From: timk@tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca (Tim Kuehn)
Subject: Unity.* "Daytime Nightmares"
Organization: TDK Consulting Services
Date: Thu, 15 Oct 1992 14:50:20 GMT


[A first post of this didn't seem to get out so I'm trying again. 
 If you see this twice, that's why. TDK]

###########################################################################
TITLE:  	"Daytime Nightmares"

DEFINITIONS: 	
DAR  =	Dial A Reality: A device used to access the various USENET reality 
	groups. (See also "NewsReader", "rn", "xrn", "gnurn", "abc", "xyz" 
	and other associated alphabetical collections.) (See also "BTR")

CLOSING COMMENT: In all probability this is the final post in the 
Unity.* series. 

For those of you who've come into this story late, or saw it when last we 
posted (almost a year ago), one of our readers has generously made an FTP 
site available for our archives to sit so others can reach it without 
having to resort to email/uucp file transfers. Here's where to look:

List of FTP Archive sites of the Unity.* logfiles:
--------------------------------------------------
bach.cs.columbia.edu [128.59.28.19].  	Login as either 'ftp' or 'anonymous'.  

ada.stat.uga.edu 			log in as 'anonymous', leave your 
					address as the password (you can 
					actually leave anything, but I'd 
					enjoy seeing from whence my guests 
					come!) and look around to your 
					heart's content. Unity/Entity stuff 
					is in the /pub/Text/Texts directory.

While this entry doesn't mark the end of Unity's story, it does leave it 
wide open for a good number of different possibilities in terms of future 
writing. One such story (the UN Patrol in alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo) has been 
set in the distant future after the Unity.* nightmare series, and is a more 
loose collaboration between various net-writers. Drop by and take a look 
if you have the chance.

In closing, the collaborative effort which produced the series as 
far as it went was nothing short of amazing, not to mention lots 
of fun for everyone concerned. However, fun doesn't pay the bills 
when nobody's kicking into the kitty, so we have to call it a story 
for now and move on to other things for now. 

Maybe someday in the distant future, when I've got more time to devote to 
stuff like this (or have sufficient SW aids to deal with all the nitty-
gritty detail work that takes up so much time) the story may continue. 
We'll have to just wait and see. ;-) There were many, many ideas discussed
in terms of future directions this story could go, and I hope to pull
some of them out of the 4MB+ of correspondance we had so far. (It took 
a LOT of writing to put these things together!).

Until then, enjoy the closing (for now) issue of Unity.*, and if you happen 
to drop by alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo and see something else I write which you 
like, drop me a line!  And if you don't like it, drop me a line anyway. :-)

Many, many thanks to the following folks who helped make it such an 
enjoyable effort. RL names are followed by character names in
quotes:

	- Lynn Alford ("Nicarra") for her many hours of collaborative 
	participation, who was the first to work with me in "Never 
	Underestimate the Power of Forgiveness." How she put with me 
	I'll never know. (Lynn, after being away from some of those 
	older posts and re-reading them, you were right. I was just 
	too set on my own ideas to see it.)

	- Phyllis Rostykus ("Johnny Innocent") for her incisive comments 
	and critical comments at an important juncture way back when 
	things were really going hot and heavy. It made all the difference
	in the world. Working with you was a pleasure.

	- Elizabeth McCoy ("T'kee") who spent who knows how many hours 
	providing final proof-reading of prior issues, and in general 
	being nit-picky and keeping me in line when I just wanted to 
	post the damn thing and get it out of my hair. (She hasn't 
	touched this issue, so any errors are all mine.) I'll always 
	remember the "Death of Ten-Thousand Paper-cuts" with fondness. :-)

	- Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman for many helpful comments, ideas, 
	and creative friction. :-) (Somewhere out there he has an intro 
	for his character into the story, and I deeply regret we didn't 
	get to use it. Ask him nicely, and you may get a copy. :-)

	- Peter Creath ("Mikhal") who booted me out of my lethargy 
	and got me to post this last installment. He had another 
	'evil' character which I'd have liked to learned more about.
	(Maybe we'll see more in Mikhal's future adventures?)
	
	- Rachel ("Lady Carotene") for her colorful character (no pun 
	intended), and her various waifs which was to've added some 
	interesting side-effects to the story.

	- Adrian Waterworth ("Garrett") wrote up an interestingly 
	evil character and then had to pull out due to time commitments. 
	I regret not having a chance to use him so far. (Maybe in a future 
	when I have a chance to flush out some other old buffers...)

Tizrak, ShadowShine, ThoughtFox, Birith, and William Yang were also 
part of this as well. You know who you are, and you have my thanks
for your participation! 

To everyone else, enjoy and happy netting!

Tim Kuehn			timk@tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca
Creator, Unity.*
###########################################################################

Poldrith grabbed the medkit from Berith with T'kee in hot pursuit. Just as 
the young queen made to launch herself out of callahans, T'kee called out -

	"Hey, wait!" T'Kee cried.  "Come ba--!"  

