From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark  Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: 21st Century Schizoid Man [part 04/21]
Organization: The Ohio State University Department of Computer and Information Science
Date: Tue, 18 Aug 1992 05:18:03 GMT

	Freddy extracted the WORM CD-2 from the player and frisbeed it
across the room (while simultaneously inventing a new verb!).  It
bounced of the wall and landed the bass drum of the practice set.
"Two points!"

	Larry clapped sarcastically, "'Sonics, here we come..."

	"Damn, this sucks.  I hate hiding out like this."  He fetched
the CD for another flight.

	"Well, buhtween da Crushers and dem Fuchi-goobs, you don't
stand too much a chance anywhere else."

	He frowned, knowing the ork was right.  "Damn."  He whipped
the CD at Larry, who ducked but got hit on the back of the head on
the rebound.  "Heh!"

	"We got good vidphone here.  Clean.  You could call round..."
He rubbed the back of his head, retrieved the CD, and returned fire.
The CD hit the end of Freddy's finger straight on when he tried to
catch it, causing him to dance around in pain, shaking his hand.

	"Owch!  I *hate* when that happens..."  He stuck the finger
in his mouth.  "Vidphffone?  Lesth do id!"

	\	\	\	\	\	\	\	\

	Deep in the sub-basements of The Big Rhino, an ork answered
a radio call: "Yeah?"

	"Go," another voice said.

	"Green," the ork replied as he flipped a switch on a massive
breadboard on the desk in front of him.

	The only noticeable difference in the room was a blinking green
LED on the unwieldy jungle of electronics.  However, the switch also
toggled the 'location' of the Rhino's vidphone: if it was traced at
this moment, it would appear to lead back to the residence of one
"Bernie Shubach", mild mannered U^2C.

	/	/	/	/	/	/	/	/

	Kent, the on-duty barkeep at Club Penumbra answered the
vidphone.  "Penubra: Dance, Dance, Dance 'til ya puke..."

	Freddy recognized him and switched his phone from a static-pic
(of the aforementioned Bernie) to real-time video.  "Heya Kunt, how's
it goin'?"

	The bearded face grinned.  "Flatu-boy!  Say hey, you got any
money for me, too?"

	"Yeah, right..."  He wondered how far the rumours had been
spreading.  "Maybe I'll buy Penumbra and give you the vacation you
deserve.  Heck, I'm worth a half *billion* dollars now..."  He decided
to play the figure to his advantage.

	"So I hear, so I hear.  There's a million people who've been
lookin' for you: gangers, suits, chummers, and a quite few guys each
named Guido.  Plus Fuchi-cops out the arse."

	"Tell 'em where they could go?"

	"Nahhh, they bought drinks.  It's not good business to
piss off your customers.  But I didn't tell 'em anything."

	"Thanks.  Maybe there *is* some money lying around for you
after all.  Anyway, I called for two reasons.  The first is to
tell you I probably won't be able to make my gig on Sunday..."

	"Heh.  Layin' low for a while, aye?"

	"You're not gonna see this hombre in person for a long time!
So, I want you to tell Sally to call for a booking on Stoner and the
guys.  They'd be glad to get a chance to leave the Dance-Mania crowd
with two left feet..."  They always had the saying: 'try to dance to
Three of a Perfect Pair: I betcha fall down!'

	Kent wrote a note on a pad.  "Got it.  And what's behind door
number two?"

	He sighed.  "Do you know where Kelly is?  I tried her at home,
but she didn't answer.  Besides, her machine says she should be back
from her vacation by now..."

	"Errr, yeah!  That's a wierd one: she got these vacation
authorization papers in her mailbox, you know, and they appear all in
order and everything.  But then Sally says she never signed it, but
it's got her sig and scanprint and all!  Sally's bitchin' that Kelly's
AWOL and wants to fire her, plus she says she's gonna press charges.
The old ice-queen's got a hot-head, aye?"

	"Hmmmm..."

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

	"So boys, how do you like the party area?"  Freddy leaned
against the wall, observing what was left of the Trog Crusher punks,
who were handcuffed to a radiator.  Only two were conscious now.

	"Fuck...off...trog-lover...", the readheaded one managed to
say.  The 'previous shift' had worked him over rather well.

	Freddy walked over to the punk.  "Too bad you don't have a
brain.  Maybe you could've lived and relayed a message to Tacoma
Bob for me.  Too bad.  Now you'll probably become part of the buffet
tonight..."  The orks in the room chuckled.  He started to walk back
to his wall.

	The punk spoke up again.  "You're the dead man, Crimson.
Bob's got your number.  He wants your ass bad.  He wants you *all*
bad.  He's even got your girl..."  The other Trog Crusher just
whipered.

	He turned around and jump-kicked the tough in the face.  Teeth
were loosened.  "That's for Kelly."  He turned around and pointed to
an aluminum baseball bat and snapped his fingers.  An ork tossed it
over to him.  He hefted it over his shoulder.  "This is for orks
everywhere."  He brought the bat down, breaking the punk's arm cuffed
to the radiator.  The orks growled, satisfied.  "This is for my
father."  He swung the bat sidways, catching him in the jaw, which
promptly gave way and shifted sideways before hanging limp on his
skull.

	Freddy was breathing incredibly heavily now, legs spead apart
and leaning on the bat, staring at the punk.  The Trog Crusher opened
his heavy eyelids and muttered, "Humanis."  He lifted his arm and
extended his middle finger.

