| From: | Simon and Fiona sfuller@******.com.au |
|---|---|
| Subject: | Summer Challenge: The Board |
| Date: | Tue, 4 Jul 2000 14:35:44 +1000 |
isn't set entirely in the heat, but it is summer. It is the story of a group
on inept LA runners, but don't expect too much cyberpunk edginess. Enjoy.
-Si
-The Board-
The four figures sat shivering on the open plain, staring at the pathetic
fire. Looking at the largest of them first, and working around the circle,
you would see Chainsaw the troll, skin black as a dragon’s heart, his horns
dyed a deep red. His cybereyes had a LCD built into them, and flashed random
images and colours, depending on heart rate, et cetera. At the moment they
were glowing a cold blue in the firelight. What you could see of his body
was covered in pieces of chrome and goosebumps, and for some reason he was
wearing a Hawaiian shirt and baggy shorts. Next was Suzette. She was human,
but only by broadening the term somewhat. Rumour was that she was an Olympic
athlete from Quebec, and that for most of her professional life she had been
pumped full of artificial enhancements and dodgy bioware, until one day she
was caught and turfed out of the country. Her skin was leathery and brown,
her brittle hair stuck out at funny angles. She had once killed a man on a
bus for not offering her his seat. Her teammates would tell you that it
wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t been the driver, or if it wasn’t peak
hour at the time. She was shivering in a tanktop and shorts. Onward around
the circle and you will see Bullethead the dwarf. He had a short, spiky
yellow beard, but an enormous moustache that flowed down to his barrel
chest. The hair on his head was the strawberry red of a sportscar, and he
was heavily into leather and chrome studs. Lastly, and strangely comfortable
in the freezing wind, was Loopy, the wolf shaman. He was covered in wiry
hairs, and he had a wolfskin cloak that he wrapped himself in. Even now he
was chanting quietly to himself, to the annoyance of the others. Other than
the four runners, the long, flat parcel and the dying fire, there wasn’t muc
h to see but kilometres of wasteland.
“I say we burn it.” Said Bullethead.
“It’s worth fifteen hundred thousand nuyen, Bullet, we aren’t fragging
burning it!” growled Suzette in her harsh baritone.
“Aint worth squat if we turn into people pops out here.” Bullet spat back.
He stood up and reached for the package. Suzette pulled out her Predator II
and pointed it at groin level. “Sit the frag down, sawnoff. We aren’t
burning it.”
Chainsaw said nothing, he just let his mind wander back in its slow,
uncomplicated way.
“Chainsaw, stop blowing bubbles, frag you!” Suzette shouted. Chainsaw loved
blowing bubbles into his thickshakes, it was one of the reasons he loved
McHugh’s. That and the little toys you got sometimes with the happy meals.
The main problem with Chainsaw blowing bubbles in his thickshakes was lung
capacity. He had already blown off the little plastic lid, and was liberally
coating himself, Bullet, the table, and the three children at the next table
with sticky pink sludge. “Okie Suzette. But I better get to kill sumtin
soon.” The woman at the next table quickly herded her three sticky pink
children out of the restaurant. Bullet drummed his fingers on the table.
Chainsaw might have had the mentality of a four year old, but he also had
the boundless innocent cruelty of a four year old, coupled with years of
positive reinforcement every time he twisted someone’s head around so they
could see their own arse being kicked. It was better to put up with a
thickshake shower than traction. “What’s taking those two so long in the
restroom anyway?” he asked.
“What do you think?” said Suzette, pinching her fingers to her lips and
making a sucking sound. Just then, the door to the men’s rest room was flung
open, and a massive cloud of sweet blue smoke billowed out. Two shapes
staggered out and made their way toward the runners’ table. One was Loopy,
the other was a human with a deep tan, bleached blonde dreadlocks, and a
small chin goatee that was so sparse and weedy that it resembled Suzette’s
own chin. He was dressed in a riot of colour, but none so bright as his red
eyes that were mere slits. It took a good ten minutes for the pair to reach
the table, especially since they stopped to giggle every few steps. At last
Suzette waved Chainsaw’s little bag of McHugh’s cookies at them, and the
pair suddenly broke land speed records to get to the table. They were just
about to grab at the cookies when Chainsaw’s football sized fist closed over
them. His eyes had little animated fires burning in them. They ate fries
instead. Between mouthfuls, the bleach blonde manages to say “OK, right
(ch-ch-chehehehe) Now my name is Mr Johnson, grot? Nah, it’s really Robert
Freedom Gellar, but I’m incognito, grot?” He launched himself at a
cheeseburger, managing to stuff most of it into his mouth in one go. Loopy,
far more experienced with the inner mysteries and severe body smash that
came with his private blend of shamanic herbs, simply sat and grinned into
space. “Anyway. You dogs know about Jesse Mamo?”
