much."
She drew it, then gave it over to him when he began to tap his foot impatiently. "Well, well, I see Hobbes's done her usual good job. Like that's a surprise. Well girl, you just going to sit on those clips all day or are you going to show me how to load it?"
At one and the same time he seemed to expect her to know everything and nothing about the weapon she was handling -- and yet somehow in there she was getting a detailed and incredibly condensed weapons safety overview and instruction that could probably have rivalled anything Lone Star had to offer. Only when he was absolutely satisfied she understood the relevant parts and could load and unload the clip even when seriously distracted -- including the extra bullet in the chamber -- did he shove her toward one of the target stalls.
"Er -- Teaser?" She waved her hand at the one next to where he had placed her. "Could I use that one instead?"
"What? Oh, sure. Ask if it's okay with the target before shooting at it too." Then added, "Fine, fine, whatever. Tank's not going to be in here shooting at his wife again anyway." At her half glance, "pictures! He sticks a picture of her up on his target before he goes at it. But he's out of town on biz, so go for it. And watch that recoil!"
**********************************************************************
21:17:04 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
The drive back to the Trade Winds was long and irritating, made all the more so by the lack of anything to do and anyone to punch when her anger demanded nothing less. She took a deep breath and made an effort to pull her long hair into a ponytail without pulling the roots out as well. Long, slender fingers stabbed at the keypad of her pocket secretary as Cosmo dialed Drago's phone yet again, growling softly when it took longer than one ring for him to answer.
"Tino? Ahh, buona sera. I hope this is not a bad time?" Her tone shifts instantly from gravelly growls to liquid honey. "No, I'm doing well and yes ... lunch was better than anything I've had in months." She laughed softly and shook her head, forcing herself to stop stalking around the small room and take a seat. "Kind of you to say, 'Tino, thank you; I enjoyed your company as well. No, unfortunately this isn't strictly a social call. I have another serial number for you, whenever you're ready ..."
Cosmo chuckles and considers the five boxes stacked neatly under her bed. A spare bit of money would do wonders for her mood.
"Yes, I have five boxes in all and I was wondering if you could help me find a home for them."
**********************************************************************
21:17:19 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
"Five altogether? It's not quite as easy to move together. If you're looking to unload them at once, I can only get you about five thousand each. If you want to space them out a bit, I could get you more. It's up to you."
The sound of the restaurant is audible behind Tino's voice.
**********************************************************************
21:17:36 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo nods absently, pausing to check her manicure with a critical eye.
"Understandable. What can we do with two?"
**********************************************************************
21:18:22 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
The sounds of the restaurant are accompanied by the plastic clicking of the keyboard and muttered curses in Italian.
"Perhaps, I don't know, eight k each? Maybe as much as nine, but I'd have to shop it around pretty heavily. Maybe you don't want to announce that you've got that merchandise since you just stole it?"
**********************************************************************
21:18:45 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
"Stole? Me?" Cosmo laughs softly and shakes her head, pulling two bottles of nail polish from the canvas duffel beside her. Deft fingers begin to touch up the chipped polish.
"Tino, stealing is bad; I'm simply moving these along for a friend. We'd be doubly grateful if you could help us ... quietly, of course."
Yes, Drago, double your cut and we'll see how well you move these.
**********************************************************************
21:19:09 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
"Oh come now, you know I pass no judgments here. Good and evil, right and wrong, is usually just a matter of perspective. Drop your merchandise off at the restaurant and I'll take care of it for you."
Tino chuckles.
**********************************************************************
21:19:29 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Trade Winds Hotel, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo chuckled throatily and shook her head again, the tiny brush sweeping off her pinky nail with a small flourish.
Why is it, she mused, that men don't play with me any more?
"I'll remember you said that, 'Tino. Ciao."
A bit of a frown creased her forehead as she blew impatiently on her nails; something was bothering her that she could not quite place and it had nothing to do with the fact that she'd spend more time dressing for her trip into the city than she would in the actual meeting. Of course, Cosmo wouldn't consider it a full day unless she'd changed clothes several times anyway.
A tall, striking brunette in a short green dress and long, satin-lined coat made her way from the Trade Winds Hotel. She loaded the two large boxes into the trunk of her coupe and tossed her duffel into the front, finally sliding into the comforting embrace of the supple leather seat. Her fingers fly across the screen of her onboard computer for a few moments as she keys in her next destination.
AMI Networking, then.
**********************************************************************
21:30 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Aztecha International, Renton
About an hour into his date with Daisy, Klaus is absolutely smitten by her. She's smart, articulate, entertaining, kind, funny, easy to talk to, yup yup, the whole package ... not to mention pretty freaking gorgeous he thinks to himself.
She is in the middle of discussing how she got started as a talismonger, Klaus listening with rapt interest, when he gets a phone call. Checking the caller ID, he sees that it's Lucy. Briefly excusing himself, he heads out to the lobby. "Hello, Lucy."
"Klaus. There's a job for you if you're interested. Seems like it'd be up your alley, some sort of humanitarian effort. The meet is happening in a few days, at a place called Paradigm Shift. It's a new club out in Touristville, Redmond. If you want in, be there at 2300 on the 4th. Tell the bouncers up front that Mr. Fan sent you. Got all that?"
