From: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu (Hubert Bartels)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo
Subject: Nekoko's story 17
Date: 10 Apr 92 15:46:40 GMT
Followup-To: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo
Organization: Optical Sciences Center


	This is a continuation of Nekoko's story. Past stories are
	available through anonymous FTP at catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu
	[128.196.106.60]. Or write me.

	We pick up the story the evening after Nekoko crashed into
	Puget Sound.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
	A tiny figure ran down the racks of shipping containers, a child
in a world of oversized building blocks. The area was empty; the only sound
the roar of rain drumming on the aluminum tops of acres of containers. The
grey rain beat on the girl's hair, ran down her back and into her coat. She
slipped in a puddle, threw a hand against a pipe to keep from falling, and
ran on. Her coat, an old fisherman's jacket, oily and threadworn, was soaked
through with water. The rain was already dirty; it smelled of fish and oil,
smoke and tar, it stained the docks as it fell.
	Her breath came faster, her feet slowed down. She turned her face
up into the filthy rain, scanning the rows of containers as she ran.
	The rain pooled at her feet, slimy puddles that reflected iridescent
colors in the glare of the arclights overhead. Her boots touched down in
the water, splashed, and lifted out. She ran, checking the doors of each
container, ignoring the ache in her side, her wet feet, her icy cold shirt.
Each step took her further from the wharf where she had been dropped off, each
step took deeper into the storage area of Seattle's docks.
	She stopped, sliding a bit on the greasy asphalt. There! She wiped
the rain out of her eyes and studied the shipping container carefully. She
wiped her eyes again. Yes, it was unlocked. A quick look up and down the long
alley. She was alone.
	As she walked to the container, she stepped through the light of an
overhead arclight. The light revealed a girl, maybe a woman, standing 1.7
meters tall, slender and pale. She wore what looked like the remains of a
flight suit underneath the jacket. The jacket was long on her, reaching
almost to her knees. She had long blonde hair, now matted and tangled. Her
flattened hair revealed two cat ears, long cat ears that were now were folded
down in distaste.
	She turned in the light, checking the empty alley, her cat ears 
standing and turning, listening for any other sound than the constant beating
of rain. Her eyes were cat eyes, green with vertical slits, in a face that
was pretty, if not a little sharp featured. She blinked in the rain, then
turned back to the container.
	The handle had no lock, but it still took a bit of effort to lift
out of its notch and turn. The door opened slowly, reluctantly, and the
cat girl had to pull hard to make enough of an opening to get inside.
	It was noisy inside. The rain's hammering on the roof echoed 
off the empty walls. But at least it was dry. The cat girl slipped through
the opening.
	The container was almost empty. A sea of loose styrofoam covered the
floor, mixed with bits and pieces of thin cardboard pieces. Several large
cardboard containers, some flattened, some partially standing, stood against
the aluminum walls. The floor was hardwood, showing the years of hard use
with nail holes and gouges. Inside, the air was musty and damp, the smell
of old paper.
	The cat girl scrambled at the heavy door, trying to close it. Her
wet fingers slipped on the cold metal, loosing their grip on the slick
sides. She finally gave it up as useless.
	She suddenly shivered. Standing, she realized how cold it was. 
Beneath her boots, a small puddle grew from the water dripping off her coat.
She stepped towards the back of the container and started to dig through the
piles of discarded packing materials. There was a great length of packing
paper, coarse and absorbent, a roll of bubble plastic, any number of single
sided corrugated paper and more and more styrofoam. Gritting her teeth,
the cat girl took off her coat and laid it on the floor. She really needed
a fire. But the risk was just too great. And everything here would burn up
in about fifteen minutes. She would just have to dry out the best she could
and hope for the best. Besides, she could check her resources and see 
what she had been to carry away from the wreck.
	Matches. A compass. This and that. A small knife. Fishing hooks.
Little things that would have been helpful in a wilderness. Luckily, one
of those reflective blankets. The cat girl unfolded it and wrapped it around
herself.  And making a bulge in the old jacket, her portable telcom wrapped
inside a waterproof bag. She unsealed the bag and opened the telcom. The
batteries seemed to be good. Weak, but maybe, just maybe...
	She keyed in a code.
	The speaker buzzed. The little battery light flickered.
	"Blackjack..." The cat girl breathed.
	The speaker buzzed. 
	"Please..."
	It was the only number she had been able to recall. The musician at
the Chatsubo, who had listened to her, had played for her, had given her a
telcom number and told her to call if she ever needed a hand. 
	"Please...."
	The tiny speaker clicked with the sound of someone picking up the
other end. The cat girl gave a small sigh of relief as she heard Blackjack's
voice.
	"Hi.... It's Nekoko." Nekoko waited for Blackjack to shift mental gears
and then whispered, "I'm in trouble, big trouble." She caught her breath and
started again, more slowly and clearly. "It's ARES again. We ran a operation
to pull a friend out of one of their research labs. I flew the helicopter
for the drop off and pickup. The others did a bangup job on the lab and I
got them away."
	She hesitated a moment as the voice on the other end asked a question.
"Hai, she's safe. But I needed to hide the helicopter from ARES. And I thought
the best place would be on the other side of Puget Sound. The damned thing
blew up halfway over, dropping me in the water.
	"It was cold, so cold. The crash blew the cockpit door off. I
unsnapped my buckles and dived after the door. As I got out of the cockpit,
the helicopter sank." Another question came from the tiny speaker. "Oh, the
door? It had the liferaft attached to it. So, anyway, I got on the raft. And
there was nothing around me but mist and water. Lots of water. And seagulls.
Until this boat came up to pick me out of the liferaft. Fishermen, they said.
Real scummy types. I had to give them all my stuff to get a ride. All my
money, the sidearm, watch, that type of stuff. They even pulled the liferaft
on board. Luckily, they left me my telcom. So they wrapped me in a warm
blanket, gave me a cup of something they called soykaf and showed me to a
cabin. Then they closed the door and left me alone. They did tell me that
they would be putting into Seattle around dusk.
	"The fishermen dropped me off an hour ago. Down by one of Seattle's
docks.  Then it started to rain..." Nekoko leaned closer to her telcom.
"Blackjack, I think I need help to go hide for a while. It was ARES's
helicopter I trashed. They're probably still mad about that incident on
the island. I don't know. Don't tell anyone I survived. Maybe they'll
think I'm dead."
	Nekoko paused while Blackjack spoke to her. She found it hard to
listen to him; the signal was weak and fuzzy. Were the batteries giving
out? She spoke out quickly. "I think my telcom is going out. Blackjack, I'm
down by the docks. In a container. Somewhere. Can you help me?"
	Nekoko listened for the answer. The signal was still weaker. The
speaker was scratchy and underclear. "Please, I'm cold and lost and ..."
The battery light dimmed quickly and went black. The speaker was silent.
	She stared at it for a moment. Speechless. So near to a friendly
voice and now this. With a snarl, she jumped up and threw the telcom
against the back wall. It shattered bright shiny plastic bits across the
styrofoam. Nekoko stood a second and then reached down for the reflective
blanket. With tears in her eyes, she slowly gathered enough packing materials
for a cushion and rolled herself inside. She didn't think she could
sleep, but there was no other place to go. Not anymore. Not tonight.
     
--
Hubert Bartels          INTERNET: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu
Optical Sciences Center (602)-621-2032
University of Arizona   "Uchi-ra wa Buaku-do no Annapuna to Yunipuma ya!" 
Tucson, AZ, USA 85721   "Senshatai Yaburetari!!" Annapuma & Unipuma, Dominion