The runners exchanged glances, except for Loopy, his stare was transfixed on
a small blank patch of wall. Bullet said “No, who’s she?”
“Jesse Mamo was a he.” Gellar snickered. “That dog won the 1923 World
Surfing Championships, and kept his title for twelve years. Dog is a legend,
and you dogs don’t grot? Dooooooooooooooooooog! You need to get your
priorities straight. Well, OK. OK. OK, Jesse Mamo rode this solid oak
longboard with a dolphin caved into its underside. It was like his
trademark, grot?. Nothing compared to the boards we have today of course.
But dog! What that board is worth! You see, it is owned (sheah right, like
anyone should own something like that!) owned by the Hawaiian National
Museum, but it is on loan to LA Museum for a month. I want to own that
board.”
“And how much can we expect to get if we get this board?” asked Bullethead,
sipping some soycaf.
“Uhhhhm, twelve hundred thousand nuyen.”
Bullet theatrically sprayed coffee from his mouth, his moustaches flapping
like party streamers. “Twelve hundred thousand!?”
“Oh right, yeah” mumbled Gellar. “Fifteen hundred thousand nuyen. Sorry.”
Bullet slid, coughing, from his chair and landed under the table. Loopy was
already there, eating something green off the floor. Suzette, a little
cooler in these situations, said “How do we know you can pay us, Gellar? You
don’t look the rich type.”
“Sponsorships, competitions, it all adds up, dog. I earnt a cool three
million last year.”
“In that case, “ said Bullet, pulling himself back up onto the chair, “I
think that we should negotiate a higher priiii!” He was yanked back under
the table by the leg. Loopy’s voice came from below, “Wolf says take it. You
have a deal, Robert Freedom Gellar, doooooooooooooooog!”
Bullet looked around for anything combustible. There was not a single tree.
Chainsaw had found a couple if small bushes earlier, which had steadfastly
refused to burn. He had to settle for clumps of dry grass again. His
synthleather jacket seemed to absorb the cold of the howling wind, and his
T-shirt underneath offered zero warmth. He thought wistfully of Calfree
again.
“I say we burn the damn surf board and maybe we can survive this.” He said,
feeding the tiny fire that gave off far more smoke than heat.
“We aren’t burning the fragging surfboard, halfer!”
Chainsaw thought on...
“OK, people, this is a rough floor plan of the Los Angeles Museum. The
surfboard is being displayed here.” Said Bullet, pointing with his nifty
laser pointer at the trid screen, “There are guard stations here, here and
here. I don’t know about electronic security, I propose we hire a decker.”
“Sounds like a plan, “ said Suzette.
“We’ll get in through the window here, we need some glass cutters, rope,
ruthenium polymer jumpsuits, knockout gas grenades, and something to carry
the board in.”
“Why not tunnel up from the sewer here?” asked Loopy, “The guards would be
ready for people coming in through the window. I’ll call my fixer and get
some portable earthmoving equipment, some concrete solvent, sewer schematics
and permission from the ork underground.”
“There’s an ork underground in LA?”
“Uh, I’ll ask my fixer.”
“Why not hang glide onto the roof and climb in through the air vents? I’ll
phone my fixer and get some stealth grapple lines, some Night Gliders, a
plan of the air vents, a few tubes of lube gel and a set of air vent tools.”
Put in Suzette.
“No, the window’s the easiest. Look, I’ll get the stuff from my fixer.
Anyway, we don’t know how to hang glide.”
“It’s easy.”
“No, look, I’m calling my fixer for the digging equipment now.” Loopy pulled
out his mobile phone.
“Hang on, I’ll just see how available that glass cutting tool is first,”
said Bullet, engaging his cranial telecom implant.
“The sky’s the way in, frag it!” boomed Suzette, pulling out her pocket
secretary. They all tried to talk over eachother, and they all wondered why
each was continually put on hold while their fixer talked to two other
runners with express orders.
A week later, they parked Bullet’s van near the museum during opening hours
to scope it out. The three were arguing furiously about the best way in, and
how much their stuff had cost. It was a stinking hot July, and the press of
bodies in the van made it even worse. Nobody took any notice when Chainsaw
got out of the van. The argument had reached screaming pitch, Suzette was
waving her Predator II around, Bullet had his combat knife out and Loopy was
waving his fingers in a concise pattern. Suddenly a piercing alarm split the
air, and all three runners instinctively froze. Then they saw Chainsaw
running from the museum’s main entry, pursued by a swarm of security guards
firing tasers at him. He was carrying the surfboard, still in it’s perspex
display case, under one arm.
The roar of the wind had lessened, and Bullet was sure that he heard on the
very edge of his high frequency hearing, a mechanical whine. Carefully,
because Suzette still had her pistol pointed at him, he stood and looked
around. It was dawn, even though it was only two in the morning. There were
three trailbikes coming over the plain, their headlights cutting through the
murky dawn shadows. Bullet shouted for the others, who scrambled upright.
They shouted and waved their arms. Chainsaw’s shouts being more effective
than a foghorn, the trailbikes soon headed their way. The riders all wore
the same uniform, similar to the old Canadian Mounties from the turn of the
century. The lead rider pulled off his helmet to reveal a wavy mane of
blonde hair, perfectly chiselled features, sparkling blue eyes and
toothpaste ad teeth.
“Thank goodness we found you!” he said in a cultured, silky voice, “We’d
heard that there was an accident aboard a plane and that some of you were
sucked out. Are there any others?”
“No, said Bullet, since Suzette was strangely quiet. It was just us four.”
“Oh. Good. Unfortunately the plane exploded over the Artic, the emergency
seals gave way. You are unbelievably lucky to be alive!”
“Yeah, I suppose.” Said Bullet, glaring at Loopy.
“Well, lets get you back to our humble station then. Climb aboard, ladies
first.” Suzette giggled despite herself, and she wished she had shaved. She
climbed behind Blondie. Bullet got onto the second bike, while the third
stayed with Chainsaw and Loopy until the other could return.
This being Los Angeles, there was an epic car chase. Bullet was a good
driver, but it was hard to shake the police cars and choppers. He howled
down side alleys that had stacks of empty boxes piled along the sides that
flew all over the place when he sideswiped them, he shot over high hills
that should have been in San Fransisco, getting airborne at the top. He
screeched around mountain corners with oceanside cliffs on one side, doing a
tight 360 in the dirt off the shoulder and shooting back in the direction he
came from, weaving through the oncoming pursuers. Finally he lost them by
doing a jump from a half-built bridge, into the open storm drain channels
that had just enough water in them to spray up in a peacock’s tail behind
the van. He found a tunnel to park in while the choppers swept overhead.
“Chainsaw! You could have gotten us all arrested!” He shouted.
The others, who didn’t have the aid of a sports harness, or even seats, were
in a tangled mess against the van’s rear hatch. “But I got duh board.”
Chainsaw said in his defence, from somewhere under Loopy’s hairy rear end.
Eventually the three managed to untangle themselves, and inspect their
bruises. They knew Bullethead, this was considered tame driving. “Well, what
now?” Asked Suzette while Loopy cast heal spells all round.
“Stick to the plan, we’ll get on a plane and fly to the Confederated States,
where we meet that surfer dog Johnson, and he pays us. We’ll charter a
private plane.” Said Bullet.
“But they know the surf board is stolen now, how are we going to smuggle it
out of the country?”
The conversation was interrupted by the ‘Gnaaah!’ sound that Loopy made as
blood shot in a graceful arc from both nostrils. He had healed Chainsaw last
of all, and all the cyberware had interfered, giving Loopy serious drain
pain. Hands shaking, he pulled out his little bronze pipe and started poking
his herbs into it.