**********************************************************************
21:36:07 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
AMI Networking is a large, non-descript three story warehouse in an industrial section of North Los Angeles, nestled amidst similar buildings with similar product lines. The structure has a single main entrance, with a pair of large garage door style loading bays. Halogen arc floodlights mounted along the roof keep the area lit to a constant low-light level, and armored lexan half-spheres on the corners of the building house security cameras. The doors appear to be secured with maglocks featuring keypad and biometrics.
**********************************************************************
21:37:48 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Master Kim's Dojo, Downtown Seattle
Tenmou took the offered hand of Sensei Kim and was pulled up off the mat.
"You are rusty, Yamamoto-san," Kim said. Yamamoto was a false name that Tenmou's brother, Hatano, had put together for him.
"I suppose I have been rather lax in my practice, Sensei. I will practice harder and come back again for another spar with you next week." Tenmou said.
The roar of rain hammered on the front window of the dojo. "This weather appears to be getting worse instead of better. Shall I call you a cab?" Kim asked.
"No, thank you, Sensei. I'm a little short. I'll walk to a nearby bus stop and catch a bus."
"Nonsense. I'll not have one of my favourite sparring partners out in this rain. I'll give you a lift."
"You really don't need to, Sensei," Tenmou said, waving him off.
"I do. Now be quiet and accept my offer."
"Arigatau, Sensei."
Tenmou was lead out behind the dojo where a modest sedan sat in the sole parking spot. Sensei Kim drove the runner back to his "home", the address that Tenmou provided, which was actually several blocks from his residence. Thanking Kim, Tenmou made his way toward the apartment complex until his Sensei drove away and turned a corner, before he changed his course and headed home.
**********************************************************************
21:38:24 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo sighed a bit and went over the blueprints again, applying what she'd seen of the building to the hardcopy in the slim black binder. The coupe was on autonav, destined for Il Grano, but the challenge of the AMI building loomed large in her thoughts. Recon was out of the question for the time being, short of going into the area on foot, since no other passenger vehicles were in evidence. She'd barely slowed to survey the building before continuing on.
Keypad and palmprint, not bad, but the only way in that isn't a garage door or a fire exit. Cameras are always a problem, along with those lights, but who knows what's inside? Getting in won't be as much of a problem as getting on with it and getting out ...
Considering the duffel beside her that was still packed for her earlier job this morning, she looked at the plans more carefully, wondering if she could pull another op tonight. Why not? Cosmo grimaced, unsure of how many more taskings she'd have to go through before she started getting some answers.
She would get answers, of course. One way or another.
The soft glowing lights of Il Grano loomed just ahead as she pulled the sleek car to a halt, touched up her lipstick, and practically glided towards the building. She'd have to see about bringing her 'merchandise' through the kitchen this time, if possible, but none of these thoughts showed on her face as she paused to confer softly with the Maitre D', a soft lilt colouring her accented Italian. It wasn't difficult to find Tino once she'd been ushered in the right direction and as gracefully sank into the chair that was offered her, she wondered if he perhaps had an apartment nearby. Or a bed in the back room, she thought irreverently, a playful dimple peeking out of one cheek.
**********************************************************************
21:46:53 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
If anyone were to look at him, they would instantly understand that he was a man of purpose. They could read that in his piercing gaze, the set of his shoulders, the raw athleticism of a body trained to be a weapon. People instinctively made way for him, staring in awe, or fear, or lust, or any combination thereof. If asked afterwards, though, they would find him vanished from their thoughts, a ghost of an image, indescribable.
His entrance into the restaurant could have been a general in front of a reviewing stand. Instead, the dark intensity of his eyes and the grim set of his face sent a wave of uncertainty and nervousness through those nearest him. He didn't notice, though, his gaze unswerving from his destination at the rear of the building. That is until he heard her laugh.
Turning, he beheld her, the gentle sweep of her cheek, the elegant curl of hair down across her shoulders, the effortless grace with which she carried herself. Her beauty sang to him a primal siren song, and the fractured mirrors of his mind aligned for a breathtaking moment of purity. In that instant, he felt something stir inside him, a long dormant fragment of memory and purpose.
With a new purpose he pivoted sharply on his heel, a warm and irreverant smile teasing across his lips. His stride was less intent now, a little swagger showing through. He ran a hand through his dark tousled locks and settled his coat about his shoulders. For all the change in his outward appearance from one instant to the next, the force of his personality remained as absolutely irresistable as before. The swagger wasn't braggadocio, or egomania, simply put, it was the certainty of a mind that could focus all of its strength into a single laser-like effort to overcome any obstacle in its path.
Cosmo became aware of the presence approaching at the same time Tino did, pivoting slightly in her chair to face the newcomer with a modestly defensive posture. The man, for certainly in her life she had beheld only a handful of individuals that exuded the raw Male power that he did, was dressed in a suit that could only have been tailored for him personally. His face was handsome, without the softness accompanying so many of the 'pretty boys' she'd known. But it was the way he moved as he knelt, and the feel of his hands as he took hers in his. The absolute control he exercised over himself, and the ridges of callous and scars along the knuckles and knife-edges of his hands betrayed his abilities. Cosmo could easily see the whipcord muscles that lay along his arms and coiled across his shoulders, and knew that this was a man who could as easily tear a person a part as one would shred a piece of paper. For all that, though, his touch on her hands was a warm silken caress. His eyes, dark, intense, and longing, pinned her to the chair where she sat, and his voice was pure velvet, the voice of an angel.