	Freddy snarled and screamed, "AND THIS IS FOR MY MOTHER!"  He
swung the bat at full arm's length high over his head and brought it
down with both hands on top of the punk's skull, hard.  There was an
audible cracking sound and the splatter of bloody and other fluids.
The Crusher's eyes closed permanently.

	In almost a berserker rage, Freddy jumped in front of the
remaining terrified ganger.  "You want some of this, pal?"  He swung
the bat...

	"No."  It was Larry who caught the bat on the backswing.  "We
need 'em."

	"Shut up Lawrence!"  He tugged the bat away.  "The only good
Humanis is a *dead* Humanis..."  He turned to swing the bat again,
but was stopped again.

	"No.  Not gonna let you.  He's your tick outta dis whole
mess..."

	|	|	|	|	|	|	|	|

	After grilling "Dirk" for three straight hours they had
decided that he wasn't as racist as the rest.  He was just in it for
the violence: trying to act tough.  However, it was easier to act
tough in a gang, and he was oh-so alone at this moment.

	Dirk was a wimp in the end.  He had no courage to speak of.
Because of this, the orks hadn't physically tortured him...as much as
the others.  They simply tortured him psychologically, and had a
hell of a laugh doing it.

	Dirk had spilled his guts quite readily.  His cranial capacity
was none too large, but he supplied an incredible amount of info on
what was happening between Tacomah Bob, the Trog Crushers, and the
Yarrow Point 'runners.  This included three possible safehouses where
the Crushers could be holding Kelly (and most likely Ariel).

	But he wasn't prepared to rush in like the cavalry to save
her.  Tacomah Bob was just using her as bait, and he wasn't going to
bite.  If there were any deals going to be made, they'd be on his
terms.  Did that mean he didn't truly love her after all?  Maybe.
Probably.  He'd have to wait and see...

	Freddy woke up after falling asleep on the table.  He lifted
his head to see that Dirk had done the same thing.  He reached over
and shut off the digital recorder.

	Larry saw him awake and leaned over to him.  "It's late.  We
gotta move, now..."

	He nodded.  "Check."

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

	Dr. Robert See looked at the bedside chronometer before he
answered the phone.  "Well, I'm not on call, and it's three in the
morning, so this must be a joke right?"

	"No joke, man."  Freddy had a pitch-shifter inserted into
the phone link.  "Place: GTM HQ.  Time: oh-four hundred.  Reason:
one million dollars."

	"No shit?"  He was suddenly awake.

	"No shit."   <click>

	Dr. See practically jumped from his bed...

	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

	"I could get in a load of trouble for this."

	"Yeah.  And then you could get a load of newyen as well, Doc."
Freddy waved a credstick.  Larry looked around nervously while the
Robert keyed in his security code.

	The Asian doctor opened the door and let Freddy in.  "Really,
I'd get fired...I could get *arrested*..."

	"So why the hell did you come?"  Freddy didn't wait for an
answer, since he knew it already.  He helped Larry drag the bound and
gagged Dirk from the shubbery in front of the building.

	They closed the door behind them and walked rapidly down the
hall towards the lab.  Freddy's palms were sweating, loosening his
grip on his shotgun.  "Cryminee, you better be right about the security
in this place..."

	|	|	|	|	|	|	|	|

	They reached the lab area without incident.  Security was
light in the headquarters building as clones and memory recordings
(the most important components) were each stored in their own separate
facilities.

	They strapped Dirk onto a transfer table.  Freddy stood over
him and smiled evily, equipment monitor screens in the darkened room
casting unholy light and shadow patterns on his face.  "Time to die,
inbreeding blue-collarville Humanis Klan-bastard racist muthah
fuckah..."  Dirk's eyes bugged out.  He'd scream if it weren't for the
duct tape over his mouth.  Freddy flashed the hypodermic in front of
the punk's face.  Dirk actually fainted before being injected with the
anesthetic.

	Freddy handed his shotgun and credstick to Larry and then
embraced him.

	"Pooftah!", the ork laughed.  He prentended to wipe away a
tear.

	Freddy jumped up and lied down on the neighboring table.
"Shut up phag.  We *are* brothers..."

	"Well, only half..."  He grinned again and picked up another
hypodermic.

	"You know what to do, eh?"

	"Yup.  Got it down."

	Freddy indicated with his thumb over his shoulder to the
doctor.  "And remember to geek pastey-boy here if he tries anything
funny."  Dr. See loosened his collar a bit.

	Larry smiled widely and patted the shotgun.  "Yeah."

	"And if things *do* get fucked up, remember my real clone will
be ready in six months.  I got a dupe of the mem-cube too, in my
sec-box, just in case T-Bob tries some funny tech..."

	"Check."

	Freddy sighed and looked up at the sonex tiled ceiling.  "Well,
do me up, 'mano.  See ya on the other side."

	The ork injected him with the hypo.  "Hasta la vista, baby..."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Comprehensive scripting and color commentary here is Copyright by Mark
Friedman 1991, all rights reserved.  Basic story plot  and Matrix help
was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him all the profits
from the venture. Let's  see,  what's 100% of  $0.00?  :-) Also, basic
Shadowrun backdrops are in extensive use, so them FASA dudes might get
a small cut as well...

Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.

					- Mark "Crimson" Friedman

Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former   "Beat poets,    "If you put a hungry ferret in your
 about King Crimson."       not children."  trousers, he'll run around..."
 - Robert Fripp, 5/11/90    - anonymous     - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo