From: danmcd@cs.arizona.edu (Daniel L. McDonald)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo
Subject: The Rubber Chicken Agenda - Sneak Preview
Summary: One more to go...
Keywords: Ski Max ICE
Date: 10 Sep 92 03:42:59 GMT
Organization: U of Arizona CS Dept, Tucson

Greetings Chatsubo Patrons,

Finally finishing up this thread.  Pardon the delay, but work is work, y'know.

All praise, comments, etc. to danmcd@cs.arizona.edu OR
friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu.

CONTINUITY CHECK
================
	* Ski and Max obtained a nice little Bockris ICEbreaker.
	* Ski learned all about it.
	* Max is going to show Ski what he wants to inject into SenseNet for
	  all to see outside the SenseNet pyramid.

Enjoy,
Dan

===========================
	Ski knocked on the door of what he assumed to be Max's midtown condo.
He lived in another of the new-old buildings, where the tenants liked to keep
the facade of a century or two past.  Max's self-opening door, however,
verified what he learned from Brian Heissberg on his only day as a DeliveryNet
driver.  The apartment was spacious, too spacious for the techno-addict Ski
figured Max to be.  A miniscule medium-pitched whine, however clued Ski that
more waited beyond his sight.

	"Head left from the living room, Ski!"  shouted a voice from the left.

	Ski walked underneath the shadow of a twelve foot video monitor.  It
served as the shroud behind the altar of a giant floor-model holo projector.
He looked left, opposite from the screen, projector, and minimalist white
fabric furniture, and peered into what had to be Max's lab/studio/workshop.
He walked toward it as a child toward a Christmas tree.

	The lab, and Ski felt comfortable calling it that, had more hardware
in it than in the Tokyo electronics store where Ski had bought his Hosaka and
stock Sendai.  For every whole piece of equipment, five more lie astrew,
dissected like junior high biology experiments.  Ski identified three dubbing
simstim decks, seven portables, three Hewlett Packard palmtop computers, and
an ancient personal computer, the only visible markings on which read,
"TRS-80", from the sea of electronic debris.  Several clear plastic drawers
were filled with unidentifiable spare parts, probably from an even wider array
of electronic toys.

	"Come in.  I'm finishing up the title screen."  Max quickly sat down
in a chair that was surrounded by three screens, a modern table-top holo
projector, and a holo-tank that was probably older than Ski's 22 years.  Ski
found a smaller, less comfortable chair, and pulled it up.  He looked at the
center video display, and saw a grotesque graphic of what looked like some
sort of bird.

	"Nice graphic, Max.  Y'know, that really looks like something real."

	"It is, Ski," Max plowed through anxiously.  "It a picture of a rubber
chicken.  I'm about to put the name of our," he winked, "production company
underneath.  Rubber Chicken Productions."

	Ski's confusion redlined.  "What the *fuck* is a rubber chicken?"

	"An old gag.  It used to be associated with really silly humor.  I
think it'll be really funny, especially with the first part.  The second part
isn't really funny, but I'd be up for an Oscar for best Multimedia if we were
doing this for money.  Have you ever seen any old films?"

	"Old films?!?  That's like saying, 'electronic computers'.   The two
words are synonymous.  Are you sure people won't just shrug their shoulders?"

	"Just curious.  People won't shrug their shoulders.  They will look
at anything.  It's kind of sad only one company really controls 75% of the
entertainment people experience.  That's what makes this so much fun."

	"I just hope it isn't too high-style.  This *is* something people
will find out about."

	"You bet.  I've even put in our names to appear twice at thirtieth
second intervals..."

	Ski glanced hard at Max, "NO!  They record it, we're dead!  Period!
I saw someone just like me get their brain fried tonight, probably just trying
to preview next week's 'Top People' episode.  Do you know what they'll do
if they find out we're planting that little thing,"  Ski gasped in horror,
"Oh SHIT!  Tell me nobody's listening."