It was no good, Poldrith had already gone *between*.  The cat-centaur 
stood lashing her tail in frustration and muttering to herself.  

	"Nothing to worry about.  She'll be back, with Nicarra and 
	that Unity person.  Then I'll find out what went wrong."  

The felinoid tapped her left fore- and right hind-paws.  

	<<Anyway,>> she thought, addressing her lower-brain, <<there's 
	probably nothing that I could do that a Perenese dragon 
	couldn't do just as well, if not better.>>

The cat-centaur's lower-brain, having nothing to do besides keeping 
all the aft legs straight, said nothing.  It didn't have to. T'Kee 
was already trying not to think.

	<<Except maybe first aid.  Or stealth.  Or maybe much of 
	anything if NIcarra's hurt too badly...>> continued T'kee 
	to herself.

	"No, I'm just being silly."  said T'kee aloud.

With that thought T'Kee padded heavily over to the bar and ordered a 
chocolate milk, then slunk off to a nearby corner.  Her tawny-chocolate 
fur melded with the shadowed wood paneling in Lurker's Corner.  

	"I am just being silly," she repeated quietly.  "They don't 
	need over 400 pounds of fuzzy creature sticking her whiskers 
	into everything."

A brief amount of time passed, which, to T'kee, seemed like an eternity.

	"It's been over thirty seconds. They should have been back by 
	now.  If only Poldrith had been wearing a saddle I could have 
	clung to; I'd have just jumped for it." said T'kee aloud to 
	nobody in particular.

T'Kee's whiskers quirked to one side as she wrinkled her nose in thought.  

	"I need a saddle. Hmmmm... I wonder if I've got one in my 
	Pouch?"  

T'Kee began to rummage in her God-Pouch -- the only half-way holy item 
she'd ever found, for all that she'd found a door into alt.callahans, 
and her tribe regarded her as the sacred creation of the Goddess' mind. 
Which wasn't bad for being someone's lucky/unlucky kit who'd just gotten 
lost in the woods.

	"Brush, money-stones, fang-polish..." she mumbled, covering 
	a table-top with various small items.  "Nope -- no saddles.  
	Not even enough leather bits to make more than a skinny belt 
	to hang onto."  

Disgusted, she swept the mess back into the too-small-to-hold-it-all 
Pouch.  With a bit of stuffing, everything fit, and T'Kee tied it shut 
again.  

	<<Maybe there's something here I could use...?>> she thought, 
	looking about.  <<Tables, chairs? No, not areodynamically sound.  
	Rugs?  No, too nice for that.  The Virtual Pizza Maker? Pretty 
	bulky... Hey! Didn't someone get it to make things besides 
	pizzas?>>

With a young cat-centaur, to think is usually to act in the same breath.  
Especially if it involved tinkering with something. T'Kee was a moderately 
young cat-centaur.  The Virtual Pizza Maker was tinker-able.  A devious 
look in her eye, T'kee looked the machine over. The VPM cringed slightly 
as the large felinoid approached it with a delicate stone wedge/screwdriver 
and a yellow-hilted Phillips 'driver.  The machine started to inch away
but was stopped when T'Kee put one fore-paw on it's power-cord.  

Cornered, the VPM trembled in fear, then suddenly shot a pizza at T'kee!
When T'Kee ducked the VPM made a break for it, but the cat-centaur pounced
and stopped the machine in its tracks. A huge dust-cloud soon arose from
the struggle between cat-centaur and pizza maker with pizzas, fur, and 
peanuts flying out of the furious cloud the action between two combatants.

When the dust finally settled all could see a truly mussed but triumphant
T'Kee hauling a great mass of leather straps and "sheets" from the defeated 
Virtual Pizza Maker.  As T'kee untangled the straps, the VPM spat out a 
few last buckles and edged away to sulk.

After commandeering some of the left-over soap-boxes, T'Kee arranged the 
large saddle (for such it was) and tried it out.  It looked mostly like a 
human saddle, but much longer, and with strange straps and "stirrups."  

Sitting astride her creation, T'Kee checked the "stirrups" -- thick wedges 
of leather that her four paws rested on.  Digging her claws in, she tested
on the material, which held fast.  Then, reaching way back, she flipped a 
couple of straps over her haunches and fastened them on both sides of her 
tail. Then she fastened the side-straps to the tip of the "V" on the top of 
her haunches.  That was followed by four more straps attached to her belt, 
two of in front of and two behind her fore-legs. 

T'Kee wriggled a bit to check the fit, then nudged one of the straps a bit 
further from her "elbow."  One last strap went over her lower back (in 
middle of her ribs), then grabbed the hand-bar in front of her.  

	"Now," she mused aloud for the benefit of all who were 
	watching her, "all I need is a dragon..."

	"Any volunteers?" T'Kee asked the assembled entities in the bar.

