From: lowk@nucleus.cuc.ab.ca (Karl Low)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo
Subject: Spinner's Web
Date: 9 Nov 92 04:58:17 MST
Organization: The Nucleus 16 Lines 403-531-9353 -CNet Amiga-

Author's Apology:  Sorry for not posting sooner, or more regularly. The muse
strikes when she will, and more often then not, it's a slow killing blow. Plus
my characters seem to have their own ideas as to what they want to do, so blame
them.
 
Author's Thanks:  To those who bothered to comment, or criticize. It's much
appreciated. And gives an egoboo like nothing I've _ever_ felt before, that's
for sure.
 
And without further ado.. the second installment.
 
NOTE: The Spinner of my story, and the Spinner of JBrandt's
are totally different people. No relations can or should be
drawn between the two other than they have the same
streetname. This was not done out of malice on either
author's side, but rather a simple mistake in choosing
identities.
                             ---
      Choice is illusion.
      Life is the world's best magician.
  Practice
    Experience
      It's never enough.
  You're always taken in by the show.
 
                             ---
 
     Spinner stepped out of the tenement into the harsh glare
of the sun. It's hot rays beat down on his sallow skin, the
faded neon lettering of his shirt coming to new life.
     Thomas looked up at the sun, shading his eyes. "There's
something you don't often see around here."
     Spinner grunted, seeing the way that the hot, yellow
rays transformed the neighborhood from the sinister and
depressing to the merely run-down. Empty windows across the
street gaped back at him, movement in their shadows sometimes
visible. Just people. People trying to get on with a normal
life in a world that had long lost any sort of normality.
     The car slid up to the curb beside them. A silver bullet
marred by the newspaper stuck to its wheel. The gull-wing
door hissed open, and Spinner shook his head at the sudden
resemblance to a space ship. Thomas idly tore the paper away
from the wheel and tossed it down the street, a playful,
desolate wind picking it up and carrying it down the lane.
Spinner watched it until it disappeared around a corner, and
turned to find Thomas looking at him.
     "Ready?"
     "Never. But close enough," Spinner replied as he
crouched into the low seat.
 
     Thomas slid in beside him and the door hissed shut,
sealing off the brightness outside.
     "Mishubi 21R." Thomas said.
     "Wha?"
     "The car. Prototype, actually. Thought you'd be
interested."
     "Oh."
     They rode in silence for several moments, the car
moving smoothly down the rough streets. Spinner watched
intently out the window as the neighborhood passed by.
Graying, condemned buildings fading into one another, cracked
paint, the occasional plant on a windowsill, usually dead,
sometimes not. Even a couple of people, their staggered walks
halted with envious looks as the car slid by them. The bright
light of the sun made it all seem so much more dead. Without
the overcast skies to lend an aura of impending tragedy, or
without the darkness of night to give the place the sinister
mystery that seemed so enticing, the place just looked dead.
There wasn't anything exciting about it, just a slum on its
last leg. Nothing would ever happen here. Spinner knew that
and, seeing it again for the first time, couldn't help but
question if that wasn't exactly what he really wanted.
     "Looks different, doesn't it?"
     Spinner nodded in reply, "Looks all too real."
     "On to bigger and better things."
     "I wonder."
     The car quietly shifted up an off ramp and onto the
highway, the low rumble of its engine slipping up the octaves
to dissappear into a high whine as the car picked up speed.
Spinner looked idly over at Thomas, who was doing some sort
of strange finger dance.
     "Who's driving?"
     "Beg pardon?" asked Thomas, the dance of fingers never
stopping as he looked up.
     "Driving. Shouldn't someone be steering this?"
     "Computer. Newest system. Picks up it's whereabouts from
satellites in orbit, infrared and radar telling it if it's
coming too close to anything. All you need to know is where
you're going."
     "Huh. Impressive."
     "It is. That's the kind of thing we're working on."
     "So what do you need me for?"
     "Don't know. Mr. Terott said get you. I got you."
     "So what am I working for?"
     "Abrupt, aren't you? Sorry. All that you'll need or want
to know will be explained by Mr. Terott."
     "Great," Spinner turned his gaze out the window,
watching the smooth procession of billboards flash by. "So
you're just a joeboy then.  Company cannon fodder."
     Thomas glared at him. "Look, I'm trying to keep things
friendly here. It's not in my orders, I just don't like being
an asshole. But that doesn't mean I can't be. So I'd really
appreciate it if you tried to keep things friendly as well."
     "Uh-huh." Spinner nodded, his eyes flickering over the
billboards as Thomas concentrated on the continuuing finger
dance. "I scare you don't I?" he questioned after a few
minutes.
     "No," came the instant reply, "you piss me off."
     "No. I scare you. You can't handle being in the same car
as someone who you think is gay."
     "Nothing to do with it."
     "Uh-huh. Polygraph it. You think I'm gonna rape you
right here in this car."
     Spinner suddenly found his face pressed painfully up
against the glass at the front of the car with one of Thomas'
hands at his throat, and the other on the back of his head.
     "Shut the hell up. I don't know where you get this 'tude
from, or what makes you think you can get away with it, but
you can't. I _was_ being nice. Considerate. Then you start
into this. I _will_ fuck you up if I have to. So how about
you get a grip before I lose mine? Hm?"
     Spinner felt the constriction at his neck vanish and
pulled himself back into the seat. He looked over at Thomas
and smiled into the malevolent stare, "_Now_ we're getting
somewhere. You actually felt something."
     Thomas shook his head at him and sat back, facing away
from Spinner, out the opposite window.
     "So, Thomas," Spinner started, "tell me about yourself.
What got you into this line of work?"
     Silence was the only reply, as Thomas gazed fixedly out
the window. Spinner grinned to himself and looked back
outside.
 
