From: masticol@cadenza.rutgers.edu (Steve Masticola)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.havens-rest
Subject: [Quig/MaryMary] Flaw and Order
Date: 11 Dec 92 23:40:59 GMT
Organization: Rutgers Univ., New Brunswick, N.J.

[ Quig's parts are due to Carl Fogelin (fogelinc@pt.cyanamid.com);
MaryMary's are mine. -S. ]

>MaryMary flagged Mas down. Quig ordered a double boilermaker;
>he had a feeling he might need it.

>"Quig, I'll get right to the point" ("Hell and damnation," Quig
>muttered under his breath.)  "You know I'm looking for people.  I
>need a guide who can find a back way to the Monkey Tong's Thought
>Engine.  It's a paying job, half the money up front, and I'm in
>the mood to be lucrative about it.  Interested?"

Quig took a large sip of his drink and looked MaryMary over.  "She's
got larger balls than most of the ore jackers around Sirius" Quig
thought.  "Well, she seems to be a friend of that 'furry' fellow I
was talking to...  my tollician sales rep said it would be three weeks
until a new set of couplers come in...  and maybe Mas would appreciate
payment in credits for a change" Quig counted off in his head.  And with
that brief mental conversation, Quig decided he would help the little,
errr, lady.

Assuming his best hick's attitude: "Weeelll, I don't know what a
monkey's tongue has to do with no thinkin' box, and why you'd want to
find the ape's butt, but I suppose I could..." Quig stopped, putting
on an expression of extreme confusion. "Huh??? Mind repeating that?"

MaryMary did not take kindly to fools, intentional or otherwise. "Are
you being deliberately dense with me?" she retorted. "If so, you might
as well jettison it, because it's wasting both our time. And it won't
get you any more free beer, either. You know damn well exactly which
_gang_, and what frigging _computer_, I'm talking about."

"Oh, a gang's computer!  Why didn't you say so..."  Suddenly Quig
looked over his shoulder at an empty spot by the bar near a full glass
of room temperature beer and muttered, "She said that!??  Oh... siding
with her won't let you off the hook about them couplers!"

MaryMary made a mental vow that, should the time ever come, she would
surrender her sanity with grace and dignity. With Quig on her team,
she thought, the time might come sooner than otherwise.

Looking back at MaryMary, Quig said "I assume since you're askin' me
for assistance that this computer is underground.  Where about would
we find it?"

"I thought you were supposed to be the Supreme Sandhog of
Serendipity!"

Quig turned his argot to full-force. "I cain't know everythin' about
ever' little hole on this goldurn' rock.  And some holes is kind of
sceerier than others to be around, if you see what I mean. 'Specially
the ones with a lot of soldiers around 'em. Just a general idea is all
I need."

"I'll see what I can do." MaryMary fished her black box from a pocket
inside her soft-camo, placed her hand inside, and spent a dreamy-eyed
second.  This gave Quig a brief opportunity to admire her breathing;
he wisely desisted as soon as her hand started to withdraw.

"OK. I've done a little traffic analysis. All the communication to and
from the Thought Engine is going through an old maser repeater on top
of Mount Terminus, to various mobile and stationary platforms in the
area. Then it disappears. My guess is that the Tong is playing a kind
of shell game with the communication links, to prevent anyone from
tracking down the Thought Engine by tracing them.  It worked,
partially; otherwise I'd be able to tell you exactly where it is. But
I've narrowed the search, so I can safely say it's at most 100 klicks
from there. More likely less."

"... About 100 klicks from Mount Terminus huh?" Looking over his
shoulder, Quig mutters "Get me maps" to the empty spot.  At this
point, Quig hailed Mas down and said, "Mas, do you got a private room
which we" pointing to MaryMary and himself "can use?", punctuating
with a wry smile and a wink.

MaryMary nearly detonated, but realized that Quig would not need maps
for any carnal purposes she could imagine. At least none he could
execute in the back room of a bar. She therefore held her tongue, with
some difficulty.

Mas chuckled and said, "Sure, Quig", pointing the way.  A number of
men near Quig also smiled that knowing little smile at the pair, as
the door closed behind them. A few gaped; others checked their vision
systems.

Mary whirled. "Quig, goddamit, YOU and ME? Anyone who _did_ believe
that wouldn't survive to puberty on this slagheap. Or at least
shouldn't. All I can hope is that this room isn't bugged too." She
brought out a tiny, complicated-looking gadget, unfolded a tiny,
complicated-looking antenna, and pressed its largest, simplest-looking
button. "We're in luck. No unexplained electromagnetic fields in this
room, so no bugs, probably. But keep the talk to a minimum, just to be
sure. And cover what you're doing."

Reaching for his map case, Quig muttered, "I suppose you'd rather...
Oh, to hell with it."  He unrolled his maps. "Let's see, a hundred
klicks..." and started tracing lines with his finger.

- Steve (masticol@cs.rutgers.edu).