From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark  Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 01/21]
Organization: The Ohio State University Department of Computer and Information Science
Date: Wed, 29 Jul 1992 06:56:43 GMT

	Club Penumbra was mega-suckage in Frederick Marx's book.  The
music there was fluff.  Except when he played, that is.  But his
contract only let him play twice a month, and then only in the "wee
hours" when the dance crowd had gone home.  His crowd was mostly
composed of people who were performance artists themselves.  He parked
his Rapier out front, approached the entrance, and nodded to the troll
bouncer at the door. "Howdy Grod."

	"Heya Freddy.  Not playin' tonight are ya?  Thought you waz
ev'ry other Sunday?", the troll queried.  Freddy thought he was pretty
smart for a troll.

	"You're right, Grod.  I'm over at Evil Irving's later tonight.
Gonna be there?"

	The Troll grinned widely.  "Nope!  Me an' duh missus got
something planned.  Heh heh!"

	Freddy knew  what he meant by the  gleam in  his  eye.  "Nudge
nudge!  Say no  more, say no  more!    Later Grod..."  He   gave him a
knowing wink  and turned to  the entrance.  Freddy thought to himself,
"Grod is good people.  Too bad those Humanis dweebs  don't know that."
He stepped through the door into the chaos that was Penumbra...

	That evening, the band was blaring out some extremely mindless
bit of trash and that had the masses gyrating every which way on the
dance floor.  "What kinda drek is that?"  Freddy asked aloud, not
really expecting an answer.  He dug his way through the crowd and
found his way to the bar.  "Barkeep: screwdriver."  He handed over his
credstick and received the short glass of orange fluid.  He downed it
and ordered another.  This happened four times in rapid succession
before he realized it, whereupon he promptly rolled off his stool and
underneath the bar.

	He sat there looking at legs of people dancing by.  Freddy
always did have a pechant for looking a life at an odd angle.  He did
a photo essay in college where he strapped a MicroCam to his shoe and
walked around campus.  "Ant's-eye View", he titled it, and he received
an A+.  It was a joke to him, but somehow it was hailed as brilliant.
That almost pushed him into switching his major to cinematography.
"Why the hell did I chose *computers*?"  he asked himself.  He didn't
know.  He *could* have done almost anything, but he just happened to
fall into computers...

	A *very* nice pair of legs walked up to the bar in front of
him.  The owner's head bent down into his line of sight and smiled.
"Hey-ho, Freddy!  Whatcha doin'?"  The woman smiled genuinely.

	Freddy half-smiled back.  "Just watching life go by, Kelly..."
he mumbled at her.  Kelly was a regular waitress at the Club.  A while
back they were "together", but eventually Kelly drifted off in search
of other guys.  Freddy was too introverted for her style, but she
still took care of him.  "I'm over at Irving's tonight.  Coming?"

	She tapped her order-tablet with her pencil, thinking.  "Well,
I'm through here at the top of the hour.  I think I can make it.  Same
time, I'm guessing?"  She brushed her long green Chroma-Tinted hair
out of her eyes.

	"Same bat-time, same bat-channel," he grinned.  Freddy never
knew why he let Kelly go.  She sure had great taste in music.
Besides, she was a hell of a lot of fun in bed!  "See ya there.  Oh,
and tell the guy out front that you're my babe, too.  He always says I
have no class."  He winked at her.

	She giggled and winked back in kind.  "Yeah, right Freddy.
Later daze.  I gotta get back to work."  She picked up her now loaded
serving tray and walked off towards the tables.

	He was drifting off, looking into empty space, when another
set of legs approached him.  These weren't nice looking though.  An
aging man crouched down in front of him.  "You a decker?"

	Freddy looked at the man and flatly told him, "No, I'm a
musician."  He pulled a black cord out of his jacket and plugged his
PR-128 into the MIDI-OUT port in his skull.  He then thought up a
short techno-fugue to prove his point.  The music he thought of came
out of the thinline speakers sewn into his overcoat.  "See?"

	The old man wasn't convinced.  He took out a stuffed ferret's
paw and pointed it at him.  "This thing says you is."  The paw emitted
a dull blue glow.  "And you're here for a meeting, right?"

	Freddy squinted.  "Am I?  Awwww shit, I *am*..."  The
screwdrivers hadn't done him a great service.  He quickly stood
up...bumping his head on the bar, hard.  The mage (Freddy guessed)
laughed, helped him up, and walked away into the crowd.  "Thanks, eh?"
Freddy told him as he departed.

	He then  went to the bartender and  whispered the code phrase.
("Wankel Rotary Engine!").  The bartender nodded and Freddy walked over
to  an alcove.  A  minute later  a  hidden door  opened and he stepped
through into the "back room".

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Everything presented   here is Copyright by  Mark  Friedman  1991, all
rights reserved.  Well, that's  not entirely true!   Basic  story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)

Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.

					- Mark "Crimson" Friedman

Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former   "Beat poets,    "If you put a hungry ferret in your
 about King Crimson."       not children."  trousers, he'll run around..."
 - Robert Fripp, 5/11/90    - anonymous     - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)