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Message no. 1
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: RS: Jaws of the Tiger
Date: Mon, 11 May 1998 04:28:09 +0100
*****PRIVATE: Stonewall
>>>>>[

Access Archive: RS-102229/AS3
Authorisation: Gates: 3021.34/S34F-5


+++++Begin Audio/visual log


A rag tag band of battered mercenaries sit around a badly scored table.
Weapons plainly in evidence, scars and fresh wounds bound with clean
dressing on all those visible. Shado, cradling a vicious looking knife
runs it gently across a whetstone, the beautiful lines of her petite
face hardened and brutal, a strange glint in her eyes. Blaze, a jagged
scar running from her left eyebrow, across her nose and halfway down her
right cheek, marring a model's good looks, sits close to Shado; almost
protectively over the slight oriental girl. Nemesis, his normally
cheeky grin gone, hidden under a sheen of sweat and grime; grease and
oil streaking his face. Dewdrop, sporting a new scar on his face, and
nursing a badly injured arm, smokes quietly to the side of the main
group, the cigar punching out a defensive screen of blue aromatic smoke.
Gates, his face cut by lines of stress and premature ageing, cleans an
Ingram that already gleams dully from oil. Wells, Loch and Tank form
their own small group to the rear. Wells looks terrible, something deep
within his soul is tearing him apart. The pain evident in his face, in
his eyes, in his posture. Tank is the same as always, as unchanging as
the hills. His dour face creased in concentration as he services one of
his combat drones. Loch sits near her brother, concern furrowing her
forehead.


Sergeant Henson leans over the table, tired, eyes blood shot, and
obviously desperately in need of downtime. "So, we're it huh? Seven.
The magnificent seven. The party's over, the lights are out and it's
time to pack away the glasses people. We're finished here. You've all
done a hero's job. We've done more in the last few months than the damn
government has achieved in a decade, and I feel it's time to call it a
day. If we keep fighting here this team will be destroyed. We can't
sustain another campaign into the jungle. We don't have the manpower or
the resources." He pauses for a moment, looking around at the zombies
slouched around the table. Shado growls something under her breath.
"No. There's no point. If he was alive he would have contacted us by
now. Forget it girl, before it kills you." Blaze's hand snakes over
Shado's shoulder, pressing gently, restraining her. The steadying touch
seems to work, and Shado slumps into the comfort offered, once again a
young girl, childlike.

Gates places the Ingram on the table carefully, almost lovingly.
"Henson. This is all we know. This is what we do. What would you
suggest we do instead? Open a grocers store?"


Henson drops into a chair heavily. He runs two coarse hands across his
face, through his hair and laces the fingers behind his neck, stretching
tired muscles and aching bones. "I don't know Gates. Shit. I've been a
soldier most of my life. I don't know much of anything else myself, but
we can't carry this on. You know damn well why we've been working so
hard. To get the money together to go into the Amazon and get this damn
symbol you all hold so important. This 'focus'. We've got the funds
and we can probably support a good six maybe eight months in the jungle,
with occassional supply drops. But we can't do it. There simply isn't
enough of us..."


"Stonewall can find more. We can get others." Nemesis lights a
cigarette, and screws his face up at the taste. "This was important a
while back John, and I don't believe that it's lost that importance.
Too many people have died over that goddamn thing. We can't stop
looking."


"Oh come on. What the hell can seven people. Seven damn tired people
achieve in the middle of the most hostile jungle this side of the
planet? I can't think of anything except the Congo, that is so all
fired miserable and downright nasty." Henson looks more tired, the
simple concept of going into deep jungle wearing even more on his
shoulders.


"Look." Nemesis taps Gates on the shoulder, handing him a cigarette
packet. "We can tap Stonewall, he'll pass out a few names, find out
who's available, and we'll be back up to strength in no time. What's
the problem with that?"


"The problem Nemesis," Henson sighs deeply. "Is that anyone we take on
will be in it for the pay. We can't pay wages and finance a campaign.
We need dedicated people who will take what we can glean from the
jungle, what we can take from the dealers, pirates, smugglers and
traders. Those types are few and far between."


"What about the old teams?" Wells, his voice wheezing slightly, as
though from a lung infection or heavy cold. "Are any of them still
around?"


Gates turns, glances at Loch who nods gently. "They're gone Chan. Only
Odin is still active, and they're in some heavy shit with that war in
Seattle. Besides, Canis didn't believe in this search from the
beginning, he warned Clinton at the time that it would mean his death,
and he wasn't wrong. I wonder, in all honesty if the rest of his
comments weren't far from the truth as well."


Wells' head drops lower, a sad expression playing on his face. "There
is my brother. He will come if I call him. We need Ben Anderson,
that's another. I can maybe find four or five loyal friends who will
accompany us. Each a soldier in his way. We can't just give up. It
wouldn't be right. There has been much blood Gates, too much. It would
dishonour the memories of those who have been slain if we were to
abandon that which they died for."


Shado sheathes her knife, apparently satisfied that she can't hone the
razor edge any further. "I have three who will come. They are not
experienced, but they good people. They know machines, and they survive
in place worst than jungle."


"I can bring two." Nemesis stubs his half smoked cigarette in disgust.
"Christ what I'd give for a decent American cigarette."


"That's seventeen, Henson. A good number, a lucky number." Blaze
uncrosses her long legs, leans forward and stares intently at the weary
soldier.


Dewdrop's voice slides through the cloud of cigar smoke concealing his
position in the shadow cast by the single bare bulb over the table.
"There are things involved in this that you may not understand Henson.
Things that friends believed in strongly enough to die trying to
achieve. I agree with Wells. It would be wrong to abandon the search
now. We had several pieces. We gave them to the woman who recently
deserted us. Who the hell knows what she'll do with those, or with the
knowledge she now possesses concerning the remaining pieces."


Henson sighs. "Don't be so melodramatic Dewy. Emma didn't desert us.
She's a mercenary. She saw an opportunity and she took it. She only
needed us to hide. Maybe she will find the trust we placed in her
wherever she's gone, maybe she won't. Who cares. Stephanie left
because her father has been killed, Emma went with her for whatever
reasons Emma has. Why should it matter. She took what she needed at
the time. Sanctuary, friendship, where is the betrayal Dewy? Did she
leave an enemy? Did she betray us? No. She has taken a chance at
something she sees as a better option. Look at us. LOOK at us. What
are we? A broken, battered and weak unit. What do we have to offer
anyone? Do not begrudge someone taking opportunities when they are
presented. It is not important to us what those reasons may be, or why
she has chosen to leave. They are her reasons, that's all. Perhaps
this was all a ruse from the beginning, she has learned what she wanted,
and now returns to her employer. I could care less anymore."