Most of the dragons were asleep, but one, a large blue, looked up in 
response to the question. Giving T'kee a thoughtful blink first, he said, 

	<<What are you offering?>>  

T'Kee grinned.  

	"Well, what do you want?" 

The dragon looked over at the sulking Virtual Pizza Maker and his jaw gaped
slightly in a reptilian grin.  

	<<Got enough room on that saddle of yours for a *lot* of pizza?>>

	"Oh, I think I could manage that," said T'Kee as she scratched 
	at one of her pointed ears and considered the quaking VPM.  "I might 
	even be able to make that machine spawn itself.  Would you like--?"

But at that moment, the little green firelizard Lythe gave an ear-piercing 
screech and launched into the air broadcasting pain and fear!  Dragons 
bugled and T'Kee flattened her ears as Lythe went *between*.

Birith turned to face the gaping cat-centaur.  

	<<Something's happened to Poldrith!  Get your saddle on me, now!>>

Still somewhat stunned, T'Kee fumbled at the straps and buckles that held
her to the saddle, and undid them in record time.  So intent was she on her 
work that she dragged the saddle over to Birith's side she hardly noticed
the assistance of other Callahans' in getting the contraption on Birith's 
back and fastened down.

	<<Hang on,>> the dragon said, crouching slightly.  

T'Kee eyed the rafters of Callahans in apprehension.  She'd seen plenty of
dragons popping in and out without harm, but she'd never been *on* one.  
Then a thought occured to the felinoid, and she started to say, 

	"I've never been flying before..." 

when Birith leaped -- and they were *between*.

The next thing T'kee felt was an incredibly bone-chilling cold, a numbing
sense of airless non-existance, followed by the hard impact of fresh air
mixed with the pattering of rain from a heavy drizzle.

        "Eeek," said a wide-eyed T'Kee in shock.

Ignoring the damp cold, she gulped in air.  Never mind that it tasted of
smoke, never mind that it was half-water and cold, it was *air*, real air.

After a moment, she noticed how close the clouds were, but kept her eyes
turned upwards; *between* had been a nasty shock, and the cat-centaur was 
*not* sure that flying would be much better now.  Even if she *had* been 
rather looking forward to it. Then an incoherent feeling of horror and 
amazement filled her mind. If dragons cursed, Birith would have been doing 
so now.
	<<Look! Look at that!>>

Thus prodded, T'Kee looked down once more, nervously clutching at her 
saddle's stirrups and hand-straps.

	"Plague and famine," she whispered.  

It was rather...impressive, that crater.  From up here it was worse than 
a plains-fire, if not quite as widespread. While it was difficult to make 
out precise details in the early twilight, she could discern that whatever 
had been there was once set in the top of a hill in a vast rolling plain. 
In its place now was a huge, gaping black chasm surrounded by large dark 
splotches. Rumblings and groans came from the chasm's depths and, as she 
watched, there was suddenly a brilliant flash of light that temporarily 
blinded the airborn pair, followed by a loud BANG. T'kee closed her eyes 
against the retinal glare while Birith snorted at the annoyance.

Once his vision had returned, Birith landed near the edge of the gaping 
maw. While the cat-centaur dismounted, Birith looked over the surrounding 
devestation.

	<<It's so awful, it's like Thread, almost,>> Birith said mournfully.

T'Kee didn't know what Thread was, and didn't think she wanted to find out
either -- at least, not right now.  She looked out at the wet smoke that 
still clung to the area.  Her plush mane of hair, proudly fluffed when 
dry, had been plastered to her body by the rain, and her ears gave her 
the appearence of a sad satallite-dish.  She sneezed as an errant fume 
blew her way, then shivered as the rain started soaking through her lower 
shoulderblades. She shook herself in response, sending redundant droplets 
into the air, and getting her mind back on business.

	"Well, I'd better sniff around and see if anyone's left before 
	the rain washes everything away and I get a cold."  

She looked up at the unhappy dragon.  

	"Maybe, um, maybe you could look around from the air? Maybe she 
	just crashed a little ways away?"

	<<Maybe.>>  

Birith spread his large blue wings and labored into the miserable air, 
while T'Kee stayed behind to contemplate the smelly mess.  At close range 
she could tell that the dark splotches were indeed large masses of dirt and 
earth, but mixed in were chunks of concrete and a number of wicked smelling 
fumes. Trying to ignore how wet and filthy her paws were getting, T'kee 
wandered through the rubble, carefully picking her way around shards of 
twisted metal, pulverized concrete, and what could have been the remains of 
a high-tech lab, like she'd seen pictures of before. This wasn't how she'd 
wanted to see one up close though. Bits and pieces of silicon, wires, and 
various plastics littered the area.  As she made successively larger circles 
around the chasm, evidence of the blast's power became more and more apparant 
by how far the debris had been thrown. 

