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From:	shadowtk@*********.com (FyreWyrm)
Subject:	Fire Works
Date:	Wed Jul 3 20:25:01 2002

Message no. 1 *****PRIVATE: Lynch
>>>>>[The body of Dr. Witenhousen can be found in storage locker 45 at
Seatac.]<<<<<
-- *no data* [**:**:** **/**/**]

*****PRIVATE: Lynch
>>>>>[ You don't know me and I don't exspect you to beleve me. There is a
newly constructed tunnel stright up the middle of the space needle. Ia's
connected to the orc underground. The tunnel ends in the kitchen of the
Space Needle Grill at the back of one of the storage coolers.]<<<<<
-- Manny the Hand [19:22:34 07/03/63]

>>>>>[News Flash Pirate Trid Station 463
We have just recived word of an upcoming event at the space needle. It a
special fire works display that the directors say will be to die for. So at
23:30 tommorw stick your heads out and look up causes your gonna want to see
this. Or at leaset thats what the press says. We'll keep you informed of any
new and breaking news here on 463]<<<<<
-- EiE SpI [06:40:35 07/03/63]

From:	Griffyn <mark@********.IP.NET>
Subject:	Fireworks..
Date:	Tue, 7 Feb 1995 21:50:02 GMT-0500

Message no. 2 >>>>>[ Damn boss, decided to make GoD and I make up for the time we spent
on the clock in Seattle last month, huh? Remind me never to accuse you of
paying someone for nothing. Jeez. But I can't complain too much, all in
all it was a fun time. Kor was fun to watch. He did some pretty nifty
things that I hadn't thought of yet... See you tomorrow morn -- make that
tomorrow afternoon at the office. I think I'm gonna go out tonight.]<<<<<
-- Griffyn < 18:43:07/2-07-56 >

*****PRIVATE: GoD
>>>>>[ Hey GoD, now that that's done, what do you say we go meet up with
those two blondes from the other night? You know, the twins... I think I
still have their LTG number lying around my squat somewhere. I'll swing
by and pick you up in a few. I "borrowed" one of Freddy's Rovers.. You
don't think Kabuki Man will notice before morning do ya? *chuckle* ]<<<<<
-- Griffyn < 2:43:07/2-07-56 >

From:	Freddy Frypp <JAMES-CUENO@*********.EDU>
Subject:	Re: Fireworks..
Date:	Wed, 8 Feb 1995 09:36:43 CST

Message no. 3 >>>>>[Hey, I had to make up for the bust in Seattle, didn't I? I
promised action, adventure, murder and meyhem, didn't I?

I keep tellin' ya, watch Kor. He knows what he's doing. Anyway,
take yer time getting back to the office.

I'm still filling out paperwork. When I get done I'm gonna
disappear and get very drunk. Anybody else game?]<<<<<
-- Freddy Frypp (09:32:12 / 02-08-56)
President
Frypp Security, Inc. (CFSM Uplink #5150)

From:	"Paul J. Adam" <shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject:	Fireworks
Date:	Tue, 19 May 1998 01:21:29 +0100

Message no. 4 *****PRIVATE: Sergeant Julianne Hart, Lone Star
>>>>>[Well, I talked direct to the fireman. Helpful guy.

+++++begin trideo
Marlowe's eyecam, across the table from a fit, middle-aged man in shirt
and slacks: Franklin Fire Protection uniform, and the shirt is
embroidered with the name HARDEMAN, P. Old scar tissue is smeared across
the backs of his hands and the side of his neck. They're sitting in a
coffee shop, enjoying the brew and the Danish pastries.

"Thanks for meeting me so informally and so quickly, Chief."

"No problem, Mr Kryzdanovich." The man gets Marlowe's name right first
time. "I'm well used to insurance companies checking up on stuff."

"I guess it's the usual run of questions, then. Can you - on the record
- pinpoint a cause of the fire?"

"No, not formally." Hardeman frowns. "Domestic fires are often difficult
in that regard, especially in older buildings like that one. I can tell
you it probably _wasn't_ an electrical fault, the meter showed no
unusual spikes or drain, no sign of arcing or overload. The wiring was
in good condition, the fire damage was external. We found no trace of
accelerants: no acetone, no gasolene, nothing an arsonist would use to
really get a blaze going. Nor could we find any clear initiation point
for the fire, it seemed to start in several places simultaneously."

"Strange. Magical, perhaps?"

Hardeman chuckles. "Rogue fire elemental slaughters elderly couple. Film
at eleven. No, we had Lone Star check the place. Astrally nasty, the
couple were trapped by the fire and burned to death, but no sign of any
elementals having been there."

"They were burned to death? Isn't that unusual?"

"For domestic fires, yes, it is." Hardeman scratches the back of his
hand absently. "Normally it's smoke and lack of oxygen that kill. I can
only guess that the fire took hold so quickly that they were unable to
flee, and they were caught in the blaze itself. Why it would do that...
well, the only theory I could come up with was the cleaning products. I
was thinking - now this is off the record - it was their cleaning
cupboard that caused the fire to be so drastic."

"That's a new one."

"They had a bulk pack of a foaming drain cleanser. One of those brands
that cleans, disinfects and bleaches all at the same time?"

"I know it. Use it myself. 'Watch the bubbles blow, see the dirt'n'germs
go, let the CleansiMax fizz do your cleaning biz...'" Marlowe wryly
recites the jingle.

