From: GAYNOR@agvax2.ag.ohio-state.edu (Jim Gaynor)
Subject: Blackjack - Dueces and one-eyed Jacks
Organization: The Ohio State University - OCES
Date: Fri, 21 Aug 1992 02:03:04 GMT
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.23

He strode into the Chatsubo, disdainful of the near-tradition that
persons entering the Chatsubo make an "entrance."  He simply
opened the steel door and walked in, ignoring the covert glances
and appraisals as he made a direct line for the bar, and the
bartender behind it.

"Ratz," Blackjack called as he approached the bar, "come take a
look at this."

Ratz put down the glass he was slowly wiping and made his
ponderous way to where Blackjack was placing a metallic item on
the bar.  He studiously ignored the unknown thing and instead
examined Blackjack.  The musician was dirty, unkempt.  His wavy
brown hair stuck out in random tufts, and there was at least three
days of stubble on Blackjack's angular face.  Stains turned his
longcoat into some mutable, indescribable color and there were
several rips in the fabric at Blackjack's chest, as if something
had been clawing at him.

"Shit is what you look like," pronounced Ratz, "have a drink
first."

"I don't have time for that, Ratz, you have to take a look at
this," protested Blackjack, but nothing he said influenced Ratz as
he poured brandy into a warmed glass and pushed it across the bar
towards the musician.  Ratz stood there, his pink plastic arm
crossed over the flesh one, until Blackjack reluctantly picked up
the glass and drank from it.

"Good," said Ratz, "Now, what is it, this thing I must see?"

Blackjack pushed the metallic object across the bar towards Ratz. 
Ratz' artificial arm whined as he reached forward to pick it up. 
About three cents square and a few millimeters think, it had two
thin, short straps dangling from either side.  One side was glassy
- some kind of display that way, for now, dormant.  The other side
has an alloy finish and some kind of marking engraved into it. 
The bartender looked at the logo for a few moments, then dropped
the item back on the bar.

"Homing band, it is," he said, "markings are Mechanics."  He
looked at Blackjack for a moment, "this knowledge you already
have."

"Yeah," Blackjack admitting, "I had figured that out.  It was
Nekoko's, Ratz.  I got it from some fishermen who yanked her out
of the bay after her chopper crashed.  She must've given them just
about everything she had to convince 'em to take her to land."

Ratz' eyes widened slightly, his expression asking questions he
didn't voice.

In response, Blackjack shook his head, "Nah, none of that.  Those
guys were decent in their own way.  They brought her to land and
she took off.  It must've been after that when she called me - but
I lost the trail."

He picked up the homing band, holding the alloy side up.  "This is
the only lead I've got right now," Blackjack said, "nobody I know
has any idea on where to find a refugee cat-girl.  But I don't
know any Mechanics.  Never messed with 'em."

"But you know 'em," Blackjack said in a low voice as he leaned
over the bar, "I"ve seen 'em in here, and I know how you are about
letting any kind of organization folks in."

"You gotta get 'em for me, Ratz," he continued in a voice that
almost pleaded, "get me in touch with 'em so I can find her.  You
gotta do it."

Ratz looked at Blackjack who, in turn, looked back with an
expression that mixed demands and begging.  Then, slowly, Ratz
reached out to take the homing band.

"Nothing do I gotta do," he replied, "but what I can do, I will."

Blackjack sighed in relief as Ratz turned and walked towards the
back room, the hoing band held in his meat hand.  Reaching for the
glass of brandy, Blackjack took a long sip from it as he allowed
the rest of the Chatsubo to impinge upon his senses.

A few seats down the bar, a techie sat next to a woman in a
startlingly form-fitting jumpsuit.  Electronics were scattered on
the top of the bar, but they were left alone as the techie watched
the woman with an air of waiting, while the woman seemed to be
lost in thought.  In a dim corner of the bar, a single light
flicked on and off.  As Blackjack squinted, he could see that the
light emitted from cockpit of some huge mechanical that  was
kneeling, shut down, next to a table.

As his gaze roved over the other patrons of the Chatsubo,
something began to impinge on a sense other than sight.  Sound, to
be exact.  The music that was being played.  It wasn't any of the
stuff he had written, none of the stuff he played with Danny and
Floyd.  And it didn't sound anything like the music that the AIs
came up with on their own.  Too many layers that were
superficially discordant, but that still managed to maintain some
kind of convergence.  The timing was too tricky, with unusual
beats.  Too damn intuitive and human.

Those thoughts flickered across Blackjack's mind in a moment as he
turned to look at the slightly raised area where the Chat's
performers normally played.  There were Danny and Floyd, two
slightly etheric holographs, mere representations of the AIs that
truly lived only in hardware.  But there was someone else up
there, his form hard to make out  through the smoky atmosphere. 
It wasn't White Crystal, with her pale body and sinuous grace. 
And that was the only person Blackjack remembered telling the AIs
to play with.

Downing the rest of the brandy, Blackjack stood up and began to
walk towards the stage.

"Signal override commandsign interrupt program execution,
goddammit!  Mark!" he said in a terse voice as he walked up on the
stage to confront whoever this was.  Danny and Floyd both stopped
playing, the equipment falling silent to leave the newcomer in an
unexpected solo.

"Wha' th' FUCK do you think you're doing?" Blackjack snarled at
Crimson as the music in the Chatsubo ground to a discordant halt.


---
   Jim Gaynor    | "Man-of-Many-Beeping-Sounds-and-Flashing-Lights" - KAJ
OSU/ACS/FMS/OCES | <gaynor@agvax2.ag.ohio-state.edu> or <gaynor.4@osu.edu>
ObDiscl:  Everything stated here and above is _my_ opinion.  Mine mine mine!
ObQuote: "Every devil I meet becomes a friend of mine." - Indigo Girls