"You should care." Gates' voice is gravelly, bitterness in the words.
"She's dangerous Henson, and if she has returned to what she was then we
are in greater danger than we have ever been. We should have killed her
when we had the chance."


"No. That was not Clinton's choice. She asked for and received
sanctuary. That is sufficient. Leave it at that." Dewy puffs a bit
more on his cigar, the end glowing brightly. "We have all done
reprehensible things. We are all guilty of something. Do not judge
others unless your own slate is clean. Whatever she was before, she was
not while with us. That should be enough. Now she has moved on. If I
recall correctly Stephanie is assigned to Rusanov's army. They have
tanks, aircraft and logistical support that we only dream of. Who would
you choose. Friendship with Stephanie and a place of strength to hide
in, or a rag tag band of outcasts who are on the verge of extinction?"


"That still doesn't answer the question of what we're going to do does
it?" Blaze scratches absently at the scar. "We can bring in another
ten people. There's possibly another dozen or so available that are
between tickets that would happily throw their lot in with us on the
strength of our rep. We might be battered, but we're alive. We've
survived every engagement in this stinking country. That won't hurt us
much when it comes to finding a few who want to throw in their lot with
us."


"Yeah." Henson yawns loudly. "Yeah, but it doesn't help either. We
don't know where the damn object is. In the Amazon doesn't help, that
place is several thousand square miles of dense rain forest and heavy
jungle."


"That's why we need Anderson." Wells coughs lightly, his shirt falling
open to reveal terrible bruising of his chest. Black, yellow and
purple, the single bruise disappears across his chest under the shirt.
"He knows. He can find it. We only need to follow, and keep him alive."
Dewy moves towards him. "NO. It's only a spasm. Don't trouble
yourself."


"Wells. You need hospital treatment, badly. Look at you. You can
barely stand, let alone walk hundreds of miles through a jungle that
will fight you every step of the way." Henson pours thick coffee into a
chipped tin mug.


"Rubbish. I will be fine. Dewy can fix me and I have not suffered an
attack for several days now. I do not believe they will return.
Whatever was happening is over. That broke last week. I will be fine."
Wells leans back in the chair slowly, The way he favours his back seems
to indicate that the bruising is extensive around his upper torso.
Angrily he shrugs off his young sister's hand, earning himself a glare
from Gates.


"Did you get a handle on that Dewy?" Henson sips his coffee, a little
life creeping back into his face as he drinks the strong brew.


"In a manner of speaking. The attacks won't continue because whatever
was happening has finished. The other entities locked in the struggle
have ceased to be of concern now..."


"Entities? What the fuck are you talking about? Alien possession or
something?"


"Please, Henson, don't interrupt. But yes. Alien possession. Not
aliens as in little green men, but another type of alien. The last
attack was the strongest yet, and I suspect it will be several days yet
before the bruising is gone to the point where physical motion is no
longer painful. I do not believe from what I have seen, that Wells will
suffer any more relapses of the fits, or the screaming. It is my belief
that Wells shares a link with another, possibly one of his family, I
don't know. Anyway, that link has resulted in him suffering the pains
and being a part of what seemed to be a failed assimilation. Somewhere,
somebody close to him was undergoing the proceedure for becoming a host.
The link between them I believe strengthened the other, and he or she
was able to resist the ritual that binds Invae and host. What their
fate has since become I cannot tell, but I was able to ascertain that
the ritual was somewhere in the mid-west, inside the NAN. It ended
before I was able to place a more specific location. It is over, that
much I am sure. The spirit died in the process of attempting to possess
the host. Wells shows some of the physical damage that was sustained
during the failed binding. I must assume, by his injuries that the
other perished."


The room is silent, everyone except Tank looks at Wells, then Dewdrop.
The mage leans forward, eyes intent. "Our enemies have not been
destroyed Henson. They still, even now hunt us. From what I've been
able to gather, and the information Gates has acquired indicates that
they have been hurt badly by Odin's attacks. Canis has all but
destroyed what remained of the Chess Men. We can at least be grateful
for that, though I doubt it has been easy for them. The little
information we have hints that Odin has suffered terribly in their
battles, possibly more so than we. But the fact still remains that the
Invae are a viable and powerful threat. We have found no information at
all on their location, nor their strengths, or even if they are the same
entity any more. Others have heard of the Soul now, and they search for
it. There is more at stake than might be realised at first evaluation.
I do not believe that someone so filled with hatred as Emma, would pass
on the opportunity to acquire the soul, unite it with the pieces she has
found and see what it will do. I do not doubt at all that Gemeos still
hunt for the pieces, nor do I underestimate their ability, It is likely
that they have had their own successes and also possess one or two
pieces." He puffs on the cigar for a while looking around at the other
survivors. "We have, as I see it, two choices. Quit or go on. If we
quit, we'll never know if DA was right. If we go on, it may well end in
all our deaths. Though of course, we might actually succeed.


"The thing that concerns me the most is that several senior members of
Red Shift were assimilated in Chicago. If they survived the procedure,
then the Invae, if they have survived Odin's attacks know precisely how
we operate, who we are, and the areas we are known to operate in. Our
contacts, our supply lines, those whom we approach for employment, and
several other details that expose us to interception. We have been
lucky so far in that we have been pretty much out of the news. We are a
faceless unit fighting the south American drug and BTL problems. In
that respect we have been safe from recognition and they have been
unable to locate us. The very second we begin the search for the soul
again, they will know within a very short time following. That will
once again open us to attacks from the survivors."


"So what you're saying is that we have no choice." Henson scratches his
chin thoughtfully, the unshaven skin rasping loudly. "In that case, if
we are at risk by following established procedures, we either change
them and leave for different climes, or take the chance and hope we stay
ahead of them."


"Basically, yes." Dewdrop again sits back in the chair, sips from a
glass half full of an amber liquid, and begins to hide behind a smoke
screen again. "They will not believe that we have dropped the quest.
The second we show up - no matter where it is, they will once again
concentrate their efforts in our direction."


Henson gives up on his chin, his nails obviously inadequate for the job
of removing the stubble. "OK. My personal vote is that we take what we
have and move on. Forget this search and find other employment. I am
aware of some opportunities in North Africa, and they may well prove
lucrative. Other employment opportunities will no doubt present
themselves in the interior of the continent and I have no doubt that the
work will be less intense than it has been here. I say we call an end
to it. Now, DA always ran this team as a democracy when it came to
decisions like this, so. It's up to you. Majority wins."


Shado slowly looks at the others, her face rigid, the expression
intense. "Avenger believe in this quest. He thought it important to
risk everything for. I say go." Grunts of agreement come from Wells,
Nemesis and Dewdrop.


Tanks spits into the dust on the floor. "I agree with Henson. It's
over. We should move to something else. No point in all of us getting
killed. You guys hold DA in esteem. Wouldn't it be better to live and
honour his memory, than die searching for something we hardly know
anything about?"


