From: follick@hydra.unm.edu (Joshua Follick)
Subject: Visser Nights, part 6 
Date: Tue, 10 Nov 92 13:29:39 GMT
Organization: Paintball Underground

     Introduction.....
     
     The period that marked the end of the Cyberwars on Earth,
and the sending of the generational ships that would create
the first offplanet human colonies, was marked by a belief
in a hot new emerging technology, Biogenetic engineering.
While Biogenetic engineering provided many advances in
animal and plant design, allowing among other things, the
creation of the artificial biospheres of the generational
ships and the arcologies of Earth, allowing life to survive
on Earth after the devestation of the Cyberwars.
   
    However, the most promising element of the technology
never truly panned out, namely the creation of improved
human beings. The best the technology ever achieved was a complex
series of trials, each trial being prohibitively expensive.
Success rates of trials, each trial being an attempt to produce
a living Bioengineered person, never rose above 10%.
In addition, a successful trial was to merely produce
a living, reasonably intact, person. Trying to produce
a person with exceptional traits, generally resulted
in a tradeoff with other traits. For example, to create
a person of superior intelligence, one almost always
ended up with a physically extremely weak person as well.
Apparently there was some sort of inherent balance in the human
genome, one which normally produced the best individual
possible. Of course, from time to time, the genetic engineers
would discover an "elegant solution," a genetically
enhanced person, with dramatically improved traits.
Unfortunately, these elegant solutions were unrepeatable,
and the few that were produced could never really
justify the expenses. Lastly, at that point humanity on
Earth was fighting for it's very existence, against
the damage they themselves had done to the bio-sphere.
There were few resources left over to expend
on this very expensive and unproductive application.
By and large this area of study became a footnote in human
history.    
 
    Neo-Orks, or Noks come from a planet they themselves
call EzerAuduum. When Federated Ships first contacted the planet
in a general exploration survey. The planet had apparently
just finished a period of intense conflict. While the Noks
were not strong historians, the first known written records
came with the human explorers, the conflict had been more than a run
of the mill war for the Noks. 

    Anthropologists of several races have tried to piece
together the Nok history and exactly what happened. This
was made quite difficult by the lack of written records.
Most of the information gleaned was from old Noks, and stories
handed down through generations. Unfortunately, most Nok's
memories tend to degenerate through senility somewhere
in their forties, tending to not simply forget, but to
change memories, exaggerating in some areas, forgetting
others, and sometimes create memories from
whole cloth (whether this is voluntary or involuntary
is unclear, it may vary from Nok to Nok). As for
stories, it is an accpeted custom to change
stories to improve and expand the role of ancestors
in them. This is considered a way to honor ancestors
by Noks. Of course, young Noks tend to belive that
these stories are the absolute truth and 
are ready to fight if anyone questions the veracity
of their stories.

    Despite all the inherent difficulties, anthropologists
have managed to piece together some information.
Some time ago, a group called, "the Dark Ones,"
who may or may not have been Noks, came to the planet.
The Dark Ones were technologically adavanced. 
They apparently produced genetically superior Orks,
and developed a manufacturing base. Unfortunately
for them, their lines were porous. Genetically
enhanced Orks, knowing that nearly unlimited
reproductive opportunities "lay" just outside
the perimeter deserted in droves, taking their
ever more advanced weaponry with them. Apparently,
the "Dark Ones" tried to give as technologically
simple weaponry to their clients as possible,
gradually increasing the level of the weapons they produced
to try and keep their forces ahead of their
local opposition. By the end, it appears clear
that tactical nuclear warheads were used by both sides.

   What spelled doom for the "Dark Ones" was not a sense
of planetary nationalism on the part of the orks,
but that they represented the best loot on the planet.
Orks came from all over the planet, ready to fight for a share.
The final conflict was fought against the "Dark
Ones" by a coalition of Nok tribes calling
themselves the "Neo-Ork Confederacy." Unfortunately,
these wars seem to have ended only a few years before
contact had been made, so the truth about the "Dark Ones"
may never be known. They are still used by Nok mothers
to scare naughty Nok children. Remnants of the "Dark
Ones" may yet hide on Azerauduum. 

    And Now, Finally the Conclusion of Visser Nights....

    The entire nature of the mission had changed for BlackHat.
While a sheen of professionalism kept him from breaking
down into a mad hunt for prey, the ethic of maintaining
minimum casualties was gone. If Gainax wanted to play rough,
pretend that their non-elvish lives were unimportant,
Blackhat was ready to send it right back at them.
For a moment BlackHat wondered if this sort
of feeling was the prelude to an attack of cyberpsychosis.

    They quickly moved down the airduct, finding the 
vertcals they needed. When BlackHat felt they had finally
reached the 68th floor, they exited the ducts. Coming down
into a corridor from the ceiling. They pinned themselves
to the sides of the corridor as they looked around.
BlackHat's passive sensors noted active motion detectors.
They heard casual footsteps.

   Slowly a pair of guards walked up to the nearest intersection.
There, at the console in the the middle of the intersection,
they both ran hand cards through the readers and looked
around. BlackHat could see them clearly, and he could tell
they hadn't seen his group, or they were the best actors he had seen
in a long time. BlackHat could hear them talking, "This is
so annoying, those elves must be paranoid, this must be the 
third security alert this month."

    "Yeah," replied the second gaurd, "they should stop
dicking us around with these training drills,
or we may not believe it when its the real thing."