Shivering from the chill, T'kee almost missed a matted spot of grass not 
far from the chasm. Crouching down, she sniffed it over carefully and caught 
the distinct scent of something very dragon-like. Since Birith was still 
airborn, it had to be some other dragon -- probably Poldrith.

But not here. And not now, nor anytime recently.

Worried and puzzled, T'kee continued her search, but found nothing that 
gave any indication what'd happened, much less where Nicarra, Poldrith, 
Unity, and Lythe had gone to.

Shielding her eyes from the rain, T'kee looked up at the orbiting dark 
spot in the sky she knew was Birith and hoped he was having better luck.

				*  *  *

It was past twilight and getting dark when Birith and T'Kee finally met 
to compare notes.  

	<<Nothing,>> the blue said. <<No signs of a crash.  There's a patch 
	of flattened grass nearby, but...>>

	"I found it, too.  It smells like dragon, a bit, but it's probably
	from the first time she was here," said T'Kee as she shook her 
	dripping head.  "That was the only smell I could get of them -- 
	there's no other sign *I* can find.  This stuff stinks," said T'kee 
	as she wrinkled her nose, "and while there's wood and metal in it, 
	I can't smell any roasted human.  Or dragon.  I guess that either 
	they were *all* in the exact middle of the explosion, or else they 
	managed to get *between*.  I don't think it's likely they got caught 
	in the middle of this mess, though."  

T'kee stretched up and rested her fore-paws on the dragon's shoulder so she 
could pat his neck.  

	"We'll find them.  I always find what I'm looking for, eventually."

				*  *  *

To Mikal it was another day, another corpse, and another job performed 
to perfection. Nobody noticed him slip out of the building where he had 
just eliminated another liability.

But then again, nobody ever noticed Mikal.  Although large at 6'6" and 230 
lbs, he was easily dwarfed by the all-too-common chrome & titanium cyber-oafs 
whose only skill was intimidation.  His blond hair was subdued compared to 
the wild colors found on most of the dangerous punk-wannabe's.  His grey 
synthetic eyes and ordinary facial features added to his unobtrusiveness.  
All in all, he looked boring, unthreatening, and as a result was difficult 
to remember.

Which made his life that much easier.

Mikal quickly merged with the pedestrian traffic and made his way down the 
street, getting as far away from the strike point as quickly and quietly as 
possible.  At a public telephone 5 blocks away, he dialed a number, pressed 
"1" to indicate a successful mission, and merged into the traffic flow all 
within 10 seconds.  Then a priority alert started to blink in the upper-
righthand corner of Mikal's field of vision:

     <UUT PROJECT>

He continued down the street, turned off at a side street, followed it for a 
few blocks, then stopped in front of a shop window and pretended to examine 
the contents of the display while he looked over the details from the alert.

  <CLASSIFICATION: BLACK>                                    13:48:04.56

  [==== PRIORITY SECURITY ALERT: ABNORMAL EVENTS AT UUT RE: DAR'S =====]
  13:07 DAR returned at UUT as defective. <orig ID #2315>
  13:07 DAR ordered from stock room.      <orig ID #2315> <ans ID #1492>
  13:11 DAR returned at UUT as defective. <orig ID #2315>
  13:18 DAR refunded.                     <orig ID #2315>
  [======== EMERGENCY SECURITY ALERT: RELATED SECURITY ANOMALY ========]
  13:12 Unscheduled visit to warehouse.   <subj ID #2315>
  13:19 "ARES"-triggered bug activated.   <orig ID #2315> <ans ID #2036>

	<<Not good,>> thought Mikal.  <<Better get the hell over there.>>

Using his secure comm link, he mentally paged an unmarked drone car from 
the ARES fleet. He shuffled down the street, turned left at the next 
intersection, and found the car waiting for him in the guise of a cab.  
As he approached the gull-wing door swung upward to admit him.

While the robotically controlled vehicle took him to UUT Mikal downloaded 
the comm and video logs from the office of employee #2315, a man who was 
more commonly known as Henry Tyrell III.

				*  *  *

	<<Let's see what's going on with those DAR's that were returned by
	our friend Mr. Tyrell,>>  thought Mikal as he started viewing the 
	video logs of Henry Tyrell's office from 13:05 to 13:20.


<UUT SECURICAM RECORD #2315 @13:05>

	[A sales rep walks in and tells Henry there was a customer who wanted 
	to make a warrenty return on a recently purchased HP DAR. Following 
	the rep was a nondescript man wearing two pins - one of a green 
	dragon, the other of a burning humanoid. On seeing the visitor, Henry 
	pales noticably. Henry asks the visitor what the problem is. The 
	visitor responds that an HP DAR purchased at UUT not too long ago was 
	in actualy an ARES fake. Henry asks for, and examines the DAR in 
	question.]

Mikal stopped the recording and magnified the display so he could look at 
the label on the controller board: "ARES DAR/BTR Master Controller Board, 
rev 1.0c."  Satisfied by what he saw, Mikal reset the display back to normal 
and restarted the playback.