"I can see the logic of your argument Henson," Gates continues loading
the chamber of his Colt, slowly turning the cylinder, "but I don't
think we should stop. I vote we go on?"


"Well, so far there's only two against. Loch, Blaze. You haven't voted
yet." Henson looks between the two.


"I have nothing to go home to anymore. The only ties I had to Seattle
were destroyed by some psycho in a night-club. I may one day hunt the
fuck down and exterminate him, but for now this is my home. I go where
Red Shift goes. I guess that means my vote is yes."


Loch gently arranges a blanket around her brother's shoulders. "I go
with Chan. That is all. He speaks for me."


"Right. That's it then. We carry on and die or succeed. If that's how
you want it, so be it. Tank, you voted no. There is no need for you to
come with us if you'd prefer not to."


Tank's lip curls in contempt at the offer. "You don't get it do you
Henson? I voted no. That don't mean I won't go, it's my opinion is all.
I think these stupid fucks have got a death wish, but what have I got to
go to? I might not agree, but it's not like I've got anything to lose
neither. I go where Wells goes. He goes with these idiots, that means
I'm right behind 'em."


"What about you Henson?" Gates spins the chamber, watching the brass
shells circle in the well oiled weapon. "You don't have any ties to us,
why are you coming along?"


"Because you people wouldn't live for ten minutes without me. I might
not agree with what you're all doing. In fact, I consider it utterly
foolish. But I don't have any illusions about your chances of surviving
without me. Who else would lead you? Pharaoh's dead. Da's dead. The
only one amongst you who has the experience is Tank, and none of you
will follow him anywhere. So, that leaves me, and hell, I've always
fancied myself as a commander." A wry grin cracks his face, removing
almost a decade from his age. "Besides, I enjoy bossing you about."
Quiet laughter follows his statements, as everybody visibly relaxes
somewhat.


"Gates. Contact the expedition, and inform them we'll be arriving in 72
hours. Then make sure you get the flight reservations sorted out.
Shado, Blaze. Go with Dewy, and stash our gear on his boat. Dewy, once
that's done, you and the girls up anchor and head out. The rest of us
will fly in. Nemesis. I assume you can stow the Huey on that damn
great yacht Dewy's got?"


"Yep, I can get it there." Nemesis stands up, wiping his face and
spreading the oil and grease even further. She's almost fixed up, I've
got maybe 8 hours of work to do, and she's up to scratch again.


"OK, get on it. Wells, you and Loch head back to the hotel. I want you
to rest up, recover from your injuries before we set out. I'll have
Dewy look at you again later. IF you can make arrangements tomorrow for
the list of equipment I gave you I would appreciate it. We'll need that
gear if we're going in. Tank. Store your drones and kit on Dewy's
boat. You'll be flying with us, so make sure you've got everything
stowed. OK, let's get on it. There's work to be done."


+++++End audio/visual log
+++++End access


]<<<<<
-- Gates <04:14:22/05-11-59>



*****PRIVATE: Stonewall
>>>>>[Red Shift are mobilising. We're moving out of Guyana into the
Yucutan. Is there anything we should know concerning the rebels and
government forces, or other active Merc teams? Also, any information
you can provide concerning Amazonian current political, military and
private forces in these areas. Current physical maps would be an
advantage. 1 inch to the mile, and 1 inch to 20 miles, broken into
physical regions, chipped for GPS and autonav systems. It would also be
an advantage to know of any Merc teams operating in the area, their
availability and employment costs.


+++++Include: Usual fee


]<<<<<
-- Sgt. J. Henson <04:18:22/05-11-59>
Red Shift



*****PRIVATE: Red Shift: Henson
>>>>>[I'll have the information ready for you in 48 hours. Contact me
when you are ready to accept delivery. I will need a location for the
drop.]<<<<<
-- Stonewall <04:20:22/05-11-59>
Message no. 2
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: Re: RS: Jaws of the Tiger
Date: Tue, 12 May 1998 02:49:19 +0100
*****PRIVATE: Stonewall
>>>>>[

Access Archive: RS-102229/AS3
Authorisation: Gates: 3021.34/S34F-6


+++++Begin Audio/visual log


Gates pulls the datajack and hits the powerstud of his deck, switching
it off. He reaches for a bottle of some local brew who's thin yellowish
colour resembles a different substance.


"Want something decent?" Henson moves out of the shadow of the door
into light of the naked bulb.


"What have you got?"


"About half a pint of Old Grouse. Not the best around, but a damn sight
better than that gnats pee you've got there."


"Sounds good to me." Gates tips the dregs out of his glass and wipes it
round with a cloth to remove any contaminants, holding the glass out to
Henson who opens a handsome silver hip flask. The difference between
the two fluids is obvious. What Hensom pours into Gates' glass is a
warm golden amber, and most importantly, it's transparent. "Where'd you
get this?"


Henson chuckles to himself. "Remember Sergeant Mendoza?" Gates nods.
"Well, it turns out that in the fifth drawer of his filing cabinet he
had a bottle of the stuff. I thought it was the least I he could do
after all the hassle of bailing Blaze and Shado out of the pen, that he
donate the bottle to us as compensation. After all, it wasn't their
fault the brawl started."


Gates sniffs the glass appreciatively, and takes a long sip, rinsing it
around his mouth before swallowing. "He ain't gonna like you too much
when he finds out."


"Oh, I should think he already knows. That distilled bamboo shit that
Tank has been feeding his drones as lubricant?" Another nod, "well, the
first glass he has out of the bottle will have a similar effect on his
bowels I believe."


Gates chokes on his next sip, unable to restrain his laughter. "You
switched that poison for this? Oh man, he's gonna skin you alive."


"Only if he catches me, and I don't intend to be here for him to indulge
himself. Though I do take some satisfaction in knowing precisely what
he's going through. I guess the descriptive phrase would be 'Yes, the
world can drop out of your buttocks.'" Henson joins Gates in the warm
laughter.


"What did you really come here for Henson? I mean, the nights I've been
here reviewing and compiling our mission data and dumping it into the
store, flagging interesting stuff for Stonewall and any who follow us in
here, this is the first time you've actually come to visit. Which says
to me, you've got yourself another reason." Gates' loose southern drawl
comes forward with the relaxing whiskey and the hard lines around his
eyes ease as he visibly relaxes somewhat.


"You know these people better than I do Gates. I can evaluate personnel
performance and see little signs in all of them that say to me they're
on the verge of total burn out. That worries me. I served with Pharaoh
and DA in Africa, and I know what they're like. I know the kind of
loyalty they command from people. This is partly what worries me. That
their loyalty to a dead man is going to lead them down the same path. I
want your opinion. You sit here for hours on end watching the film from
the helm cams, listening to the audio tapes and putting it all together.
What's your opinion?"