Hardeman chuckles. "Yeah, that stuff. Trouble is, it works by liberating
oxygen, right? Like putting peroxide on a cut. Froths the dirt out, and
the oxygen kills bacteria and bleaches any organic stains. Sounds great.
But if you've got a bumper king-size bulk pack of the stuff under the
sink, next to your tumble dryer's condenser, then it gets hot, and it
releases its oxygen. And it warms up as it does so, so it gets hotter,
and it just sort of runs away. Lots of the stuff, you'd get hundreds of
litres of gas from a pack that size. And what happens when you saturate
an atmosphere with oxygen, around flammable materials? Clothing,
furniture, carpets?"

"Any fire that starts will burn like a torch and be damn near impossible
to put out." Marlowe says, wincing.

"Damn right. Oxidising agents like that are fragging unsafe in bulk. But
try telling a mega they need to put warning labels on their product.
Even saying 'store away from heat' costs money to print. And try proving
something like this in court." Hardeman sounds bitter. "That's one
reason this is off the record. No way am I getting into that sort of
scene, arguing with a corp in court. But it's the only thing I can think
of to explain how the place went up so fast. Kitchen to living room, the
other rooms were closed off so took longer to burn, but those two were
oxygen-rich. Whatever sparked the fire flashed through in seconds. The
XXXX's clothes probably went up at once. Must have been a bad thirty
seconds."

"Yeah. Jesus." Marlowe shudders slightly. "Well, Chief, I understand we
can't hold you to all that as Gospel, but I appreciate your sharing your
considered opinions. Is that an okay phrase?"

"Sure. Considered _expert_ opinion?" Hardeman asks, grinning.

"Expert or professional?"

"Choices, choices..." The fireman digs out a one-dollar coin and flips
it. "Heads. Make me an expert."

"Okay. Expert opinion given under condition of anonymity ruled out arson
and pointed to improperly-stored cleaning products as the cause of the
fire. Good enough?"

"Spot on." Hardeman nods. "For that, the coffee's on me."
+++++end trideo

Like I said, a helpful guy. Seems to make sense, too. Better make sure
my CleansiMax is somewhere cool...]<<<<<
-- Marlowe <16:54:23/05-18-59>

*****PRIVATE: Sergeant Julianne Hart, Lone Star
>>>>>[Scratch that last. Serious weirdness is going on here.

+++++begin trideo
A warm, still, dry summer afternoon: Marlowe is driving through light
evening traffic with the Cobra convertible's hood down, when brakes
squeal and taillights flare ahead of him. From the metallic thump and
musical tinkles, at least one driver didn't stop in time. Smoke wafts
across the road, followed by several running forms.

"Oh, frag..." The detective snaps the wheel over, braking and turning
into a service road, parking in an empty loading bay behind a clothing
store. Locking the Cobra, he moves cautiously to the road's end.

Across the street - now choked with stopped vehicles - is a small,
pleasant park. Normally somewhere to sit and relax after a hard session
of shopping in the mall across the street, now it's burning in half-a-
dozen places, people fleeing the fires and smoke. Screams and cries can
be heard, from others less fleet of foot.

"What the hell?" Marlowe takes a deep breath, runs forward. "This hero
crap's gonna kill me, I swear." The asphalt path is fairly clear, but
several small groves of eucalyptus trees are blazing fiercely.

A terrified, smoke-smeared girl in shorts and a halter stumbles into the
detective, crying and babbling. "You've got to help him! Please! He's
dying!"

"Who? Where?"

"Jerry! Please!" She points, to where a vaguely human form lies in the
scorched grass, blazing like a torch. "Help him! The fire jumped right
onto him, it's killing him, you've got to help him!"

"I'll try, but you've got to get out!" Marlowe shouts back over the
noise of the fire. "Follow the path! That way! Run!"

Something in his tone - years of experience as a policeman, probably -
sets the girl's legs in motion and she sets off at a stumbling run.
Marlowe skirts the inferno that was once 'Jerry', pressing on along the
path: crouching to get as far below the smoke as possible. Several other
people are stumbling around, lost or confused or bewildered by terror,
and he points them back along the path.

"Firemen, cops, where the hell are they?" Marlowe mutters, moving along
the main path: not daring to take any of the narrow gravel side paths,
leading to comfortably intimate little picnic areas that are now smoke-
choked deathtraps, he's limiting himself to saving those he can find.
The fires and smoke thin, and he turns back for one last sweep.

As he turns, he sees the fire's heart: a glowing inferno of heat and
smoke. Staring, horror-struck, at the sight, as an oil-filled
eucalyptus tree explodes from the heat, the veil of smoke is blown
apart. For an instant, at the very core of the blaze, he sees three
human forms, arms raised, as if conducting some ceremony: then the smoke
billows back and towards him, and Marlowe collapses coughing with a
lungful of it.

After a moment, he hauls himself to his knees, and begins crawling along
the asphalt, following it doggedly, keeping his face low to the ground.

"I swear.. to myself" - a bout of coughing - "I am never... going to"
more coughing and he spits black-streaked mucus - "be a hero again. I am
_not_ getting..." he falls, and picks himself back up - "paid for this
drek..."

Hands grab him, a policeman in a respirator. "Come on, sir! Let's get
you out!" Behind them, the blaze is escalating, beginning to spiral
inwards and upwards. Where the air was still, a stiffening breeze is
beginning to blow in towards the small park as a firestorm takes hold:
even the asphalt path beginning to lick out with tongues of smoky yellow
flame.
+++++end trideo

I'm okay, basically. Got a few lungfuls of smoke and scorched myself
some, and they took me to hospital and invited me to stay a few hours
until I stopped trying to cough my lungs out.

Once they let me out, I'm gonna work on those frames of the... people or
whatever, in the middle of that damn fire. Might be some data to be
pulled out of that.]<<<<<
-- Marlowe <01:02:33/05-19-59>
c/o Ward 15
Seattle General Hospital

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