	[Henry pages the warehouse and has them bring an HP DAR that 
	matches the 13:07 DAR transaction.  When the new DAR arrives, 
	Tyrell hands it to the customer, who opens the case and discovers 
	another ARES core. Henry pales from his already sickly color to 
	a rather attractive shade of green and asks the customer to wait 
	a moment. Henry then leaves the office.]

The time on the tape with Henry's visit to the warehouse were the same, so
Mikal accessed the warehouse recorder and resumed viewing the recording.

	[Henry walks in and goes directly to the shelves holding the HP 
	DAR's.  After opening several of the DARs, he examines the insides 
	of each case and finds an ARES core.  in each one. After completing 
	his examination of all the DARs in stock, he leaves.]

Mikal mentally switched the recording playback over to Tyrell's office record.
     
	[Henry walks back in and asks the customer if he would accept a
	cash refund.  The customer hands over his credstick.  Henry puts 
	the credstick in the slot, makes the transaction, and returns it 
	to the customer, who gets up and leaves. Once the visitor has left
	Henry picks up his phone.]

Mikal superimposed the communication log, synchronizing it to the video 
recording.

<* UUT COMMUNICATIONS RECORD: ORIG# 2315 - ANS# 2036 @13:19 *>

	"Accounting, Reginald Wilkens here."

	"Reginald. Henry here. Something serious has come up. Are you free 
	 tonight?"

	"I can be. What is the purpose of this meeting?"

	"Those rumors about UUT and ARES - I want to talk to you about
	them. Meet me at the Texas Steakhouse, say 6 o'clock tonight. Ok?"

	"Ok, I shall be there."

<* END OF TRANSMISSION *>

     <<We'd better pay Mr. Tyrell a visit...>>

Mikal internally duplicated the records for unaltered backup purposes. Once
that had been completed he mentally altered the security originals and 
eliminate all references to ARES on the audio and visual records.  When 
that was done he uploaded them back to the UUT security computer and 
terminated the link.

				*  *  *

When his car arrived at UUT, Mikal went through his options: 

	<<Go in and kill the target? 
	No, too messy, unnecessary, and detrimental to my goals.  

	Go in and capture the target for questioning? 
	No, too messy, but questioning is a good idea.  

	Wait and capture the target when he comes out? 
	No problem there.  

	Follow the target to his meeting, eavesdrop, and then bag him? 
	No, he could reveal unwanted information to his friend.  

	I'll just have to wait for him,>>  thought Mikal.

While he was waiting, Mikal ran Henry's ID through the Vehicle License 
computer and found his car's License ID.  With a mental twitch, Mikal 
commanded the cab to go around back to the parking garage.  He then 
activated his IR vision and scanned all the cars' coded plates until
one that matched Henry's appeared. Mikal then parked close to Henry's 
car and tied in to the UUT live SecuriCam's so he could monitor Henry's 
movements more closely.

An hour later he saw Henry pack up and leave. Getting out of his car, 
Mikal scanned the area for a good place to hide, and located a nearby 
pillar. A minute later he heard footsteps and activated his battle 
systems. Keeping to the far side of the pillar, he waited until the 
target had their back to him.  But those footsteps sounded awfully 
light and quick...

	<AQUISITION FAILED>

	<<Tyrell is definitely NOT wearing a short miniskirt, and his legs
	aren't that nice>>, Mikal thought to himself with a grin.  

Mikal heard more footsteps. 

	<<Hurry, lady, you had better not be around when Tyrell comes 
	out.>>  

As the woman got into her car, the second set of footsteps got louder.  
These were definitely masculine steps, and alone.  The woman's car revved 
to life as the steps started echoing inside the garage.  Her car began was
backing out when Henry walked past Mikal's pillar, and driving off when Mikal 
silently approached Henry from behind.

				*  *  *

The remainder of Henry Tyrell's day went quickly. Still shaking from the 
unnerving experience with the DAR refund, he straightened out his desk, 
made some notes in his business calendar, and prepared to leave.  This business 
with ARES, combined with the recent nightmares caused an involuntarily shiver
to run through him. Maybe Reginald could help him out, or at least tell him 
if he was just being paranoid.

Satisfied everything was in order at his desk, Henry checked his watch. It 
was only 16:30, which meant he had enough time to take care of some personal 
business before his 19:30 meeting with Reginald at the Steakhouse.  Picking 
up his briefcase, he walked briskly out of the office building and paused
briefly on the sidewalk in front of the UUT offices. He couldn't place the 
feeling, but something didn't seem right. Looking off to one side, all he 
could see was one of the office secretaries briskly making her way to the 
parking garage.

	<<Gotta keep your hormones under control, old boy,>> thought
	Henry as he watched the secretaries retreating form. <<Pretty
	soon you'll see spooks jumping out of every shadow.>>

After making a valiant effort to calm his still jangled nerves, he 
collected himself and proceeded after the secretary. As he passed one
of the garage's support pillars, a voice called out

	"Um, excuse me sir."