     No more was spoken in the car. Spinner watched in
silence as it pulled up to a heavy chain-link fence, topped
with barbed wire. He noticed the small box attached to one
pole and the sign warning all comers exactly how absurdly
high the voltage was running through those wires. He saw the
gates swing inward as the car approached and the rather
heavily armed people dressed as gardeners strolling idly
inside the perimeter of it over the lush green grass. The
second wall was made of stone, the iron wrought gates also
swinging silently open at the silver vehicle's approach. Now
Spinner could see the house. A mansion in the classic sense,
hidden carefully behind and between row upon row of old oak,
too regularly irregular to be real. He heard dogs bark in the
distance and saw the glint of metal between the leaves of
some of the trees. The road switch from ultra smooth pavement
to a rough red-gravel, a half-second of vibration in the car
being the only indication of any change before the shocks re-
adjusted. Finally the car slowed to a halt before the red
sandstone of the house. Both gull-wing doors hissing open at
the same time, making the silence between the two occupants
seem that much more audible. Thomas climbed smoothly out, not
looking at Spinner who clambered out clumsily with his
dufflebag.
     "So are you gonna say anything now?" Spinner asked.
     Thomas merely walked up to the door and lifted the
ornate knocker. It came down with a heavy bang. A moment
later the door opened and Spinner found himself looking at a
small oriental man in a loose sweatshirt and bermuda shorts.
     "Thomas," said the man in perfect English, "verify."
     "Appleseed."
     "Johnny."
     "Nevermore," agreed Thomas.
     "Excellent. And this." Thomas was handed a small pair of
what looked like binoculars, but with no lenses at the far
end. Thomas put them to his eyes and a moment later a tinny
voice issued.
     "Demarco. Thomas. Four. three. two. oh. four. two.
Verified." The computer voice lapsed into silence.
     The oriental man bowed, "Welcome home, sir. Mr. Terrot
is waiting for you in the pool room. I assume this gentleman
is Spinner?"
     Thomas nodded, "As ordered."
     "Superb. Mr. Terrot will be most impressed. He has some
cyberware in his left cranium, but nothing that appears to be
weaponry. I will escort, in any case."
     "Of course."
     "Now gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to follow
me." They stepped into the house, Spinner remaining mute as
the door swung shut gently behind him.
 
     The lock clicked.
 
                             ---

Comments, Criticisms, Questions welcomed. Perhaps not answered, but welcomed.
Copyright 1992 by Karl Low, all rights wronged, all lefts right.
 
lowk@nucleus.cuc.ab.ca |  Look, _I_ don't want responsibility for my actions, 
-----------------------+  so what makes you think anybody _else_ does?
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo