From: li@Data-IO.COM (Phyllis Rostykus)
Subject: Lead-Lined Nights
Summary: Argent and Leadfoot head back into the shit fan...
Reply-To: li@polari.online.com
Organization: Data I/O Corporation
Date: Tue, 21 Jul 1992 19:15:37 GMT

        A raggedy man walked a raggedy walk up a neatly manicured path 
through a perfectly butched lawn.  Argent's dull gaze scanned the grounds
as he slowly made his way up to the front door of his white and green
trimmed house overlooking the Magnolia Bluff.  He knew that he was
wobbling a little; but tried not to pay attention to the fact.  The
Sound's slap and hiss along the rocky beach 200 feet below the house was
the only sound as he walked the path.  He didn't want to look back,
knowing that he'd see the glaringly out of place Leadfoot juxtaposed
against the background of the quiet, elderly, rich neighborhood.

        Home.  He was almost home.  Argent straightened unconsciously as 
he walked his slow walk up the path.  Not too fast.  He'd passed out 
on the back of Leadfoot's bike on the way to Leadfoot's apartment from 
the excitement and the exertion of having to cover their backs in the 
escape from the coffins.  Argent knew that there were pieces of 
himself missing.  They would affect his ability to function in the 
long run, they were already screwing with him in the short run.  His 
basement had the tools, the data base, the communication for his 
connections that would make it possible for him to find out what was 
wrong and how to fix it.

        He would also be able to get into some decent clothes.  Leadfoot
had lent him the clothes that he was wearing now; they flapped in the
on-shore breeze, far too wide and slightly too short for his height.

        Argent stepped onto the front porch.  He stopped, nonplussed for
a moment, not quite sure what was wrong.  His eyes widened, and his null
gaze snapped into focus.  The front door hadn't opened at his approach. 
He remembered that James, the auto-butler, had been programmed to open
the door at his approach.  Argent frowned, took two quick steps to the
door and grabbed the doorknob, making sure that his palm had full
contact with the knob.

        It didn't turn.

        A doorbell sounded within the house.  Argent grabbed the knob
with both hands and started yanking on it with his entire body. 

        A calm female voice spoke from the air, "I'm sorry, but you are
not allowed access to this property."

        "IT'S MINE."  Screamed Argent as he started throwing his
shoulder into the door.  

        "No, sir.  This property belongs to an individual named Liralen Li."

        Argent collapsed at the name.  "Li?"  He started sobbing. 
"Wha... wha... what happened?"

        "System data indicates that your voiceprint matches, with a 97%
accuracy, that of the late owner of this property, Dr. Argent DeMatte.
Dr. DeMatte, however, is dead.  You must be an imposter come in an attempt
to bypass the Diamonte Security system."  A siren began to sound with the
urgency of an injured toddler.

        "You can't..." Argent couldn't breathe to speak.  He fell
against the screeching door.

        A force grabbed him around the stomach and Argent screamed and
flailed out with one hand.  "No!" he yelled, "It's my HOME.  You can't
take me away!"  

        The hands shook him with teethrattling force.  "Man, we *gotta*
get outta here."  When the shaking stopped, Argent saw that it was
Leadfoot that had him.  The alarm was still shrieking.  Argent just
nodded, and the pain came again in his gut as Leadfoot slung him up in a
fireman's carry.  Leadfoot muttered, "This is gettin' ta be a fraggin'
habit." and ran for the bike. 

        Argent didn't resist, but he didn't help much either as Leadfoot
put them both onto the bike.  He only just managed to hang on when
Leadfoot yanked the throttle and popped the clutch. As they sped through
the quiet streets of the upscale neighborhood, all Leadfoot could hear
was Argent babbling, "I'm dead... dead, dead, damnit they said I'm 
dead... and it wouldn't let me in...." 

----
Copyright 1992 by Phyllis Rostykus.  All rights reserved.

Actually, while we have some clue as to where this is going, it would be
fun to have someone play with us as well.  Not anyone that can just pull
the whole thing out of the fire; but if you wanted to join in, ask us...

Leadfoot by Kip G. Moore (km4j+@andrew.cmu.edu)
Argent by Phyllis Rostykus (li@polari.online.com or li@Data-IO.COM)