“We’ll think of something.” Bullet said as smoke plumed from Loopy’s pipe.
It somehow made the sweaty heat and stench of troll even worse inside the
van. He wished he were somewhere cooler.
The ranger station was a small affair, when Loopy and Chainsaw arrived the
other two were comfortably rugged up in old ranger uniforms in front of an
enormous electric heater. The sun was well up now, and even outside the
temperature was approaching a comfortable level, if you weren’t dressed for
tropical weather. Blondie, who had introduced himself as Robert Darling, was
preparing a huge roast in the kitchen, the other rangers were nowhere to be
seen. “There’s something wrong here,” said Loopy, “I don’t know what, but
Wolf is going crazy.”
“Loopy, “said Suzette, “You’re just paranoid again. Remember when you got us
to hold the pizza guy hostage that time?”
“I still say he was an insect spirit, there were little bugs on the pizza.”
“They were shrimp! You ordered them!”
Darling came in with the roast, the smell made all four start to drool. It
looked like real meat. “Pork,” he said, “From Edmonton. Eat up, there’s
plenty.”
Suzette layed into the roast pork with gusto, and found the meat to be
deliciously sweet and salty. Loopy remained bitterly silent throughout the
meal. Meanwhile, Darling had a quick bite, then left to do some paperwork.
“We landed on our feet, hey guys?” said Suzette.
The airport was busy, it was the tourist season. Bullet had found a parking
spot, and they sat thinking. From outside, the van looked like the windows
were tinted a grey-blue. From inside you could tell it was the air. They had
stopped off to get a change of clothes for Chainsaw, more of Loopy’s healing
herbs, and about 50 chocolate bars. Second hand smoke had set everyone’s
heads buzzing. Someone had come up with the brilliant idea of disguising the
surfboard as a surfboard. It already looked troll sized, and a quick foil
wrap made it look like a colourful resin board. Chainsaw was dressed in his
one Hawaiian shirt, and a pair of massive pants that were baggy even on the
troll’s frame. A quick application of instant tan had been overdone
slightly, but Chainsaw said he liked his new colour. “OK, guys. We need
someone to go in and charter a private plane ,OK?” said Bullet.
“Yeah (pass me that Snickers), we’ll fly to Memphis, then hire a car and
drive to the coast, that way we’ll be hard to track.” said Suzette.
“OK, Good plan. OK, who’s going in, OK?”
“I will!” shouted Loopy, who was feeling left out. There was something to be
said about the strength of his herbal blends that the others thought that
this was a good idea. He collapsed from the van, and then did a quick
sideways dance to the shade of a nearby building. He was barefoot, and the
others could see melted, hot tar sticking to his feet. After nearly an hour,
or so it seemed, he came back. The van’s air conditioning had cleaned the
air, although it didn’t do much for the heat. “OK guys, he said, after doing
another quick crab dance back to the van, “The plane leaves in ten minutes.
I got the fastest jet I could, and doubled the fee.”
Darling came back to check on the group as Suzette forced the last of the
gravy sodden pork into her straining stomach. “Ah I hope you enjoyed your
feast. It was a specialty of mine.”
“It was great, “growled Suzette in a voice that could have been called sexy
in a more feminine person, “Now I think we should repay you in... some way.
She opened her borrowed jacket and pulled down her camo tank top, partially
revealing cleavage that looked in many ways like a pair of over-ripe
cantaloupes that a moulting cat had been sleeping on.
“Ah, my dear sweet lady, “ Darling said in the face of the evidence, “You
will repay me well. You see, now that you have all eaten the flesh that I
gave you, you are under my power!” With that, he pulled a phantasmal mask
from his face and took on his true form, that of an enormous wendigo. “I
told you!” screamed Loopy, “Now you’re in trouble!”
“Not me, said Chainsaw, “I’m a vegetarian.”
“Me neither, “ said Bullet, strangely calm in the face of the slavering
monstrosity before him, I was raised on soyaloaf, mycoburger and I Can’t
Beleive it’s not Rodent, the real thing just didn’t taste right.
“What? What are you talking about?” howled the wendigo in a voice like the
roar of the artic winds, “You are all mine!”