Henry jumped, then reminded himself to stay calm. He turned toward the 
speaker, then felt an incredible pressure on the back of his neck and 
was swallowed up in a sea of infinite darkness.

				*  *  *

Reginald arrived for work the next day, and stopped by Henry's office, but 
Henry wasn't in, and his secretary was not present either. Finding out what 
had happened last night would have to wait. Going to his office, he began 
going through papers on some rather peculiar items that were showing up in 
the books with some accounts that refused to balance. 

When lunchtime arrived, Reginald stopped by Henry's office once more to see 
what had happened the previous night. But when he looked in, he saw the 
office still hadn't been occupied. His curiosity ruffled, he went over to
Henry's secretary.

	"Have you seen Mr. Tyrel today?" he asked.

	"No, sir, I haven't," answered the secretary. "I received a voicemail 
	message that he had to go overseas on an important assignment, and 
	that he wouldn't be back for a while. He's supposed to call me when 
	he arrives, but I haven't heard anything yet." 

	"So you do not know where he is currently located?" asked Reginald. 

	"No. He did not leave with any indication of where he was going," 
	replied the secretary firmly, unconsciously mimicing Reginald's 
	speech patterns.

	"Thank you for your assistance," replied Reginald. 

This was peculiar indeed. Henry unexpectedly leaving for an overseas trip 
with only a voicemail message left behind, and no indication where he went?  
Reginald filed this away with his growing list of peculiar recent events.  
His guts didn't like with what his senses told him.  Being highly organized 
in his work, Reginald positively loathed anything out of place.  And recently 
there had been a lot of events that were not where they belonged. 

Finally, the day was over and Reginald left UUT. On the way out he decided 
to stop by Henry's house to see if he could put that nagging feeling to rest.  
However, the feeling got a lot worse when he arrived at Henry's home and found 
a "For Sale" sign on the front lawn. Something was not just decidely wrong, 
it was *seriously* wrong.

				*   *   *

A stranger came into the Chat. He was an ordinary-looking fellow, which made
him rather extraordinary when compared to most of the patrons. He was drab.  
Gray suit, gray hair, even a (natural) gray cast to his skin.  He ordered a 
drink in a voice as quiet and self-effacing as himself, then started looking
around the bar.

A woman sat on a stool near the back talked quietly with another patron. 
Everything the new customer was, she was the opposite. Unlike most of the
other women at the Chat', sitting on the barstool made her shorter, not 
taller. Her green trousers combined well with a matching green jacket and 
boots.  But what made her really stand out was her hair. Red-gold and spiked
high on one side of her head, it shone like a beacon in the dark corners
of the Chat'. The other side was shaved, with three brain-sockets plainly 
visible over her right ear. As her augmented golden eyes looked the newcomer
over, she couldn't recognize him as anyone she'd met.  Her curiosity only
mildly piqued, she filed away his appearance for future reference and 
returned to her conversation.

	"So, Tara, do you still want to be a cop?  After everything I've been 
	through?"

	"Aunt Cee," Tara answered, "You're my role model.  I want to be 
	as good, as tough, and as _real_ as you are.  Some of the people 
	I see here-" she waved at the bar- "are so involved in their 
	electronic fantasies that they've become like holograms.  
	They need their biochips to tell them when to breathe, for Earth's 
	sake!"

Her companion laughed, her golden eyes twinkling warmly.  

	"It's not that bad among Chatsubo patrons, I promise you.  There 
	are plenty of people here who are as good or better than I am with 
	old-style physical or mental skills.  In fact, I'm not even the 
	only person here who reads old books and listens to old music."

Tara blushed in embarrassment.  

	"Okay, okay, I admit I went a little overboard.  Um... what've 
	you got playing on your microchip, anyway?"

	"Mmmmm...Beethoven.  Seventh Symphony, third movement."

	"Not the _Eroica_?"  Tara joked.

	"I'm not in the mood," replied Lady C.

Lady C stared into space for a moment.  

	"Tara, I've got to go meet someone now."

	"Huh?"

Lady C tapped her skull.  

	"Police page."

	"Oh...okay."  Tara looked disappointed.

	"I'll make it up to you."  

The tall woman stood, paid Ratz, then slowly moved outside, briefly 
chatting with acquaintances along the way.  Trying to be as unobtrusive 
as possible, the gray man followed a short distance behind.

				*  *  *

Jones knew he was bouncing when he walked into the Chat', but it didn't 
bother him any.  Grinning at Ratz, he said

	"A Ballard Bitter and is the Lady in?"

Ratz gave Jones an amused look, 

	"'Yah, Sure, you Betcha'..." and jerked his head toward the back of 
	the room. "She's outside right now, but said she'd be back in a few
	minutes. One of her friends is still here. Do you know her?" 

The beer and a glass appeared while Jones scrutinized the pretty blonde 
Ratz'd pointed out. He shook his head. 