"My soul is dark - Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again:
If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
For it hath been by sorrow nursed,
And ached in sleepless silence, long;
And now 'tis doomed to know the worst,
And break at once - or yield to song."
As he speaks the last of his request, he glances to the open seat at the next table, an eyebrow raised in a question more formality than anything else.
**********************************************************************
21:50:27 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
There was nothing in her world beyond those dark, fathomless eyes; no sound that reached her but the deep velvet baritone of a voice that was unnerving in its intensity, disturbing the carefully drawn web she kept about herself at all times. She felt as though she could float away since every nerve, every sensation gathered within her small, supple hands, leaving the rest of her hovering dreamily above them, reaching for something ... elusive.
Cosmo sat perfectly still, wholly entranced by words she knew well, felt to her very core but again, defied her in their placement. She'd never desired her lost memories as much as she did in this moment, never cared to know anyone as well as this beautiful male creature might know her, never wished to go back to that forgotten place of blood and blackness ... until now. A soft, expectant hush fell about the cozy dining room. Everything seemed to slow as she could do nothing but meet that longing gaze, staring into eyes she'd happily drown within.
Who are you?
That single pleading thought brought the world back into focus and sent it lurching forward with all its former speed. She drew a ragged breath and nodded, sensing that a question had been asked of her, uncaring of what it might have been. The answer was yes.
Always, yes.
**********************************************************************
21:50:52 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
With a gentleness born of absolute control, Byron lifted Cosmo from her seat, drawing her two tables down before settling next to her along the bench seat. His eyes never left hers, their dark depths now infused with a shimmering delight. Cosmo could read the raw power of his emotions there, could feel them coursing through his skin, and felt as if she were standing too close to a bonfire.
"You are enchanting, exquisite," he says simply, his voice free of artifice but all the more seductive for it. "I was bewitched the moment I saw you. Tell me, sweet Siren, what is your name?"
**********************************************************************
21:51:19 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo felt all but helpless under the potency of Byron's gaze; her first few moments of stunned speechlessness gave way to a giddy rush or girlish delight and finally to the liquid warmth that coiled heavily about her middle, very nearly curling her toes. Of all the men she'd ever known, not one had been able to overwhelm her senses quite like this intoxicatingly beautiful stranger. She shifted somewhat closer to him, content only when forearms, hips, and knees touched and no real distance remained between them. Expressive jade-hued eyes widened as he spoke again, asking a question that had (for her, anyway) a hundred answers.
Back away, girl.
"Meaghan," she breathed, a hint of uncultured brogue slipping in along with a soft sigh. Her cheeks stained a delicate pink. All thoughts of her usual games flew from her mind, replaced by that single burning question.
"Who are you?"
Blushing more deeply as she realized that she had, in fact, asked out loud, Cosmo's gaze dropped to her hands, staring with avid interest at their entwined fingers wondering how she could have lost control of the situation so completely. Even more disturbing was the realization that she cared not at all ...
**********************************************************************
21:51:37 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
"Meaghan." Byron whispers the name, mimicking Cosmo's brogue almost perfectly. He reaches up to brush his fingertips across the blush on her cheeks, his touch featherlight.
"Up until a moment ago, I was searching for something I didn't even know I'd lost. I am a wanderer by nature, a child of the open sky. Now, perhaps, I shall be something else. Byron is the name I answer to most days."
**********************************************************************
21:51:52 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Glancing up sharply at the sound of her name caressed by such sweet dulcet tones, she smiled charmingly, lightly turning her cheek towards that featherlight touch. It was somehow right that he used her given name rather than the one she'd adopted all those years ago. In truth, she'd missed the sound of it so much that one of her aliases had been created specifically to fill that void.
Cosmo's fingers itched to touch a satiny curl as it fell across his forehead, artlessly casting a shadow over one eye. A small voice in the back of her mind warned that there was danger here. But his voice held my spirit with a strange sweet sound ...
"Byron," she inclined her head, a dimple peeking shyly from each cheek. "What would you be now?" What else have you been called?
**********************************************************************
21:52:06 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
"A gentleman, if you desire; a scoundrel, if you ask; a friend and confidant, if such be needed. In everything, though, a servant to your beauty. I would be honored if you joined me for dinner tonight, fair Meaghan."
Byron's gaze turns from where his fingers still caress her cheek, to meet Cosmo's stare. The power of his dark soul pours forth, utterly confident in her answer even before he's asked the question.
**********************************************************************
21:52:28 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo's smile deepened, that small voice in the back of her mind growing quieter and quieter under the sheer force of Byron's personality.
Say no! Schedule for another night if you have to, girl, but not tonight. Give yourself time to breathe, to recover, time to think this over. 'Tino is still waiting for you at the other table, he ...
"I will bear that all in mind," a mischevious light sparkles in her eyes as she gazes up at him, feeling so small, so ... delicate in such a powerful presence. She wondered for a second what he would do if she said 'no' but the thought of being separated from this irresistible man was absolutely unbearable. Opening her mouth to accept, she found that no words would come, none that would do justice to the elated rush of emotion that finally coursed, unimpeded, throughout her.
"Dinner would be heavenly," she finished breathlessly, suddenly hungrier than she'd ever been.
**********************************************************************
21:52:47 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Byron smiles, delight suffusing his face. Glancing back over his shoulder, he nods to the waiter. Menus appear, as well as place settings, water and wine glasses. Byron swirls the merlot in his glass, sampling the bouquet. His posture is relaxed, yet he is in complete control of the situation.
"Tell me, sweet Meaghan, tell me everything about yourself."
**********************************************************************
21:53:18 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo paused, waterglass poised halfway to her lips as she considered the best way to answer. As much as she longed to share her story with someone, anyone, she knew that it would be madness to do so. Even as she all but melted when he smiled, there was enough strength of mind left to keep part of her separate. She took a measured sip of icewater and laughed softly, regaining a bit of her former poise.
"Everything?" She arched an eyebrow while a playful smile teased across soft pink lips. "You do not ask much, do you, Byron?"
"Very well, then." Her smile turns conspiratorial as she leans in somewhat closer as if to share a secret. "I am very seriously involved with the Law, I'm ... " a soft chuckle, "a legal secretary, or at least, that's what I put on my resumé. This is my .." she trails a finger across the face of her platinum watch, "second day in the city and I'm already half in love with it."
"What else would you like to know? And what about you, Byron," his name becomes a soft silken caress, "how did you find your way to Los Angeles?"
**********************************************************************
21:53:35 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
"It is not so much to ask, weighed in the grand scheme of things. It is, perhaps, an impossible question, though. Which is why I enjoy it. More often than not, when I ask it of people, they respond with what job they hold, or what career field they're in. Why? Do people find comfort in such labels? Do they define themselves by what they do for monetary compensation? I find it hard to believe that introspection is such a painful exercise that people must resort to external influences to place themselves in convenient, easy-to-understand categories. I think most people are afraid of what they will find when they look inside themselves."
Byron leans close, resting his chin on his hand while he stares at the liquid swirling sluggishly in his wine glass. It's as if he's thinking out loud for the most part, and he only raises his eyes to pin Cosmo with their dark piercing gaze as he finishes.
**********************************************************************
21:54:40 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo smiled slowly beneath the force of his gaze, the subtle arch of her back becoming a silent invitation as she drew him out, bit by bit. He was absolutely irresistible ... but that didn't mean that she couldn't play with him a bit as well. Her eyes turned a shade darker but sparkled no less brilliantly.
"In most cases, I'd be inclined to agree with you. There is a certain comfort that comes along with 'easy' labels; something readily identifiable that requires no true effort ... a serial number, if you will." She takes another small sip of water to calm her racing pulse before continuing.
"For others, I find, the issue has less to do with introspection than the ability of their peers to accept truths for what they are and look no further. It can be more painful, as I understand it, to share these truths and be feared, reviled even. Most people are not prepared to deal with the consequences of what they request."
**********************************************************************
21:55:17 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Byron laughs, drinking from his wineglass again.
"Fear and pain, two of the least understood emotions. But you shouldn't fear anything from me, no judgments are passed here." He leans forward, accepting Cosmo's invitation.
"So tell me, sweet Meaghan, tell me all of your secrets."
**********************************************************************
21:55:39 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Well you see, Byron, I'm actually a killer, an assassin, I think, trained by a clandestine organization that vanished almost overnight. They took me in when I was barely fourteen years old and taught me how to blend in with high society, I think to kill high profile targets. Yes, I said "I think" because I don't really know for sure. Hadn't you guessed that I'm missing a few of my memories? No? Imagine that ...
A soft chuckle slipped out as she held the cool goblet to her lips for a moment. Cosmo smiles archly.
"What makes you think I have any secrets to tell, Byron?"
**********************************************************************
21:55:56 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
"All women have secrets, Meaghan, it's what makes them so alluring. The only eternal mystery in life is Woman."
A flash of lasciviousness ignites within Byron's dark eyes, shuttered and banked almost as soon as Cosmo sees it. His hunger is up, now, sensing that she is witholding information, possibly playing games with him.
"Beautiful women always have secrets to tell."
**********************************************************************
21:56:19 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
"I wonder how ... " she pauses to smile up at him warmly, her eyes alight with invitation, "alluring I would remain if I did as you asked and told you everything."
Long slender fingers set the glass of icewater on the table, idly caressing the goblet's stem as she leans a fraction closer, warming to this game of theirs.
"Mmmm, and what's the value of a secret if it's to be given away so effortlessly?"
**********************************************************************
21:56:32 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Byron laughs.
"Too true. Anything worth having is worth fighting for. Shall we spar then, sweet Siren? Shall I chase you like Apollo after Daphne?"
The two of them are well within lethal range and each knows it, Cosmo can feel the heat from his skin. The inertia of the moment is growing, almost irresistable, as they spiral towards the inevitable conclusion to this dance.
"No god will save you when I catch you, sweet Siren," he whispers, his voice throaty with promise and possibility, his dark eyes aflame.
**********************************************************************
21:56:18 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo's smile deepens into a devilish grin as his throaty threat sends a delicious shudder to the tips of her toes.
"Oh?" she purrs, the tip of her tongue, wildly pink, darting out to whet a plump lower lip.
"And what of a devil?"
**********************************************************************
21:56:41 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
The smile that graces Byron's lips reminds Cosmo that Satan was once the greatest of all angels.
"Abashed the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her own shape how lovely; saw And pined his loss. But enough, we have settled the stakes in this game, what shall the challenge be? Pistols at dawn? Or something a little more survivable?"
His dark gaze slides from one side of the room to the other, cataloging everything present, weighing the possibilities. Moments later he fixes it once more upon her, intense and fiery.
"Let this be the challenge: one riddle a piece. Whoever answers correctly shall win our battle of wills."
**********************************************************************
21:57:06 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
She draws a soft breath, releasing it as a sigh. Had she ever seen such a beautiful male? Cosmo chuckled and wondered if it would be possible to "lose" in a contest such as this but her competitive spirit asserted itself; she would try to win and let the cards fall where they would.
"Very well, then." Her gaze turned sultry as she leaned forward, her lips no more than a hairsbreadth from the mysterious coil of his ear. Her voice, warm and throaty, was barely above a whisper.
"You can have me but cannot hold me;
Gain me and quickly lose me.
If treated with care I can be great,
And if betrayed I will break.
What am I?"
**********************************************************************
21:58:14 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Shutters close behind his eyes, turning them momentarily blank and featureless as he contemplates her question. Then, slowly at first, but with growing conviction the dark fire returns to his gaze. He smiles, a wicked, hungry, triumphant smile. He lets his fingers trail down the back of her hand, his touch light and soft, before turning his face to hers. His lips are close enough that she can taste the merlot on his breath.
"Trust," he replies, lingering just long enough for the fires burning beneath her skin to threaten to rage out of control. Drawing back, he lays out nine white sugar packets on the table.
"You've been given nine marbles that all look identical to one another, but one of them is lighter, being made of steel instead of lead. Your task is determine which one of them is the light marble by using only to weighings on a balance."
Byron rests his butter knife on the raised elbow of his fork, forming a crude balance beam.
**********************************************************************
21:59:06 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
And so having caught, been caught in return.
Cosmo's smile was no less wicked and just as starved as his, those petal soft lips parted oh so slightly, offering what was forbidden fruit until their challenge was decided. Her point, made so deliciously, was a victory in itself. But if you betray me, I will break. Don't ask for more than I can give?
Watching Byron, rather than the puzzle he's setting up on the table, she analyzes his movements, listens for unconscious stresses as he speaks, still marvelling that such an obviously powerful man saw fit to join her in this Game. There was no deception in his voice, and she believed all the packets were the same. The soft clatter of silverware draws her attention to the table and the pretty presentation spread out before them.
Nine marbles.
She glanced at the table, absently nibbling on her plush lower lip, her head tilted slightly to one side. The sudden smile that spread across her features was no less than dazzling as she deliberately leaned across him to retrieve a small side plate, the softness of her silk-clad chest brushing his abdomen twice before she straightens, setting the plate above the neat row of sugar packets. Cosmo shrugs lightly and suddenly the neckline of her delectable green dress is just a bit lower.
Deft fingers separate the nine packets into neat stacks of three, laying each out with ordered precision. The two outside stacks are lifted, one placed delicately on either end of the balanced butter knife. With all six packets suspended in perfect balance, she laughs throatily and places all six on the side plate. Two of the remaining three packets are then placed on the knife, balancing themselves, and are discarded onto the plate. The last sugar packet flickers between her fingers and is presented to Byron with a little flourish and the deadly serious arch of an eyebrow.
**********************************************************************
21:59:36 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Byron accepts the sugar packet from Cosmo, tearing off a corner and pouring the contents into his cup of coffee. His eyes never leave hers.
"A draw, then. Shall we go again? Or, perhaps, a different challenge is called for?"
**********************************************************************
21:59:49 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo nods slowly, very nearly devouring him with her eyes as she reaches down between them.
"A different challenge." Her keychain rattles lightly as she pulls it from her handbag and dangles it just to one side.
"Do you drive?" Choose your destination, Byron.
**********************************************************************
22:00:18 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Again, the question is mostly rhetorical. Byron sets a certified credstick on the table before standing and offering his hand to Cosmo. Wordlessly he leads her outside, handing his claim ticket to the valet. Moments later a sleek black Porsche Winter idles at the curb. Ignoring the valet for a moment, he walks Cosmo to her BMW, handing her into the driver's seat.
"Air Freight Terminal Ten, LAX."
With one last smile, he's gone in a swirl of longcoat. Seconds later, Cosmo hears the Porsche's engine rev.