Chainsaw let swing, midway through its arc, his fist sprouted three foot
blades. They sliced deeply into the wendigo, which howled and doubled over,
to meet Bullet’s steelcap boot coming at its face. “Lets get out of here!”
screamed Loopy, “We can’t fight this thing and win, lets go before the
surprise wears off!”
“You fraggers aren’t going anywhere!” shouted Suzette, aiming her Predator
II at Loopy. She opened fire, but Loopy had already ducked, he rolled to one
side as bullets chewed a path beside him. She did not notice Bullet had run
under the table until the chair he was swinging exploded against the back of
her head, knocking her out cold. “Always wanted to do that” he grinned.
“Fools!” howled the wendigo, “You were to be my servants, instead you shall
be my dinner!” The deep slashes across its chest were already gone, as was
the bloody pulp of lip. “Hey! I kilt you!” Shouted Chainsaw, annoyed that
the wendigo wasn’t following the rules.
“Run!” screamed Loopy, already out the door. The wendigo clapped its hands
together, then seperated them to reveal a growing ball of burning energy.
Chainsaw reached over the table and grabbed Suzette’s snoring form. As he
bent down, the ball of energy shot past his ear and exploded against the
wall. He ran.
They found eachother outside the garage as the wendigo howled like a tornado
from inside the main building. Bullet kicked open the side door and ran for
the heavy duty four wheel drive that he had seen earlier. It was the work of
seconds to break a window and hotwire it, and the others dived in. The
roller door rippled, then tore as the wendigo’s talons shredded it from the
outside.They could see it through the torn metal, summoning up another
energy ball. Bullet floored it. The truck roared and leapt forward, slamming
into the wendigo just as the energy ball shattered the windscreen and blew
Chainsaw into the rear bay. Bullet reversed and shot forward again, enjoying
the thump of the wheels going over the wendigo. He shifted up the gears,
spinning the wheels, when he judged the wendigo to be underneath one, and
zoomed off onto the endless plains in a shower of sparkling windsheild
fragments. One of the other rangers opened fire from the second floor of the
building, and shattered the rear windscreen, but by that time Bullet had
found the track and was not stopping for anything.
The plane soared into the sky. It was a six seater, Chainsaw had two, the
board had two. Loopy was casually picking tar and gravel from his burnt
feet. Bullet was looking out the window, trying to figure out what felt
wrong. All of their weapons were locked away, except for Suzette’s Predator
II, which she had smuggled aboard. Pretty soon they would be crossing the
border, and then they were home free. Maybe they would have to move their
base of ops, but Bullet had had one too many hot CalFree summers anyway.
Seattle sounded nice. Something was definitely bugging him though. He looked
around as the plane neared the mach 1. The others were quite comfortable,
except maybe Loopy, who was beginning to come down.
They drove all through the day, the bitter wind blasting through the cabin.
Chainsaw had recovered with a little help from Loopy, who was even now
nursing a bleeding nose and lamenting having no herbs left to smoke. There
was no sign of pursuit from the wendigo, physically or astrally, but Loopy
whacked Suzette over the head whenever she looked like she was coming to
just in case. Near dusk they found a fairly large town, and tried to arrange
a flight south. The fact that they were white (and one very black) people in
deep Athabascan Council lands was against them from the start, and they were
told to come back in the morning. They did, four hours later, but had to
wait around until nine anyway. A hefty tip made sure nobody called the
authorities on the four Californians, one constantly asleep, that wore
ranger uniforms and drove a shot up ranger’s truck. At last they were on
their way. They unanimously decided to screw the overland drive from
Memphis, they’d fly straight to Palm Beach where Gellar was waiting for
them.
Bullet stared out the window. That did not look like the Midwest to him. He
nudged Loopy, who growled threateningly. “Loop, you did buy tickets to
Memphis, didn’t you?”
“Of course I fragging bought tickets to Memphis, that was the plan. You
think I’m an idiot?” Loopy was very close to Wolf’s nastier side when he was
coming down.
“That looks a lot like the icy north down there, that’s all.”
“Oh, so you’re Mr fragging geography now?”
“No, but you know how you get some times when you are really stoned. You
make mistakes.”
“Look, I bought four tickets to Memphis. We just have a trans-polar flight
path, OK?”
“Trans... Uh, Loop, was that Memphis, C.A.S. ?”