	"Don't know her, but if you vouch for her I suppose I could stand 
	to talk to her while waiting for the Lady." 

Jones grinned at Ratz slyly and flipped his credstick neatly into the slot 
of the 'reader.

	"Show off..."  grumbled Ratz as he handed the 'stick back.

Jones pocketed the 'stick, poured the beer, and took the glass to the back 
end of the crowded bar.  On the way there, he bumped into a grizzled regular, 
who gave Jones a black look when he spilled some of the bitter on the 
regular's battered leathers. Jones gave the regular an apologetic grin, to 
which the regular shrugged and kept going to Ratz with the battered vidplayer 
they gave to newbies. 

Jones sighed and looked for the blonde Ratz had pointed out. Taking a seat
next to her, he turned to the girl with a smile and said:

	"Hi, I'm David Jones."

				*   *   *

Once outside, Lady C removed her audiochip and placed it in a small box 
at her belt.  When she looked up, she saw the gray man watching her. 
Startled by her frank and steady gaze, he backed away.  

	"Oh, come back here," she said crossly.  "I only hurt criminals.  
	What did you want?"

	"How'd you know I was your contact?  No-one knows me.  No-one."  

Nervously the gray man looked around, then backed away further.  Faking a 
German accent, she replied, 

	"I am Lady Carotene, and ve haf our ways..."  

The gray man only looked confused. 

	<<This guy hasn't got any sense of humor at all,>> thought Lady C 
	to herself. Then she said, "Never mind.  Tell me about it."

	"Oh yes, of course.  Uh... have you heard of United and Universal 
	Technologies?"

Lady C held up a finger.  

	"Hang on..."  Her eyes glazed momentarily. "You sell Dial-A-Reality 
	machines.  I considered getting one, but it would have ruined my 
	macho reputation."

	"Uh, yes.  Well, the vice president of DAR sales has disappeared.  
	Just vanished without a trace!"

The man was visibly agitated by now. Whether it was the disappearance of 
his friend, or the sight of the menagere of augmented patrons entering and 
leaving the Chat', Lady C couldn't tell.

	"Relax," Lady C said gently.  "Don't you have any clues at all?"

	"He had been talking about nightmares, and had gotten rather panicky 
	just before he vanished," said the man. "He requested a dinner meeting 
	after one of the DARs was returned, but when the time came for us to 
	meet, he didn't show up. I visited his home and saw a 'For Sale' sign 
	in front of it. It was then that I knew something bad was up since 
	he hadn't mentioned anything about moving to me."

	"That'll do for starters," said Lady C. "Any updates to his vital 
	statistics since they were last checked?"

	"He might have gained weight," said the man doubtfully.  "He 
	was always complaining about that."

	"All right.  Where can I reach you?"

The man mumbled a code.  

	"It's my work access number. I'm not often home, and my wife doesn't
	like anything to do with my work. I'm chief of accounting you see, 
	and-"

	"I understand," Lady C cut in.  "Thank you for bringing this to 
	our attention.  I'll look into it."

Lady C knew her biochip wouldn't have all the information she needed, so she 
went back into the Chat and jacked into one of the public data terminals. As 
the terminal made the connection, she nodded to Tara and grinned at the 
companion she had found.  

	<<Well and good,>> she thought.  <<If Johnny's occupied with a 
	pretty girl, he'll still be here when I need him.>>

Then the terminal notified her that it had made the connection.

	"Access police files," she thought.

	"YOU ARE CLEARED FOR SECRET CLASSIFICATION."

	"Information on United and Universal Technologies."

	"FOUNDED AND OWNED BY MARCUS RIVAL IN THE NEWLY DEVELOPING DIAL-A-
	REALITY MARKET.  UUT DEVELOPED THE FIRST DAR, THEN LICENSED THE
	PATENTS TO HP. THEIR CURRENT AGREEMENT GIVES HP SOLE MANUFACTURING
	AND SALES RIGHTS, WITH UUT RETAINING MARKETING TERRITORY IN 
	WASHINGTON STATE. END BACKGROUND."

	"Background Henry Tyrel."

	"VICE PRESIDENT IN CHARGE OF DAR SALES, UUT. PRESENTLY MISSING.  
	AGE FIFTY-FIVE, NO REGEN TREATMENTS. UNATHLETIC. NO CRIMINAL 
	RECORD ON FILE."

	"Print pictures of all UUT employees." 

The attached laser printer spewed out fifty flimsies.

	"End access."

Chewing her lip, Lady C went back to talk with Tara and her friend.

				*  *  *

"Welcome back," Tara said cheerfully.  "Have you met David Jones?"

	"I've known him for years. Right, Johnny?"

	"Aw, Aunt Cee, I was trying to make a good impression-"

Tara giggled. 

	"Well, you did that before she showed up," said Tara. "The fact 
	that you're another one of 'the kids' confirms it, and also means 
	I can trust you a bit more than I'd planned."

Lady C smiled at the byplay, but she was still concerned about her case.

	"Johnny, I may need some ah, research help from you."  

	"Really?" said Jones excitedly.

	"Small stuff, what's got you so up?" asked Lady C with a smile.  

	"A smooooooooth job," sighed Jones as he relaxed into the booth's 
	bench seat.  He leaned his head against the top of the bench and 
	spoke to the ceiling, negligently waving one hand in the air, "A 
	Lovely Thing," he trilled, "all beauty and speed and as neat as a 
	pin.  Nothing crass or boorish, all just a thing of Air and 
	Lightness..."  

Lady C punched him in the arm.  

	"Idiot." she said, fondly.  "What was this thing of 'Air 
	and Lightness'?"

	"Collection job.  Simple as pie.  Easy as cake..." 

He got punched in the arm again.  Jones sighed and looked at her with sad, 
brown eyes, like a puppy that had been ignored for too long.  As Lady C
threatened to punch him again, Tara giggled once and he continued,

	"It was just someone that wanted an HP DAR with ARES boards replaced 
	with a real HP DAR or his money refunded.  The guy at UUT was as 
	soft as butter, and there wasn't a single problem, snag, or bullet 
	in the whole deal.  He was real nice about the whole thing, too, 
	and seemed really upset at the switch," said Jones.

	Lady C frowned, "Where did you say it was?"

	"UUT,"  Jones looked up at her tone.

	"Wouldn't have been Henry Tyrel you saw, would it?" 

Jones cocked one eyebrow, 

	"I *know* you don't read minds, so where did you get that from?"

Lady Carotene just looked at him for a long time.  Long enough to get Jones 
mad.  It was that steady, cool look that she given him when she'd heard 
about Flattop's death, when she'd learned about the Blackwater job, when 
she'd found out about Sheena, and this time he knew he didn't deserve it.  
So he met her golden gaze with his plain brown one and didn't blink 'til 
she did.  This went on so long that Tara started to fidget, thinking 
something was wrong between the two. Finally Lady C grinned.

	"Not this time." said Jones.

	"Guess not," said Lady C with a nod. That would be all the 
	acknowledgement or apology he'd get. Continuing, "Henry's 
	missing.  Between the time of your appointment with him and a 
	dinner appointment he had with his assistant, he up and 
	disappeared."

	"What?" Tara and Johnny said at the same time.

	"You heard me. In fact, I was going to ask you for some help 
	on it." 

She held up the flimsies. 

	"You can get these as easily as I can, so I'm going to hang on to 
	them for a while, but I need to know _everything_ about the people 
	who work for UUT." 

Tara stared at her, open-mouthed. Lady C glanced at her watch pointedly. 

	"You'll be late for classes if you don't get moving soon, young
	lady," said Lady C. "You'll have your chance for an exciting case, 
	I promise."

	"I suppose," said Tara without any enthusiasm. "But why does a 
	police cadet have to take a class in torts?"

	"So they can avoid the lawyers," said Lady C. "Now get going."

	Tara smiled sweetly at Johnny, gathered her belongings together, 
	and departed.

	"Where'd you pick that girl up?" asked Jones. "She's no street kid."

	"Runaway idealist. Kind of like me, except her parents had more 
	moola," said Lady C as she watched the departing Tara. Turning 
	back to Jones, "Can we get back to our problem now?" 

	"Yeah. I suppose you want me to check for any kind of link to 
	ARES that involve DARs?"

	"You've got the idea. Ever think of becoming a private eye?"

	"I thought I was your private eye- like the New Perry Mason, 
	where Paul Drake investigates stuff for him."

Lady C shook her head and smiled. Johnny- Jones, she corrected herself- 
really surprised her sometimes. Then again, while he was street smart she 
was just tough enough to fake it.

				*   *   *

###########################################################################
AUTHOR'S ENDING NOTE: Here ends the last part of volume 8 in the ongoing 
adventures of The Entity/Unity.* et al.

REQUEST FOR COMMENT: If you found this article interesting, amusing, or even 
an utter piece of junk I WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU! It's difficult to spend 
umpteen hours writing this stuff and get *zero* response on what I'm doing 
right or wrong. Email to unity-feedback@wynnds.xenitec.onca will automatically
forward responses to the various co-authors.

###########################################################################
COPYRIGHT:
All materials copyright (C) 1992, Timothy D. Kuehn, All rights reserved. 
Distribution permission granted to any transmission or storage medium, 
service, or archive which does NOT charge a fee for this article, 
restricts redistribution, or places this article under compilation or 
any other derivative form of copyright without the prior knowledge and 
verifiable consent of the author. 

DISCLAIMER:
Any resemblance to characters past, present, fictional, or real, is 
entirely unintentional. 

AUTHOR'S EMAIL ADDRESS: timk@tdkcs.waterloo.on.ca 
###########################################################################
Newsgroups: alt.prose