    "Now that's cute," thought BlackHat. Still he waited a good long
while, letting the patrol get a good way before
he raised a hazy outline of a hand and motioned the group
foward. In a few seconds they found an elevator clearly
marking this as "Level 83" a few more
minutes search found them a room convieniently
marked "Grav Vehicle Bay, Level 2."

    As they found a stairwell, they saw the door had
an electronic lock. Jam came up quickly.
In seconds, as everybody else kept lookout, he had the
cover off the lock. A couple quick alligator teeth
connectors, and before the lock's simple brain
could register something was wrong, overpowering 
instructions told it that this was a simple maintenenance
sweep and that it should open the door.

    They quickly moved down the stairwell to, "Level 63."
Jam repeated the steps he had just taken a few floors
above on the lock here, once again leaving it look
like nothing had ever been done.

    Moving down the hallway they suddenly pinned themselves
to the wall as an entire platoon of mixed race troops
moved down the hall. Jogging in stiff formation, they were
clearly grumbling about the, "phony training drills."

   Suddenly the doglike Varger commander barked, "Quiet
in the ranks!" Recieving immediate compliance.
Once again, as they moved by, eyes front, they overlooked
the hazy outlines of the group.

    Just as they finished moving by and BlackHat was getting ready to sigh
in relief, Doc turned off his tiering module. A click was clearly
audible. The entire platoon stopped. BlackHat could tell
that Nicky was unslinging her multi-barreled rifle, as he
pulled his rifle about.

   Suddenly, the Varger just oped fire as the group scattered.
As if on cue the rest of the platoon either tried to find firelanes
or opened fire. Blackhat knew that this was poor organization.
Squads should haved moved out to try and flank, while others
laid down suppresive fire. Instead, the motly arrangement
of troops, individualy recruited by Gainax, were behaving like individuals.
Individuals with high-tech assault rifles.

   Nicky and BlackHat rounded the corners on the corridor
last and turned to return fire. They could have kept on going,
but that risked a firefight over the objective. They would have
to defeat or hold this force here, and use the time
they aquired before Gainax could bring up reinforcements.

   "Jam, take Doc and Sally, and try to get our objective,
well try and hold them here." BlackHat radio'd.

   BlackHat didn't even check to see his orders followed.
As Nicky poured enormous amounts of fire down
the hallway, killing entire groups, he took aimed shots.
Only pausing long enough to make sure his shots
were in the head or torso, first up was the Varger.
Two shots in the head and he was gone.

   As BlackHat picked off those trying to flee or show
leadership, Nicky cut swaths in their ranks. The
return fire was wildly innaccurate as most
of the troopers couldn't seem to pick out where
the fire was coming from. Panic quickly
filled their ranks
as they began to flee. Little did BlackHat realize that
many floors above, corporate lords watched the battle,
and seeing the poor performance of their troops,
panicked as well.
    
    As the fight all but ended, BlackHat noted that miracuously
no alarms had yet sounded. As he fell back with Nicky
to rejoin his companions, the alarm finally sounded.
Just as it began to blare through the hallways, they found
Lab 8. BlackHat kicked in the door as Sally
cut the guard to pieces. Once in the door, BlackHat
drew his Desert Eagle, three elves around the objective.
The Eagle barked three times. The DUMPIS rounds 
(Depleted Uranium Multiple Projectiles In Solution)
blew one head off, blew in one stomach, and the upper
right side of a chest. Before they unhooked
the dwarf from the machines, BlackHat had poped the
two remaining skulls with a table, not wanting to muss himself.

   They entered an air duct in the room, moved
down it 8 meters, and emerged through the roof of the
duct. Moving quickyly to the stairwell Jam kicked in the door.
Moving up to 82 they exited and jogged quickly to the vehicle bay.
They were apparently staying one step
ahead of the pursuit, as Doc used his tiering module to blow down
the door.
  
    Just inside the bay was what looked like a high level
management team, with bodyguards.
The firefight that ensued was fast and extreme.
BalckHat couldn't take cover, because Doc and the objective,
a squat, were right behind him. BlackHat ate three
 rounds as the superior firepower from his group
quickly decimated the bodyguards and managers.
The good news was that they had a grav van, perfect
for Teflon-88's needs, warmed up and ready to go.
Doc' quick tiering opened the bay doors permanently.
Sally drove as Jam locked a special diffuser
into the vehicle's systems. In a few seconds
the vehicle had passable chameleon camouflage.

   "Doc, report on the objective." BlackHat said as one by one
the team turned of their chameleon armor
and electronic distortion belts.

   "He seems to be heavily sedated, by them, but otherwise well."
Doc Responded.

   "Damn," Blackhat thought, we made it.

   Later at the "Chatsubo Visser: The Gentleman Loser"
Making what seemed to be the hundredth toast to
their lost companion, many already not feeling
any pain from the painkillers used to repair various
and sundry wounds, the tickets for the ring arrived.

(To be Continued....?)
----------------------------------------------------------------

   Hope the above didn't seem to muchikinish. Tried to hold
the action for the final story. Running out of time here at
the end. Think of this as the flashy introductory
sequence to a hopefully much longer story. Kudos
to Silk 'n Steel, just about the best currently
out there, don't worry Darrin, you're
getting better. I would appreciate some feedback,
positive or negative, mail or post (my mailers, kind of wierd)

,
-- 
Old Jedi Master: Ahh Joshua, You are more machine now than man, twisted and
evil.
   The New Paintball Underground, banned at University of New Mexico,
but still on the net!
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo