From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark  Friedman, Crimson)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo
Subject: 21st Century Schizoid Man [part 10/19]
Date: 26 Aug 92 15:11:27 GMT
Organization: The Ohio State University Department of Computer and Information Science


        Freddy started to worry when the gate at the mansion didn't
open immediately.  If a few seconds a shimmering form appeared outside
the van's window.  A large head floated there, the head of an
effeminate-looking office stooly realistically rendered with the
lastest in 3d holographic visualization techniques.  It spoke: "May I
help you?"

        "Delivery for Ms. Feeby," Freddy said, hoping he didn't appear
nervous.  Appearances were the most important thing in this business:
if you slipped up once it was likely you'd never have an opportunity
to slip up again...

        The head bobbed out of view for a second, then reappeared and
said, "Leave it on the south loading dock."  The image then
disappeared and the gates clicked open.

        He wasn't surprised when the gate immediately shut and clicked
again after the van passed through.  Concentrating on the way ahead,
he noticed a few patches of trees on the lawn and no lights except to
light the road and the mansion itself.  The mansion lay about 500
meters ahead, and the road went around to either side.  No guards were
in view, but then again none were expected to be.

	Freddy slowed the van down a bit as he passed a small, unlit
wooded area toward the side of the mansion.  He barely heard the side
door of the van slide open and then closed again.  He let out a sigh,
knowing the only incriminating evidence against him had vacated his
vehicle.

	"Cryminee, we shouldn't be here," he grumbled.  "Not yet..."
He was starting to get "cold feet" about their situation...

	Once again they were flying into the wild blue yonder with
barely a plan to go on.  He wasn't that hot on verbal improv, either,
and he'd probably have to do some major BSing that night.  So how the
hell was he going to keep most of the security downstairs?  "Diversion
diversion diversion..."

	"Screw the loading dock."  He buckled his seat belt and floored
the van's accelerator, turning towards the north, front of the house,
rather than the south.

	\	\	\	\	\	\	\	\

	Jeff Riley heard a vehicle drive up outside and suddenly the
door buckled in and went sliding across the floor.  He had to jump to
avoid getting hit by it: he had a health plan, yeah, but a 4 inch slab
of solid oak *hurts*!

	The corner of a Federated Boeing van peeked through the now
gaping doorway, allowing a cloud of dust to drift in with it.  A man
got out of the driver's side and staggered into the main foyer,
muttering something about "damn EuroTrash..."

	Jeff recognized the Trog Crusher colours the man wore (he'd
been briefed on this before he was hired at the mansion) and stepped
up to help him.  "You okay, guy?"

	The lanky man coughed out, "Yeah.  Pedal stuck or something.
Computer glitch.  Something..."  Jeff noticed some of the other
security men filtering down from upstairs.

	"Damn.  You okay though?"

	"Yeah.  Guess so."  He brushed his jacket off a bit.

	"That's good.  So, why the haste, chummer?"  Jeff smiled,
hoping a little levity could help tone down the shock a bit.

	Freddy looked around and took a stab.  "Errr, yeah: someone
called me here?"

	One of the guards spoke up.  "Oh, that's right: your brother,
Rock, is it?  Looks sorta like you, but bigger.  Yeah, he said to keep
an eye out for you."

	"Errr, yeah."  He had to think fast: he was hoping to avoid
Rock for the next few days.  "Errrr, where is he now?"

	"Went upstairs to talk to Ms. Sirriani.  That's the last I saw
him."

	"Thanks."  He needed to buy some time, first.  "Oh, could I
get something to drink around here?  Need something to settle the
nerves..."

	Jeff laughed.  "I could imagine.  Ummmm, kitchen's that way.
Should be something in there."

	"Thanks," Freddy grinned back, "and I'll come back to help
clean up my mess before I leave..."

	/	/	/	/	/	/	/	/

	Freddy found some tequilla in a cabinet, but decided on water
instead.  He whispered to himself, "Rock's pretty slow, but he'll
eventually catch on the more I talk with him..."  He was also starting
to get nervous about coming unarmed, but it was probably for the best.

	He put down his glass and went out the side door of the
kitchen and found himself in a rec-room or sorts.  He spied a door on
the other side of the room and walked towards it.

	"*There* you are...Dirk." the darkness said.

	"Huh?"  Freddy spun around in the direction of the voice.

	Someone leaned out of the shadows of a couch and into the
light.  It was Rock.  "Feeby's been lookin' for ya."

	"Oh, yeah.  Sure."

	Rock stood and lumbered towards Freddy, who could smell the
rye from 10 paces.  "She's waiting upstairs.  Let's go."

	Rock took him back through the kitchen, upstairs past the
group of security guards, and finally to the second floor.  Freddy
took mental notes of the floor plan just in case he had to leave in a
hurry.  After a left, intersection, right, three doors, they came to a
stop.  Rock opened the door on the left and motioned Freddy through
it, who entered to find Feeby sitting behind a desk.

	Freddy almost stuttered, "You wanted to see me, Feeby?"

	She tapped a pen on the desk.  "Yes, Dirk.  We have to talk."

	Freddy suddenly felt a sharp pain smashing down on his left
shoulder, driving him to his knees.  He rolled over to see Rock
standing over him, holding a steel pipe.  He raised it again...

	A man stepped in from a side chamber.  "That'll be all, Rock.
You may go now."  The newcomer gazed closely at Freddy and grinned.

	Rock lowered the pipe and turned to leave, but hesitated.  He
turned back and spit on Freddy.  "Fuckin' trogs..."  He punctuated the
statement with a quick kick in the ribs.

	"That's ENOUGH, Rock!" Feeby yelled.

	Somehow Rock managed to hold himself back.  He then nodded to
Feeby and exited the room, closing the door behind him.

	Freddy dragged himself to his feet, nursing his shoulder, and
dropped down onto a chair.  "My own brother, even.  Damn, I think it's
broken..."  Actually, he knew it was.  He bit his lip to stop the pain
and looked over to the mystery man.  "So to what do I owe the honor of
this wonderful hospitality?"

	The man smiled and stepped forward, "My name is Law, and you
must be Frederick Marx, a.k.a. 'Klone Crimson'.  I'm a big fan of your
work..."

	Freddy could only mumble, "Oh shit..."

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

Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1992, all rights reserved.  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?  :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well...

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)