**********************************************************************
22:02:26 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Il Grano Restaurant, Los Angeles, CFS
Casting a bemused smile over her shoulder as she hurries out of the restaurant, Cosmo waves lightly to her fixer and winks, her fingers tightening around Byron's. Sorry, Tino. She was thankful for the cold night air, more than anything else as it had the same effect on her as the icewater had in the restaurant. Her colour was high, though, as she gazed lustfully at the sinfully black Porsche. Her fingers twitched as she half reached out, aching to caress those curves, to find out whether its body was as slickly smooth as it appeared. The smile she turned toward Byron as he handed her into her own little coupe was potent enough to make a lesser man fall over. With smoldering eyes nearly as dark as his and an assertive nod of her head, she gunned the BMW's engine, keyed into her onboard computer, and cranked up the stereo.
"All right, babe," gloved fingers caress the leather covered steering wheel, "let's do this."
Cosmo waits for a break large enough for only one of their cars in the heavy Santa Monica Blvd traffic, taking off quickly and without warning. She weaves her way through spaces barely long enough for the little coupe, seizing opportunities that would only last for seconds before they vanished completely, using every trick she knew to play the lanes of traffic against the Porsche that never seemed more than two or three lengths away.
Finally, the exit for the Imperial Expressway looms in the distance. Cosmo hugs the far lane, sliding in between a Bison and a Phaeton, the thrilling ride sending her pulse racing as nothing else could.
**********************************************************************
22:31:50 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Imperial Air Cargo Complex, Los Angeles International Airport South Field, Los Angeles, CFS
It was more of a chase than a race in the end, since the Porsche outclassed the BMW in just about every performance aspect. And that was before the modifications were done. Cosmo played to win, though, her maneuvers superbly timed and executed. The traffic was a great levelling factor, confused motorists forming ranks of obstacles that shifted and braked at inopportune moments.
The offramp for Imperial Highway is a parking lot of vehicles headed on to Sepulveda Blvd to the main terminals of LAX. Cosmo's position on the outside gives her a momentary advantage as she screams past the halted traffic on the left shoulder. Only too late does she realize that merging traffic ahead will either force her to slow or to duck to the inside. A narrow gap opens between an airport shuttle and a two ton cargo truck, and her BMW shoots through with centimeters to spare. But the red taillights disappearing down the right shoulder are just out of reach, and not even her desperate, last ditch snake through the open parking lot of a Stuffer Shack can bring her ahead of the sleek black racing machine.
Both vehicles slide to a halt in the parking lot outside hangar ten, tires screaming. Immediately both drivers are out and striding towards one another, even as the dust from their high-speed entrance settles. Adrenaline and arousal sing through Cosmo's veins, and she watches as Byron stalks towards her, raw hunger in each step. His arms snake around her, whip-fast, crushing her against him, and he winds his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back. His face is possessive, his will irresistable.
"To the victor, the spoils," he hisses, eyes afire. As his lips come down on hers, Cosmo remembers:
"The spoils of victory!" Version gloated, the waterfall of crystalline perfection tumbling from his hand onto the black velvet cloth. Next to him, at the table, sat Iris and Stain, both matching their leader's vicious grin."Stupid spooks thought they could double-cross me! Ha!" The three of them cackle madly. Cosmo waits, lounging topless on the bed, knowing that the months of preparation and inaction had all led up to this point. Version glanced over his shoulder at her, slate gray cybereyes narrowing in desire.
"C'mere, baby. Wanna see what a million nuyen looks like?"
"Dress me up in diamonds, baby," cooed Cosmo, sliding from the bed and making her way across the floor to the table. Leaning over Version's right shoulder, she smiled down at him, watching the direction of his gaze. Her left hand already held the narrow glass stilleto, and with a smooth, practiced gesture she slid it through his neck at a slight upward angle. She covered the initial wounded jerk of his body by leaning down and kissing him, already tasting the blood on his lips as both ruptured carotid arteries pumped their load into his throat. Her right hand dipped to the Predator III in the holster beneath his left arm. Iris cried out a warning, the bitch had never trusted her, but by then it was too late. Cosmo had the weapon clear for action. The muzzle flashes reflected twice off the glittering carpet of diamonds, both shots center of mass. Iris toppled backwards out of her chair, lips moving soundlessly while the pair of 9mm holes in her chest hissed and gurgled. Stain was rising as she pivoted, his reflexes as fast as hers but hampered by the moment of inattention. The muzzle of the HK227 held in his right hand yawned like the mouth of Hell. The Predator bucked and roared in her hands, adrenaline yanking the trigger. Hollowpoint rounds snapped between them, cratering Stain's face and upper chest. The submachinegun in his hand blew divots from the floor, the smartgun interface obeying the last command the elf's brain had sent even as the hand holding the weapon went slack. Smoke and powder residue curled in the air, and the room stank of cordite, blood, and feces. Cosmo shivered, chill, her pale naked skin speckled with red.
Byron breaks the embrace, eyes widening as he draws back from Cosmo. For a moment the shutters click closed and he is someone, something else, standing in front of her. Then, as if it had never happened, the man she knows, despite having met so recently, is back. He offers his hand.