	Ski's paranoia kicked his adrenaline level to fight or flight levels.
Max, however, calmly flipped a switch, and the monitor on the right displayed
a diagram of his condo, with pulsing lights along certain points on the wall.

	"I'm 100% bug-free.  Did the place up after we met in the Loser the
first time.  I even had one of my friends in security check it out.  And
besides who bug-proofed YOUR place?"

	Ski was still paranoid, "Yeah, so all of your pals at Saved By
Technology can hear us, right?"

	Max spilled a pile of twelve chips on to the table to Ski's right,
and quipped, "Not any more!"

	Ski released a breath of steam.  "Don't *EVER* scare me like that
again.  I get really ansy before something like this happens.  The only time
I didn't, I was too numb to notice."  He thought about his "interview" with
Turing.   It was hard to be nervous when you're thanking the powers that be
that your gastro-intestinal system was again in one piece.

	Max grabbed a disk and motioned to the giant screen and projector,
"Let's watch it!"

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*


	"Son of a bitch!  Remember what I said about being numb?  You just did
it for me.  That was the most amazing ten minutes of holo and vid I've EVER
seen."  The blank look on Ski's face understated his awe.

	"Real Oscar material, huh?  Your Hosaka has the right hardware..."

	"Yeah," Ski interrupted with an evil grin, "I've got everything you'll
need."

	Max paused, and looked at the blank screen, "Ummm, can I ask you a
favor?"

	"Sure.  I owe you one after snapping like that earlier."

	"You know the part where you see a shrouded woman go into a lab?  And
that whole mad scientist schtick happens?"

	Ski let his mind drift back to the scene, which was close to the end
of the presentation, "Yeah, I remember.  That was taken from an old film,
wasn't it?"

	Max ignored Ski's question, "That is not supposed to be a shrouded
figure.  That is supposed to be a person.  The person I want that to be is
Tally Isham."

	"But the figure becomes...,"  Ski blurted back.

	"I want Tally's 'before' picture.  You know.  SenseNet's got to have
what their stars look like before they shipped them off to Chiba."

	Ski looked at Max.  Max braced himself for another outburst.  It never
came.

	"That's a GREAT idea.  You want people to know who did it?  That's
the way.  Do you remember that redneck I used the Broca tap on?"

	"Oh, him."  Max's face scowled.  "He was a bit rude."

	"No shit, Sherlock.  He also told me under the link, that if I got
him that photo, he'd tell some big shot fence about me.  He was probably
jerking me off.  You can't tell voice tone with the tap..."

	"I'm working on it," Max interjected, "It's an unusual problem in
brain mapping."

	"I'm sure, Max.  But if we can make sure he's watching, we're golden."
Ski paused, and a slice of memory fell out of his mind's jumble.  "I forgot;
do you remember I mentioned what I wanted to put up there?  Tally Isham's
before shots are exactly what I wanted.  Hell, any SenseNet star's before
shots would do the trick."

	"Let me modify the program to accept before and after profiles
automatically.  I'll also take out our names.  Should take all of 30 minutes."

	Ski looked at his watch.  It was Thursday.  He said, "Take up to two
days.  We should run on Saturday.  Tons of people will be watching, and it
gives me time to learn more about KP.

	"We got one shot at this.  If we pull this off, I'm set.  I'll get
hired, and we can do all sorts of shit.  If we don't..."

	Max interrupted, "We will.  Go home and figure out KP.  It's your
job, right?"

	Ski thought about Max's words as he walked out the main entrance to
the aparment complex.  He walked down the street, which was illuminated by
streetlights and filtered moonlight that crept through the soot-stained
geodesic ceiling, and realized that it was more than his job.  It was his
career.

	It was his life.

--
Dan McDonald    |Internet: danmcd@cs.arizona.edu, UUCP: ..!uunet!arizona!danmcd
U. of Arizona   |BITNET: danmcd%cs.arizona.edu@arizona.BITNET
Computer Science| "All of us get lost in the darkness,
Graduate Student|  dreamers learn to steer by the stars." - Rush (N. Peart)