Logs for ShadowRN and Associated Mailing Lists

From:	The Deb Decker <RJR96326@****.UTULSA.EDU>
Subject:	Eavesdropping
Date:	Sun, 5 Sep 1993 11:13:34 -0500

Message no. 1 >>>>>[Denizens of Shadowland, I warn you all to cease and desist all
activity associated with this node, for your own sake. Consider, we
certainly have the resources to track down and kill all of you, but
it is clearly in our best interest to maximize the efficient use of
these resources. Therefore, I have put together an example of the
range of our power, and urge you all to stand back and forget about
this EONPP case.

The following transcript is taken from the car of your own Packard Belle
and Mind Throttle.

PB>So tell me about this creep who's been tailing us. He's your ex?

MT>Well, yeah. He was also my manager in my racing days. We split up
after I got wired and made a big enough name for myself that I had
to get a REAL manager.

PB>What do you mean?

MT>Well, while I was on the lower circuits, he was able to manage the
deals and info that came through. But when I started getting bigger
offers and the stakes rose, he couldn't keep up and I lost a couple
of big contracts that would have helped. Now, I didn't hold it against
him personally, but he took my hiring someone else personally and got
all moody and grumpy, to the point I couldn't stand it. So I left him.
I always intended to go back if he got back to normal, but he got a
little dangerous. One reason I took that first run with you, Belle.

]<<<<<
-- Herr Ganz <11:15:23/9-5-54>

>>>>>[Good Grief! How'd they get that! I don't want my personal life
on the board!]<<<<<
-- Mind Throttle <11:16:10/9-5-54>

>>>>>[I know! I scanned it with MouseEars-8! Shoulda picked up any
bugs. And the Buzzer-6 shoulda screened any mic that picked us up!]<<<<<
-- Packard Belle <11:18:21/9-5-54>

>>>>>[What are you two doing back on already?]<<<<<
-- RAMboy <11:19:26/9-5-54>

>>>>>[We just had to talk offline. We came back to see if Jaez was still
here.
Looks like she ain't. So now, we'll just be on our way.]<<<<<
-- Packard Belle <11:20:14/9-5-54>

From:	"Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject:	Eavesdropping
Date:	Wed, 13 Aug 1997 20:09:49 +0100

Message no. 2 *****PRIVATE: Midnight Shadows
>>>>>[Well, we found the address - a pub, of all places - and wired it.

+++++
The view blurs into life from the camera in Easy's jacket, where it
seems to be lying on a bed. She's brushing out her long platinum-blonde
hair, before pulling it back in a simple pony-tail.

Unusually for her, she's wearing very ordinary clothing: grey Jeddi Kal
jeans, and a sleeveless "Atlanta Rebels" T-shirt. She's also left her
usual black-leather gloves off, and the white bracelets of scar tissue
around her wrists are much more noticeable.

A discreet knock at the door, and she replies: Griffyn enters, likewise
looking much less like his usual self.

"I feel like a klutz." he says, grinning. He's clad in this season's
peach pleated slacks and a Hawai'ian shirt that probably contravenes
local noise pollution acts, and carries a compact, expensive-looking
Minolta camera. "Enough like a tourist?"

Easy checks her comrade over approvingly. "Let's see... A victim of the
latest dumb East Coast fashions, vacant expression, dopey grin, chin
damp with drool... Griffyn, you were meant to be changing your
appearance-"

She bats aside the thrown film canister without much effort, laughing
aloud.

"You've lightened up. I heard you laugh three times in the last week."
Griff retrieves the film canister - actually a small memory module for
the digital camera, though it'll probably be called 'film' for another
century or three - as he speaks.

Easy shrugs. "Maybe I'm lightening up. Or maybe I'm just enjoying the
company. I could get used to some of this."

"You might want to keep the gloves..." Griff cautiously suggests.

The Elven samurai looks puzzled, then comprehension dawns. "Oh, that."
She absently scratches the scars, then picks up her fine leather gloves
and carefully pulls them on. "Forgot, sorry."

"How did you get them? If you don't mind me asking..."

"Handcuffs." Easy replies shortly, her tone suddenly cold. Griffyn
doesn't pursue the question, as the Elf picks up her leather jacket and
pulls it on. "A long time ago, a long way away. Another life, as the
Japanese would say."

+++++sequence deleted for brevity

The pair of them are walking towards a smallish public house, the sign
outside proclaiming it to be the Dog and Duck Inn, and linked to George
Gale & Son (Brewers). Light and music spill from the doorway: warm smoky
light, and twenty-year-old music, classic Chair Kings rock.

"All set?" Griffyn asks.

"Ready anytime, honeybuns." Easy replies, her Fort Worth twang much more
pronounced than usual. They walk in.

They're certainly out of place, though the reaction seems to be mild
curiosity: heads turn and a few conversations miss a beat, but normality
falls back onto the lounge bar like a heavy blanket. Griffyn finds a
clear spot by the polished wooden bar, and as the barman finishes
serving a wizened old man you see Griff attach something to the
underside of the dark wood counter.

"What'll it be, sir?"

"Ice water, and for me... gee, I dunno. You got any good beer here?"

"Well, sir, depends if you mean good British or good American beer."

"Aw, shucks, I came over here to see the place, I'm kind of getting a
taste for your English beer."

"Very wise, sir. I think you'll like this." The barman pours a glass of
cold mineral water, then - with three strokes of an old-fashioned
handpump - draws a half-litre of dark and only slightly frothy liquid.
The sides of the glass run with perspiration.

"India Pale Ale, sir. Very refreshing in the summer. Three pounds
ninety."

Griffyn hands over his credstick, sips the beer as the barman sets up
the transaction.

"You're right, that _is_ good. Damn fine beer." He presses his thumb on
the offered scanner to confirm the transaction, and he and Easy retire
to a corner booth: they attract a few glances, though Easy's long legs
in the tight jeans are probably the cause.

"I thought these places only existed in trideos." Griffyn knocks back
another swig of the dark beer. "And I thought the beer was meant to be
warm?"

"It's midsummer, I guess even the Brits must like cold beer sometimes."
Easy glances around, watching two portly men throwing darts at a
circular board. "Wish I could risk a game of that." She sounds no more
at ease than Griffyn is, though both are maintaining a facade of calm.

"Why not... oh, yeah, because putting the darts through the wall might
attract attention. Right. There's a pool table through there, though."

"I can't play pool for drek."

"Neither can I, but who cares? Bug it. People talk over pool games."
Griffyn refuses the pack of Dunhill cigarettes the Elf offers.

"This is weird. I keep wondering when I'll need to smash someone's head
in." Easy chuckles. "I'm a stereotype, aren't I?"

"Just don't get violent here tonight. People will notice." Griffyn leans
out. "Pool table's clear."

They walk through into the annex where a well-used pool table sits, its
green baize scuffed and worn but still usable. A rack of cues sits
against one wall, all of them veterans of many games; Easy taps her
credstick to the table's panel and the balls drop free with a rumble. As
he sets them up, Griffyn wanders the room in a seemingly purposeless
manner, leaning against a wall here, examining the side of the pool
table there.

"Heads or tails?"

"Tails." Griffyn watches the bright five-pound coin land, glares at the
portrait of King Charles III and suggests "Best of three?"

"Not a chance." Easy selects a cue and takes a shot.

+++++sequence removed for brevity

They're sitting at a different table, watching a man with a microphone
(as is most of that end of the room). One of the barmaids seems to be
keeping score on a blackboard behind him: "The Foreign Legion" are
trailing badly behind the other half-dozen teams.

"And now a trideo question. In the ever-popular cop show 'The Greens of
Mountain Road', who shot Detective Willis?"

Easy waves an arm and the quizmeister points at her.

"One from the Foreign Legion! Go on, love?"

"Witherspoon the Mafia hood, first time around. And Captain Robards, the
second time." Easy suggests.

"When did Robards shoot Willis?" someone asks, bemused.

"Series four, fifth episode?" Easy replies, still exaggerating her Texas
drawl.

"You're right on the first and we'll take the word for the second, we're
still on Series Three over here." the quizmeister waves to the girl, who
marks up a point for Easy and Griff. A bell rings from the bar, and
someone shouts "Last orders! Last orders, please!"

"Well, ladies and gents, that's enough for us tonight. This week's
winners are the Clapham Omnibuses, knocking those cheeky sods from
Beveridge Road off top spot at last. Good thing too, we know the Clapham
lads will piss their prize money up the wall after they spend it all on
our John Deeres." Laughter and applause.

"And I'd like a round of applause for our visitors, for being good
sports and having a go." The other teams clap dutifully, and there's a
wolf-whistle. "Nice having you here, thanks for dropping by. And thank
you all for taking part, we raised fifty quid for Great Ormond Street
tonight, and what are you dopey lot still sitting here for when they
called last orders?"

More laughter and the groups break off, people heading off to get one
last drink in before the bar closes. Easy and Griff rise also, heading
for the door: surprised by a cheery "'Night, there..." from the barman.

Outside, Easy zips her jacket shut against the colder night air. "Quite
a friendly place. I was surprised."

"Me, too. Almost felt sorry bugging them. It felt weird, sitting in a
room full of people and knowing they're all unarmed... I could quite
like the idea of going back there."

"Like it or not, someone's got to collect the bugs."
+++++end video

We'll go back fairly soon, collect the mikes, and see what was
said.]<<<<<
-- Easy <20:05:31/08-13-58>

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