**********************************************************************
22:32:12 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Imperial Air Cargo Complex, Los Angeles International Airport South Field, Los Angeles, CFS
She was cold. More than anything else, a chill had seeped into her very bones and while she was softly pale beforehand her skin stood out, ghostly white, against the dark fabric of her long coat. Cosmo was fairly certain that she hadn't stiffened up in his arms and while she trembled (Spirits, how she was trembling), it could have been attributed to the excitement of their race to LAX. Her eyes were wide as well, ringed with black, and her lower lip quivered for a second before she could bring herself back under control.
"How did you ..." she trails off with a bit of a hitch in her breathing and twines her fingers with his, squeezing tightly when all she wanted was to be pressed up against him again, to forget what she had just lived through .. again.
**********************************************************************
22:32:49 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Imperial Air Cargo Complex, Los Angeles International Airport South Field, Los Angeles, CFS
Byron pulls her close again, his right hand sliding around her waist. The music is unheard, but he waltzes with her nonetheless, spinning her effortlessly. His body is warm as he holds her close, his breath soft on her neck.
"It's a kind of magic," he whispers.
**********************************************************************
22:33:17 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Imperial Air Cargo Complex, Los Angeles International Airport South Field, Los Angeles, CFS
"A kind of ...." Magic?
Cosmo closes her eyes and swallows the lump that seems all but stuck in her throat, twin pinpricks threatening in the corners of her eyes. As much as a part of her wanted to pull back, gather her wits, and regain some semblance of control over the situation, the larger part of her wanted nothing more than to give in to the warm, reassuring strength that Byron offered. She settled, as always, somewhere in the middle and continued dancing, pressed comfortingly close but still holding herself apart as they twirled about the darkened parking lot.
**********************************************************************
22:33:43 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Imperial Air Cargo Complex, Los Angeles International Airport South Field, Los Angeles, CFS
Byron chuckles deeply.
"No, not that kind of magic."
He twirls her gently to a halt, dipping her low, before kissing her again.
"That kind of magic."
**********************************************************************
22:33:43 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Imperial Air Cargo Complex, Los Angeles International Airport South Field, Los Angeles, CFS
If she hadn't been suspended halfway to the ground in the arms of a deliciously handsome man who'd just finished kissing her so thoroughly, Cosmo might have grown frustrated with the fact that although she knew exactly what Byron meant; she had absolutely no clue what he was talking about. Her mind was still swimming with desire, coloured with the sort of desperation that comes from real fear. Her chest heaved, her eyes darkened with longing for something she couldn't quite understand. Her fingers threaded through the short, silky curls at the nape of his neck as she pulled his mouth nearer to her own.
She didn't want another challenge and surprisingly enough, she didn't want physical intimacy as much as she wanted ... something else.
"Ahh," she smiled up at him, drawing a shaky breath and nodding slowly. "That kind of magic ..."
**********************************************************************
22:34:02 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Imperial Air Cargo Complex, Los Angeles International Airport South Field, Los Angeles, CFS
The Porsche's door swings open in response to a silent command, and Byron hands her into the seat before moving around to the driver's side. The engine starts with a purr, and the sleek black vehicle disapppears into the night.
Across the airfield, at the Ares corporate hangar, inside the sleek gray and black Cessna Citation Jet, digital surveillance feeds are being indexed and catalogued. Pattern recognition software, keyed to a specific set of facial features, constantly scans the images. When it locates an image that matches within acceptable parameters, it keys the alarm.
**********************************************************************
22:34:28 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Imperial Expressway, Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo settled into the front seat of the sumptuous sports car, her eyes still dreamily half-closed. She breathes deeply and smiles as the inside of the Porsche smells remarkably similar to Byron himself. Again, his presence almost overwhelms her though a tiny voice screams in the back of her mind. Something ... important.
"So what now?" she breathes, half turning in her seat to admire his strong profile, limned by the flickering lights of a world that seemed oddly distant.
**********************************************************************
22:36:41 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
Byron's smile is again half-wicked.
"I told you that no god would save you once I caught you. I am a man of my word."
The trip is short, just fifteen minutes down the 705 interstate. The Porsche brakes to a halt in front of an exclusive condominuim high-rise. Byron tosses his keys to one valet while another opens the door for Cosmo. Offering his hand once more, Byron escorts her inside, opening the doors with a quick scan of his fingerprint. The same pass gets them into the elevator, which rises automatically. Byron uses his body to press Cosmo against the back wall, his fingers brushing across her cheek before his lips claim hers again.
**********************************************************************
22:52:08 Tuesday 02 January 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
"I told you that no god would save you once I caught you. I am a man of my word."
Her smile had turned sultry at that admission, all thoughts of her abandoned BMW (and its contents) left behind. The silence they shared during the short drive was far from comfortable in the normal sense of the word; both knew what would come and the anticipation of it was very slowly driving her insane. The trip from LAX to this new building was almost surreal and she could have sworn that she floated through its doors.
Wincing slightly as her bruised and scraped back met with the cool, unyielding wall, Cosmo purrs softly as she's brought back into wakefulness by more than six feet of brooding, empassioned male. She molds herself to his larger frame, looping her arms about his neck, staring into wildly intense eyes that continue to draw her deeper and deeper until she finds herself surrendering, in part at least, to his strength. A dimple peeked devilishly out of each cheek as she offered herself to him ... wholeheartedly.
**********************************************************************
22:54:26 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
The elevator stops at the fifth floor, and Byron leads Cosmo out into the hallway, down to the third door on the right. The maglock again opens for his fingerprint, admitting the couple into the well-appointed flat. Byron slides his arms around Cosmo's waist again, dancing her down the hallway, through the dimly lit front room and into the bedroom.
**********************************************************************
22:56:17 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS
Cosmo closed her eyes for a moment, swaying with him to a song that was more felt than heard until she felt ready to fall over, dizzy with desire. She smiled lightly and brushed her lips up and down the column of his neck, her fingers playing across the fastenings of an immacuately-tailored jacket and the soft shirt beneath, teasing buttons but never undoing them. Her even white teeth nibble at a slightly angular earlobe as she whispers "ave victor" with a warm, throaty chuckle.
**********************************************************************
23:30 Tuesday, 02 January, 2063 - Auburn, on her way home at last, not looking for trouble, kind of hoping Murphy's Law of conservation of attitude is taking a break
Her wrists hurt. "Ice, girl!"
Her arms hurt. The Teaser had rapped a stick across her forearms after he had screamed something in her ear and she, reflexively, had turned ... with the pistol's aim moving with her. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Her head hurt. "What'd you want to go and shoot up perfectly good silencers for when you're just practicing? A day of noise won't kill you. Freezing up because you're not expecting it, might. You'll ear-protect from now on, and you'll be working with silencers tomorrow so you can get used to the feel, but today I want you shooting that thing until you can do it without flinching. It's loud. Everything here's loud. Get used to it."
Her feet hurt -- but that really was more of standing immobile for so long after having been on her feet almost the entire day, added to the cumulative stresses of the past month. Walking to the all-night bus stop had already almost cleared that, at least.
Teotwawki. It was just pain, after all.
Hobbes hadn't mentioned she'd be introducing her as Alleycat. Mierda. Then again, she hadn't thought to ask. Kludge run, gato. Determinedly she shoved the self-irritation to one side: spilt soykaf and all that.
She really, really needed to scrape together some more nuyen before -- whatever it was -- went down. Not all that much, really: just enough so it wouldn't be constantly at the back of her mind. Desperation led to stupid mistakes.
Jimmying open the lock, hotwiring, driving away, should be worth at least a couple thousand nuyen --
Hell with that. There were times for taking risks. She'd taken enough of them then, and she'd take enough of them in the future. This one was unnecessary.
She'd shot and shot until her hands were shaking and the Teaser had forced her to take a break, take off for a bit -- and he'd obviously been doubtful about whether she'd return at all. Not being able to trust in her own abilities. Fragging tanj, how she hated that!
The ork kid standing in front of her on the bus made as clean a boost off the man beside him as she'd ever noticed. She'd felt his fingers brush against her earlier, made just enough of a move toward the weapon he'd touched to make him decide to choose a different target. At least, it was either that, or the reality that she wore nothing else worth stealing. She smiled ironically to herself.
The woman's large purse swaying with the bus motion in front of her ... she stooped, and easily dipped into it, and concealed the boosted credstick in her sleeve --
And that didn't happen either. Her mind was going a million directions at once. Too tired to think, too tired not to think. Too many thoughts, and too few. Circling. Endlessly circling.
Focus.
Focus on the motion of the bus, how it continually altered her body's balance and that of everyone around her.
Focus on the small interactions of the people around her: those three chummers had gotten on together and were in a mood to par-tay; these two had gotten on separately but recognised each other; that one wished she were sitting anywhere else, the attentions of the boy next to her becoming less and less welcome all the time.
Focus on the smell of the discharged cartridge and the feel of the recoil in her hands and the pull of this specific weapon slightly to the left, remember to compensate for that the next time.
Focus on that formula and that ritual she'd pulled from Johnny's files, work to fit it in her mind to to the possibility she'd sensed ... a lifetime ago. No way she'd been able to scan all of what he'd gathered together in that electronic library of his, not in a single pass, not in a month of passes: but she'd caught her opportunity and known what to look for -- and she'd found it, and it was hers. Oddly unaccessed section -- well, maybe not so odd as all that, considering.
As the weight of the Predator pulled at her again and she straightened into it -- not against it, not that slight off-balance look that would demonstrate to all the world that she was carrying -- maybe she should have looked for and pulled a barrier construct as well?
Shrug. There would be another opportunity. Or there would not. Certain it was only that it would be some time before she could gather together even the equipment to access something similar of her own ... or, maybe -- wait, Mariah Anne Tenisat had been a student, maybe she still might have library access? or would once again, once she'd caught up tuition fees and resumed her studies?
In her mind, she began to unravel the casting patterns of the formula, that elusive fifth category which had so strongly shifted in her understanding. Not for the first time she wondered at the seeming discrepency: five categories, but only four elements? But her teachers had had an explanation for that too, and it did make sense: she felt it with every throb of her pulse.
Had she crippled herself irrevocably? She'd find out, soon enough.
An odd thought: did the girl named "Julia" feel it too? Upon reading the article, her instinct had been to mark the place as one to avoid. But maybe ...
**********************************************************************
... TO JANUARY 3