A memory flashed through Loopy’s mind. The little man behind the counter
asking about luggage, then laughing about the surfboard and saying “Trying
to catch a few waves on the Nile, are we?” It didn’t make sense at the time,
so he had ignored it. “Of course fragging Memphis C.A.S., what other Memphis
is there?” he said without much conviction.
“Loopy you moron!” yelled Suzette, “You got tickets to Memphis, Egypt, didn’
t you?”
“I might have, so what? How was I supposed to know which Memphis you meant?”
“You fragging idiot!” She yelled. Her years of steroid abuse left her with a
temper that equalled Loopy’s post-trip anger. “We are going the completely
wrong way!”
“Well, lets just get off here then, eh?!” he snarled back.
“How the frag do you expect to do that, moron, we are three kilometres up!”
Without answering, Loopy looked into the astral. It was weak this high up,
but there were still spirits. He called to one now, in a low howl inaudible
outside of the astral plane. A sky spirit answered, and appeared before him.
“What is it you want, oh little wolf?” it asked with the voice of the
breeze.
“Take me and my pack safely to the ground, right fragging now, oh mighty
spirit of the fragging sky.”
“Of course, O rude little wolf.”
To the others, it seemed that Loopy had taken on a glassy stare and started
to slump forward. Then the side of the plane erupted outward, and all four
were sucked into the freezing air. At the last second Chainsaw grabbed the
board, which was spiralling away. The last they saw of the plane, it was
rapidly shrinking behind a pile of fluttering debris. The debris found the
ground long before they did, however, stinging winds that burnt the cheeks
buffeted them from below, so that when they reached the ground, they were
going barely fast enough to knock the wind out of them.
They lay on the cold, prickly ground, gasping. Suzette swallowed and said
“Loopy, when I get my breath back, I’m going to kill you.”
Palm Beach was a beautiful place, like a tourist brochure. They weren’t sure
how much was real and how much was fabricated, but as long as the sun shone
down and cooked them gently, none of the runners were complaining. While
they waited on a pier for Gellar, Chainsaw bought an ice cream cone, and was
now slowly spreading most of it over his chin. “Where is that fragging
Gellar?” asked Suzette to the world in general.
“This might be him, “ said Loopy in a dreamy voice. One of the first things
he had done after touchdown was find a dealer. There was a sleek black
Phaeton cruising up to the pier like a dikoted shark. The door opened and a
man in an expensive suit stepped out. The group stared for a moment, and
then realised that it was Gellar. He had shaved, and his hair was now a
respectable buzz cut. “Gentlemen. You wanted to meet with me?”
“Yes Gellar, we brought you your board, now pay up.” Said Suzette.
“I’m sorry? I already have a few surf boards, although I’m retiring soon
anyway. Bad influence on my life.”
“Look, we brought you Jessica Maim’s surf board, like you hired us to, now
give us our money!”
“Pardon? Oh, Jesse Mamo. I saw that on the news, someone stole it. Are you
saying you stole it? Why bring the thing to me?”
“You fragging hired us to, fragger! Three weeks ago, in L.A.”
“I think I’d remember something like that, even though I was heavily into
drugs and BTL at the time. Anyway, that isn’t Mamo’s board, his is made of
oak.”
Chainsaw tore away some of the foil, revealing the wood beneath. “Oh, well,
maybe it is. Makes no difference really. I’m sorry if you have been misled,
but I have no interest in that sort of thing. I won’t call the police, but I
really don’t want to associate with your type any more.”
Suzette made to reach for her Predator II, but a slight movement by the limo
brought her attention to two very businesslike ork enforcers, either of
which looked more than capable of taking apart all four of them.
“Look, I admit, maybe I did hire you for some strange reason. I’ll give you
500 nuyen for your problems. Here.” He handed a credstick from his jacket to
the stunned Suzette, and was gone.
“We were chased by cops, sucked out of a plane, nearly froze to death, were
attacked by a wendigo for frag’s sake, and we get 500 nuyen for our
troubles.”
“An a surf board” added Chainsaw.
“500 doesn’t even start to cover the costs. What do we do now?”
“I don’ know about youse, “ said Chainsaw, “But Ise goin’ surfin.”