"You're asking the wrong man John. DA has my loyalty as well, and I'd
gladly follow him into hell and back if it was needed. My life is his.
He is no longer around, but I still owe him. If necessary I will die
trying to achieve his dreams. That goes for all of them. Even Wells,
though if you ask him why he'll give you some philosophical Oriental
bullshit that means nothing. Shado will growl at you, Blaze willmutter
strange words about mages and Dewy will just stare at you, but they all
say and mean the same thing. DA wanted the last two pieces of the Soul,
and he wanted the Heart. We will get them for him, or die trying."


"I figured as much. I don't honestly believe that they can survive such
a search..."


"We've survived worse. Have a little faith Henson. Learn from Pharaoh
and DA, believe in these people and they'll achieve the impossible for
you, but doubt them and you'll find that they will fade away, it won't
be a lack of enthusiasm that gets them killed, it will be a lack of
faith. These people have nothing in this world that means much of
anything to them. Oh sure, Dewy's a rich fuck, but it don't make him
happy. He's at his best in adversity, and there is no adversity in
antiques. The others have had a varied set of backgrounds, but all of
them came from nothing. This is their life, their family, and like any
family they appreciate a bit of encouragement and praise now and again.
If you show them you have faith in them, they'll get the moon for you,
somehow."


"It's not a lack of faith in them Gates. I do not want to be remembered
for having killed them, I suppose there's a certain amount of self doubt
involved. They're good people, and it bothers me that I may well be
leading them to certain doom."


"I don't think so man. Lookit. We've decided to go after the remaining
pieces, in that respect we've all accepted that it may be our doom. Do
you see anyone crabbing about that? No. We're already dead Henson, we
died a long time ago, we just haven't found a comfortable place to lie
down yet."


"I've worked with people like that before Gates, and you people don't
even come close." He offers a refill, which Gates gratefully accepts.


"No. You've worked with people who are mentally dead. Burned out,
either from the pressure, the lifestyle, the constant killing, whatever.
They're dead heads. The difference is that they're waiting for a
bullet. We've already taken that bullet. Red Shift have accepted that
this lifestyle does not promote old age. None of us expect to live out
till our fourties, hell some of us probably won't even reach our
thirties, but does that really matter? We aren't going to meekly walk
into our graves. We'll claw and scratch and tear every motherfucker
down with us. When Red Shift dies Henson, there's going to be a crater
a mile wide to mark us. That's the difference between us and the people
we face. We have accepted death, therefore it holds no surprises and no
fear for us. Those we fight, cling to life, it's important to them.
They make mistakes as a result, they're cautious, they find places to
crawl into to avoid death, they will run away where we will stand. In
this job you take every advantage you've got and play it to the hilt.
Why do you think the core members of this team walk out from an
engagement while others die? Because we're charmed? I don't think so.
We live, because we're not afraid to die. Simple as that."


The two men sit quietly for a while, enjoying the whiskey.


"How old are you Gates? You, Shado, Blaze, the rest?"


"Me? I'm 26, Blaze is 28, Shado's 19. Nemesis is 32, Loch 18, I don't
know about Wells, Tank is 38, he's the oldest and as such is sort of a
luck charm for us. Dewy? Well, you're going to have to ask him, but I
figure him for 30. Why?"


"Curiosity. I'm trying to figure why young people like yourselves would
get into this work, when you could be enjoying yourselves in some city,
partying down with the rest."


"We all came from some city John. They all have their own stories. We
do this, because DA was the first person to show us not only kindness,
but a sense of being. He was interested in /us/, not what we could do,
somehow that mattered. He never changed that. Now don't get me wrong
here, we don't worship him as some god. He was a hard taskmaster,
intolerant of foolishness, and a right royal bastard when the mood took
him. But we were always his family and he always put us first. In
Shado's case he was her family. There was a bond there that none of us
could touch. She was seriously fucked up when he pulled her out of the
gutter. We all pleaded with him to leave the psycho bitch where she
was. But, he persevered, and she slowly got her act together. his
death has probably hit her the worst, and you've seen some of what she
used to be in that. She's hurting, badly and there's nothing any of us
can do about it. Shado will deal with it, her way, and give her some
slack, she'll come out of it."


"So basically what you're telling me is that no matter what I think is
best for you all, you're going after this damn relic?"


"Yeah, yeah I guess that's what I was saying. Look, John. You can't
replace Pharaoh, nobody can. You can't replace DA. Just be yourself.
You don't have to prove anything to us, you don't have to show us you're
as good as them. We accept you for what and who you are, Clinton taught
us that much. That's why we accepted Emma in amongst us without
objection. He asked us to. Same thing with you man. We don't want no
explanations of what you are and how you came to be here. You are here,
that's all that matters. Provided you offer us in return for what we
put in, then there's no problem. None of us expect you to perform
miracles, so stop trying."


"It ain't that easy Gates. I have a responsibility to this team, and I
don't want to fuck up on it. The problem is, there's nobody here with
Pharaoh's skills or DA's analytical mind. I don't know. It's a hell of
a responsibilty to take on something that those two formed and led..."


"And that's the big thing isn't it?" Dewy's voice slides across the
room from the door. Both men jump at the unexpected sound. "Do not
worry yourself Henson. Do your best, that's all that can be asked of
anyone. We will support you, and when you're wrong we will tell you.
What more could any leader want?"


"Shit Dewy, don't keep doing that." Gates holsters the Dragoon,
dropping the hammer gently back down. "One day I'm going to blow a
fucking great hole through you."


"You wish. The day you manage to put one of those damn bullets into me,
I'll already be dead Gates, and you know it. Anyway, the reason I came
over is because there's a nasty rumour that someone has a decent whiskey
on hand."


"Rumour? Have you been spying on us?" Gates looks a Dewdrop, a glint
in his eye. "You're going to do that one day and hear something you
don't want to hear."


"No, I was not spying. I had a servant scout the area, looking for
something that might not belong. I thought I'd check up on everybody
while we're at it."


"Yeah right. I'm sure." Gates grunts over a dry laugh.


"Hey, give me some credit. So, where's this nectar then?" Henson hands
him the hip flask. "Now, this is just downright rude. Drinking such a
fine liquor without inviting me. Shame on you both." He pours himself
two fingers in a glass he discovers under a pile of camouflage jackets.


"How's Wells?" Henson shakes the hip flask, checking it's contents, and
reaching into an inner pocket of his jacket produces another one.


Gates cracks a smile and barks. "How many of those have you got? Or
should I ask, how much Mendoza has left?"


"Mendoza had two litres, now I have two litres, and he has a serious
bowel control problem. But at the moment, I've only got these two.
Dewy?"


"He'll be fine. Loch is tending him, though under protest. The
bruising will ease off over the next couple of days. He'll be right as
rain in, say, a week." Dewy sips th whiskey, and makes himself
comfortable in a captain's chair at the side of the room. "He's
suffered more than he admits of course, but he's going to be alright."


"What exactly was going on? I mean this has been happening off and on
for quite a while now hasn't it?" Henson throws a crumpled brown packet
onto the table, and searches through his other pockets looking for
another pack.


"You know how the invae operate don't you? They take some schmuck
Shaman, convince him he's a god, use his powers to bring others through,
and then use the burned out twerp as host for a queen. She brings her
own powers through, and inherits those of the shaman. Hey presto, Hive.
They use bodies to come through. Using them as hosts for the spirit.
Sometimes the binding takes, and you have what is essentially a human
being with maybe one or two characteristics that would reveal him or her
to a careful watcher. Others are unable to resist the binding, and as
such become the drones we are familar with. The insect flesh forms.
What I think was happening is that someone close to Wells was undergoing
the procedure. There's some sort of metaphysical link between Wells and
this other person, I believe it's the medallion that Wells wears, but he
claims that only one other like it exists, and that is worn by his
brother. If the invae have taken his brother, then Wells now has
another reason to continue the quest, because I am firmly convinced that
his brother died during the procedure. The reason Wells has manifested
so much physical damage is, in my opinion, because the link brought his
and his brother's minds together. They resisted the binding together,
each using the other to strengthen themselves. Wells took some of the
damage upon himself in exchange for lending some of his rather
exceptional will to his brother. If they had been closer, then it is
likely the bond would have been stronger - whether that would have
resulted in both their deaths or what, I do not know."


"A link." Henson pauses, thinking. "Is it something they could use to
trace us?"


"No I don't think so. There's no physical link between the two
medallions, at least none that I can find, and believe me, I've looked
damned hard. To all intents and purposes that medallion is simply what
it looks like, a piece of engraved metal. Chan tells me it's centuries
old, and has been passed down through his family since feudal times. I
believe one of his ancestors liberated it from the Chinese mainland,
during one of the raids that the two countries indulged in. It's not
magical in itself, which is what puzzles me. That being the case, I do
not believe that they can follow it, anymore than I was able to. If one
of them was clever enough to investigate the psychic link between these
two, they would have discovered that the source was somewhere in Guyana,
but not the exact location. For the time being at least we're safe."


"If I didn't know you better Dewy, I'd call that the biggest bunch o'
hokey I've heard in a long while." Gates rocks back on the chair legs.
"It sure don't sound sane."


"Nothing to do with those creatures is sane Gates. Nothing. Believe me
in this." Dewy's face is in deep shadow under his hat, but his eyes
sparkle like diamonds in the darkness.


"That's why DA wanted you with us, man. You're our resident expert."


Henson turns towards Dewy. "Resident expert? You want to explain
that?"


"Hah. I suppose I'm the closest to an expert as you'll find anywhere.
I have fought these creatures in several theatres, on several
occassions. I have seen their work first hand, and fought hand to hand
with the results. The people I worked with in the UCAS and CAS were,
shall we say, Bug Hunters. We actively searched for evidence of them,
and destroyed them where we encountered them. Blaze has also fought the
creatures and understands what they are like. Unfortunately for Red
Shift, their first encounter with the Invae was on the outskirts of
Chicago, and they were ill-prepared for that encounter."


"Ill-prepared? Shit that's an understatement." Gates' chair hits the
floor with a thump. "We got our asses kicked is what happened. The
fucking things beat the living crap out of us. We lost over 75% of our
forces in a matter of days, and that was without direct engagement. We
were fighting a running battle. Harrassing them, same as we've done at
other times in other areas. But it didn't work this time. They just
kept on coming. That's how we ended up here. I got a tip from
somewhere, and hit a datastore. That store held details of the Soul, DA
took it as some sort of talisman, hence the reason they were so
interested in it. We moved out as soon as we found out where to start
looking. Only Wells, Loch, Tank, myself, Shado, Pharaoh and DA came out
of that one. 127 dead 7 survivors. Now do you understand why the
number 7 is so important to Blaze. Whatever we've done since then,
we've always been left with 7. Spooky huh?"


"And now you want to go look for more, find something these creatures
apparently want, and do what with it?" Henson's puzzled expression is
understandable given the nature of the conversaiton.


"Use it against them. Assuming we can figure out what makes it tick.
So far we think it forms into some sort of shield, something that fits
on the chest of a ceremonial outfit, That's all we know, though there
is evidence that it may be a power focus, and the nature of the
civilsation that created it, it's probably going to require a sacrifice
to activate the bloody thing. We're still debating that, and hopefully
Anderson will have some more information concerning this." Dewy pulls a
leather pouch from his pocket and extracts a fat cigar. He offers them
around, Henson and Gates both refusing. The pouch disappears inside his
shirt. "You have to understand Henson. Although DA believed in this
thing very strongly, it may be that his faith in the contraption was
misplaced. From what we understand about magic, it did not exist in any
recognisable form during the period that the item was made, which seems
to indicate that it could well be just something that a myth has grown
up around. It may well be that the entire quest is pointless, and at
the end we will just have an elaborate piece of very valuable jewellery.
Alternatively, we might possess one of the most powerful foci avaialable
in the modern world. I can't predict that, and can only judge once we
have the thing. The research that Gates and I have done indicates that
the most important piece of this thing is the heart, some sort of
precious stone. The materials that surround it serve a function but I
don't think they're overly important in the general scheme of things.
However, if they are required, we can possibly manufacture them using
raw materials available from the area of their original creation, and it
should be possible to ascertain the rituals used in their construction.
Again that's part of the reason I'm along, and partly why we need Ben
Anderson. Ben is an expert on Aztech, Mayan and Incan civilisations,
he's also spent a considerable portion of his life hunting down legends
and what have you in the Yucutan and Amazon basin. If anyone knows how
to find the Heart, it will be him. If anyone can figure out how it
works, it will be him, if anyone can make it work, it'll be me. What
can I say? We're all nuts."


"I assume this is all a matter of record?" Henson looks at Gates
questioningly.


"Yeah. It is. We've got some storage space on Stonewalls servers that
is secure for our use. If anyone hacks into it, he'll be the first to
know, and there will be hell to pay for a breach of trust like that.
You wouldn't believe what he can punch out when he's mad. The data is
secure, if that's what worries you."


"No, I wasn't worried, I figured you guys would be careful about keeping
it quiet. What I was wondering, is if you can download the data for me.
It'll give me something to read while we fly to Campeche."


"Yeah I can do that. You've got a chipjack ain't ya?" Gates glances
over at Henson who pulls a flesh coloured plug from the back of his neck
revealing the socket. "Excelent, that's what I like to see. A man who
keeps up with the times. Sure. I'll get the information later
tonight."


Dewy taps ash onto the floor, using the soul of his boot as an edge.
"Speaking of which. I'll resupply in Caracas. We can moor in
Maiquetia. Some of the people we've been dealing with here are getting
nervous. They seem to think that the wrath of the gods is about to
descend on their necks if they are seen dealing with us. Do you want me
to meet you in Campeche?"


"Yes, that would be best. We'll be flying into the Amazon. There's an
airstrip in Manaus we can use. Hopefully after we've spoken with Mr.
Anderson we'll know where we're going from there. I'll leave Nemesis on
station in Manaus, that way if we need supplies he can fly them through
and air drop them into the jungle. Assuming of course that first we
know where we're going in that area, and second that Nemesis can
actually find us. There's 2,5 thousand square kilometers of rain forest
to climb through. Even GPS systems have been known to fail in that
humidity. There's plenty of landmarks, if we can see them. Oh this is
going to be so much fun." He offers the second flask around to the
other two, they sit silent with their own thoughts for a moment.


Dewy finishes his drink and stands up. "This is all friendly and
neighbourly like, but there's work to be done, and it's going to be a
long day tomorrow. I'll see you guys in the morning."


Gates waves one hand casually, "Yeah, g'night Dewy. I suppose I'd
better get that data for you." He thumbs the power stud and jacks into
the deck.


Henson watches Gates for a while. Before standing and moving to the
door. He looks back for a moment at the slumped figure of the decker.
"Now /that's/ wierd. One with the machine huh?" Opening the door, he
steps out into the humid night.


+++++End audio/visual log
+++++End access

]<<<<<
-- Gates <02:48:13/05-12-59>
Message no. 3
From: Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject: RS: Jaws of the Tiger
Date: Tue, 10 Nov 1998 03:39:53 +0000
*****PRIVATE: Stonewall
>>>>>[

+++++Access archive: RS3/Avd342D
+++++Authorisation: Shado

+++++Include: Drone footage + audio matte.


The small group inch through the maze of roots, vines, logs, brush and
volcanic rock, struggling against a tireless and resistant foe; nature
itself. The BDF have a saying: Men can rest, but the machete never
does. And such it appears as Shadow wields a machete with a
determination that shows in every flex of her muscles. The slight small
form of the woman almost lost amongst the giant leaves and ferns,
disappearing amongst the vines to reappear on the other side shaking
vegetation from her hair and glaring viciously at the next series of
obstacles. They move deeper into the dense, triple-canopy jungle,
inching their way closer to their objective.


"Why the hell do you do this Shado? Look at this fucking hellhole, you
can't move six feet without getting snagged on something, the damn trees
themselves are alive, and the insects are going to drive me insane with
this damned buzzing and biting. On top of that, you can't see ten
feet." A well built man half his head shaved and tattooed spits into
the thick growth around him. A heavy equipment pack hangs from his
shoulders, evidence of his passage through the jungle attached to it.


"This place better than city, Moose. It clean, there no fuckup corps
here, no exec to screw you in ass. This good place. Hard place, make
man of you. We stop for while up ahead, let poor city folk rest."


Moose laughs bitterly. "Yeah, provided the damn bugs don't eat me alive
first."


A light musical laugh comes from the tall, lithe form of Blaze. "Oh
dear, such a big man so afraid of the little itsy bitsy bugs."


"Oh, fuck you bitch. They might be small, but there's fuckin' thousands
of 'em."


"Moose! Language! You not fuck so often, maybe bugs leave you alone."
Shado pauses for a moment, checks the GPS, shakes it hard and shoves it
back in a pouch an expression of disgust on her face. Her hair matted
with sweat, skin glistening in the green light.


"Wassammatta, sis? Lost?" The deep, earth shaking rumble comes from a
human mountain busy rubbing his back on a tree, a mass of hair
surrounding his face like a lion's mane on growth hormone.


"No Knuckles, not lost. Stupid techy stuff not work well in here."
Shado nods at the thick canopy. "Signal not get through, and too humid
for techy gear to work well. It on fritz."


A small area, cleared only by the collapse of two trees greets the weary
group. Packs and weapons are dumped unceremoniously on the ground, as
three men, one bald with a long pony tail, another with half his head
shaved, and the third with more hair than is reasonable on a human being
collapse in the thick ground cover. The ferns providing impromptu, yet
soft mattresses. Blaze and Shado look around the area, and on silent
agreement, vanish into the jungle. Their fatigues blending with the
bright foliage and shadows almost immediately.


"Now where in the hell have those two gone?" The hairy one, Knuckles,
looks at the green growth on the ground suspiciously and decides to
collapse over the thick bole of one of the fallen trees instead.


Pony tail answers him, "You'll find out soon enough Knuckles, don't
worry about it. Those two are at home here, we're the strangers. Just
sit down and wait."


"Aww Taz... It ain't right that she's out there with the damn snakes,
spiders, bugs and shit while we're here restin' up."


"Knuckles." A note of exasperation enters Taz's voice. "What the hell
do you know about the damn jungle? This is home to Shado, let her be."
Animals chatter, howl and mutter for several minutes while the men relax
for a few minutes.


An explosion of leaves, and two bright blue screeching streaks hurtle
across the clearing and crash through the thick foliage on the other
side of the clearing making the three men grab for their weapons,
Knuckles falling off his log with a loud crash and a curse.
"Wharrafuckwazzat!?" Moose stands defiant, one foot on a log, and an
assault rifle waving menacingly at the canopy.


Shado's soft voice comes from somewhere in the brush. "Macaws. They
big parrots, this their home." Almost as if on cue, the Macaws start
squabbling loudly on a branch overhead, their bright blue plumage stark
against the thick green canvas around them.


"Shit." Moose lowers his rifle, awarding the noisy birds with a look
that should have instantly incinerated them, but has no effect other
than making them squabble louder. "Goddamn jungle just don't know how
to be civilised, at least in the city you know what's happenin' and
what's makin' the noise."


Knuckles clambers back on his log plucking crushed ferns and other
bracken out of his thick hair and beard. "That hurt." His voice
slightly petulant as he finds a particularly thorny twig knotted into
his hair.


"Getcher hair cut." Moose wipes dirt from the rifle and lays it more
carefully on top of his pack.


"But I like my hair Moose. It keeps me warm."


"WARM! Warm? Are you nuts? It's 200 degrees in here and you...
Jeezus christ in a sidecar what the fuck is wrong with you?" Taz throws
a clump of mud and leaves at Knuckles in disgust.


"There ain't no point Taz, the man's a goddamned lizard, we sweat and
he's probably comfortable. " Moose shakes his head in despair and tries
to get comfortable on the mattress of leaves and broken fern.


Knuckles continues to clean the undergrowth out of his beard and hair
while the other two light up and lean back, sighing peacefully. Taz
sighs, his eyes moving around the clearing. "You know, I can't figure
out how the hell anyone fights in this damned place. I can't see a damn
thing outside of 30 meters, you can't hear nothin' over the damn insects
and the heat is enough to knock the stuffing out of a rock."


"I don't know Taz. But they've been fighting down here for decades.
Anyway, it ain't the heat, it's the humidity that gets ya. It's too
humid for sweat to evaporate, if you can't get rid of your sweat you
overheat, and you're in trouble."


Taz's head rises for a moment, a suspicious look on his face as he looks
at Moose. "And where'd you get that from?"


"I been doin' some reading. Hey, I figure if'n our little sis needs our
help, then the least we can do is learn a bit about the place." Moose
scratches his armpit self consciously.


"You been readin'. You?" The suspicion turns to disbelief.


"I read sometimes. Whisper done learned me how. I knows my letters and
stuff." Moose manages to look offended while wiping the sweat from the
elaborate tattoo that covers the bald side of his head. Unbuckling the
weapons rack that surrounds his torso, and shucking it from his
shoulders, Moose unzips an elaborately coloured jacket and removes it,
his body glistening with sweat, the tattoo from his head stretching down
to his shoulder and almost completely covering his upper torso. "Shit,
that's better." He fans himself with a large leaf, glaring again at the
loudly arguing Macaws. "If they don't shut up soon, I'm gonna kill
'em."


A shape detaches from the jungle around the clearing. "No you not,
Moose. They got right to live. More right than you even." The three
men jump, hands twitching towards their weapons. A second shape
materialises close to Shado. Blaze strolls into the clearing, putting
her pack and rifle down next to Knuckles' tree and sits down sipping
from her water canteen. "We close to Pirates, they maybe 1500 meter
north." Knuckles looks around confused. Shado points "That way
Knuckles." He grunts, the log sheds some dirt and he goes back to
picking at his hair.


"Knuckles. For crying out loud leave your damn hair alone. You look
like a fucking ape." Moose scratches his crotch and takes a deep swig
from his own canteen, before leaning back against the roots of another
tree. "How'd you wanna play it girl?"


"I need think first, talk later." Shado sits down, removing her
equipment and carefully arranging it so she can get to it easily. She
begins to run a large saw toothed knife over a whetstone, lost in
thought.


"That's enough. I've had enough!" Taz gets up, grabs a nearby bush and
shakes it viciously. Pauses for a moment, then uproots it and throws it
hard, out of the clearing. The bush hangs upside down, caught amongst
some vines. He stands and looks at it for a moment, his head cocked to
one side. Even the noisy Macaws pause in their dispute to look at what
the strange human is doing. It is not often they see bushes being
throttled and then thrown around.


A crooked smile breaks across Blaze's face, "I don't suppose I should
ask Taz, but. Why?"


"Fucking cricket was driving me nuts. I couldn't hear myself think."
He lays back down again, unclipping the heavy duty battle gear and
laying it next to his pack. "Bastard's quiet now." The Macaws, so
confused by this bizarre behaviour, forget about their argument and
begin preening each other; suspiciously studying the humans below as if
wondering what they would do to the vegetation next.


Shado stops honing her knife and stands, walking into the centre of the
group. "We stay here today. Move up and watch tonight. Learn movement
and layout, come back here and hit day after." She walks back to her
pack and sits down again, returning to the slow comforting grind of
blade against stone.


"Well, that told us." Taz looks over at Shado, then Blaze. "How's she
been Blaze?"


"Much as you see her now Taz, why don't you ask Shado, she's over there,
better than asking me."


"Because she wouldn't tell me the time of day if she thought I'd take it
wrong." He sighs deeply. "Look. I know she was close to those people
who died, but I need to know how she's been. I mean, when we hit them
Pirates, you know."


Blaze puts her canteen down and looks up, a shaft of sunlight penetrates
the thick canopy and backlights her, the blonde hair burns brightly, her
once beautiful face disfigured by a vicious scar running from eye to jaw
thrown into relief. "Yes Taz, I know. And you do not need to worry. She
will not do something stupid. She has no desire for that, and I would
not allow it." Blaze digs in her pack and pulls out a foil pack.
Tearing the tab, she begins to suck at the contents.


Moose tips his head over. "Hey, Blaze. Are you and her... Erm, well,
you know. Are you?"


"Are we what Moose?" A devilish light glints in Blaze's eye.


"Well, you know, like... Aw forget it." Moose mutters under his breath
and sinks his teeth into a chocolate bar. His face souring slightly as
Blaze giggles at his discomfort.


"Yes Moose." She returns to her foil pack.


An eyebrow raises, and Moose looks thoughtful for a moment. "Blaze."


"Yes Moose?" An impish grin cracks around the pack.


"Well, like. I mean. Ya know. Sorta... Well, I mean like, how do
you..." He fades off, his curiosity momentarily overcome by his
embarrassment.


Blaze cracks up. A resonant, clean laugh fills the clearing. "Oh Moose
you are utterly priceless. Don't you watch dirty movies back home?"
Moose looks at Taz accusingly. "Oh I see." The laughter continues for
a moment. "Well, I don't really think that I should be talking to you
about that sort of thing. What we do is between Shado and myself, it
doesn't really concern you. But suffice to say, that I care for her,
and would never harm her."


Moose nods, the chocolate bar suddenly becoming the most important thing
in the world. He looks at Blaze out of the corner of his eye and
mutters "What a waste."


Taz snorts loudly. "Moose. Blaze is elven, she'd eat you for breakfast
boy."


Blaze splutters, momentarily choking on her food. Both eyebrows
disappear into her hairline. "Is that why you were asking? I thought
you were worried about... Well I thought you were worried."


Moose stares at the ground, chewing a lump of chocolate as though his
life depended on it. His other hand grasping at the dirt, digging five
small trenches while he squirms under the gaze of the others. A faint
giggle from the other side of the clearing attracts everyone's
attention. Shado, her pretty face split by a fond smile looks across at
her brother. "No Blaze. He worries about me, but when it come to
women, only his dick matter." Knuckles and Taz grin broadly, and Moose
becomes the target of a series of smart remarks. Moose takes the
onslaught patiently, his face getting redder and redder as the comments
get more and more raucous.


Once the nonsense has died down Blaze awards Taz with a long stare, he
starts to squirm under the scrutiny, "What did you mean, she's elven,
she'd eat you for breakfast?"


"I didn't mean nothin' Blaze, it's just a sayin'."


"Oh, no, no, no. You don't get out of it that easily. Come on, spit it
out. What are they saying about elven women these days?"


"Well, you know, you guys are, well, different. You know, like as in
your appetites and stuff. And, well, you're sorta physical, ya know?"


A low chuckle is barely suppressed. "No Taz, I don't know, but I'm
sure you'd be willing to explain it to me."


"I gotta pee." Taz almost sprints into the jungle, disappearing inn the
thick growth, until even his cursing is eventually lost. Blaze leans
back, a rich chuckle shaking her shoulders.


"You very mean sometimes Blaze." Shado moves closer to the small group,
sheathing the heavy knife and opening a can of peaches. "Very mean."
She smiles at the space where Taz left the clearing, "and he can be
embarrassed very easily."


"Mean? Me? I have no idea what you mean." Shifting over, Blaze makes
room for the small oriental girl. Moose lifts her over the log
effortlessly, plonking her down next to Blaze. "No idea at all."
Shado, snuggles into Blaze's shoulder, her feet up on a rock and starts
to eat the fruit. "You OK, feeling better?"


"I feel fine Blaze, thank you. My people are around me, the jungle
smells good, and soon the spirits of the dead will be lain to rest.
Yes, I feel good." Blaze nods gently, placing her chin on top of
Shado's head.


The group falls silent, the chitter of birds, buzz and chirp of insects
and the faint chatter of some monkeys the only disturbance to the serene
picture. Taz slowly walks back into the clearing adjusting his trousers
and lays down, his head resting on his pack, a cigarette perched in the
corner of his mouth.


"Hey Moose. Your drone looks fucked." Taz points up.


"Damnit, it's this damned heat, it ain't used to it."


+++++End Include.

+++++Include: Drone footage + audio matte.


Moose is surprisingly ugly in close up, though the intricate nature of
the immense tattoo is clearer this way. "That's better." The clearing
reveals itself as the drone and camera gain altitude, Moose watching
critically. "Much better."


Shado sleeps curled up, her head in Blaze's lap who is smoking a
brightly coloured cigarette. Knuckles lays sprawled on his back on the
fallen tree, legs and arms akimbo, mouth agape, a low rumbling snore
emanating from somewhere around his boots. Taz carefully reassembles
his rifle from the parts laying on a ground sheet. A small group of
Howler monkeys have gathered in the branches around the clearing. Deep
shadows and a different quality to the light indicating late afternoon,
early evening. A jaguar snaps and snarls at something deeper in the
jungle.


Moose turns and looks towards the two women, "Ya know Taz," speaking in
a low voice, "I just can't imagine those two doin' what they're supposed
to've done. I mean, look at 'em. They've seen and done things that we
go to watch movies for. Yet you wouldn't believe it to see 'em."


Taz nods slightly. "Yeah, Moose, but don't ever let that fool you. You
above all people should know what Shado is capable of, or have you
forgotten Kobe Park?" Moose shakes his head. "I didn't think so.
She's changed, in some ways for the better. She's more confident, more
sure of herself, and that's a good thing, but I get the feeling that
she's a damned sight more dangerous."


"Oh I ain't saying it ain't true Taz, just that it's hard to imagine
it."


"Yeah, yeah it is. How's that flying machine of yours?"


It's fixed for now. Soon as it gets dark I'll send it ahead and see if
we can take a looksee at the camp. Thing is, I have no idea how it's
going to operate here. Visibility is for shit, and IR is going to be a
total waste in this place; too much residual heat. It ain't got the
optics to define the different signatures properly, so it'll all look
like a confused mass. I'm hoping there'll be enough light from stars
and maybe the moon. With luck the camp will be lit and we cann use
that. I just don't know. If these pirates know what they're doin' then
we're fucked. If they're just a bunch of Highwaymen, then we have a
damn good chance that the place is going to be lit up for Christmas."


"OK, well you'd better bring it back down, save fuel. We didn't bring
that much with us."


"Oh we got enough, she don't use much."


"Bring it down anyway. You never know."


"OK."


+++++End Include

+++++Include: Drone footage + audio matte.


"Goddamn it...."


"Now what's the matter?"


"I don't know, hang on. OK, I got it. Damn humidity's affecting the
drone again."


The camp spreads itself out like a cancerous sore in the jungle. Huts
grow out through the trees, small muddy paths leading around and through
the scruffy little village. Garbage expands the disease further into
the lush vegetation, slowly spreading out from the habitats, infesting
and killing the healthy fauna. Latrine pits centre in poorly
constructed shelters, planks of wood laid across. A man crouches in
one, an expression of intense concentration on his face. Lights, strung
along some of the buildings offer illumination, though poorly
considered. Naked bulbs hang from watertight connectors suspended from
cable which in turn is hung on branches, projecting pieces of wood,
nails and anything else that seemed convenient at the time. Bottles,
food packets, crates, empty boxes add to the confused clutter. A few
prone bodies scattered amongst them, empty bottles nearby. Two hogs
roast over a firepit near the centre of the clustered huts, turned
occasionally by a large, sweaty and unhealthily filthy man chewing on
the carcass of a cooked chicken, spitting bones and gristle into the
fire with a greasy hiss. Another nearby swigs frequently from a cheap
whiskey bottle, a rusty AK series rifle laying discarded on the ground
next to him. Yet another vomits into a bush before returning to the
fire and grabbing a beer from a camping cooler. Three or four couples
copulate amongst the jungle bushes, neither noticing nor caring about
their colleagues, who walk past, or pause to watch.


Closer to the river one man stands peeing over the bank while a dozen
others unload packages and boxes from two river class cruisers. Rust
streaks the sides of the boats, and the decking shows considerable wear
and neglect. Another works near an open engine hatch, the only healthy
part of the boat. The powerful twelve cylinder engine gleams in the
poor light from the jetty lamps. A deep puttering precludes the arrival
of another boat, the exhaust low and throaty, though the boat looks like
it might self-destruct if the throttles were ever opened. As soon as
the boat is tied alongside the jetty the crew begins unloading it.
Crates, boxes, some of which rattle with the unmistakable sound of
bottles. Three bound people are dragged off the boat, two men and one
woman, dirty sacks covering their heads their hands and arms tied with
rope. One of the two men pleading and begging with his captors to let
them go and not harm them. One of the crew shakes him, ordering him to
shut up. The violence just makes the man plead louder, tears and fear
obvious in his voice. The man shaking him pushes the captive back
towards the side of the jetty hard, pulls a pistol and shoots him twice
in the head. The sack discolours rapidly as the body topples into the
river, floating downstream slowly in the sluggish current. A short
angry exchange ensues between two of the boat's crew, and is apparently
left unresolved. The remaining two captives are escorted into the camp
and thrown into a small stockade. One of the men near the fire walks
over, a machine pistol held negligently in one hand. He sits down with
his back against a tree, facing the cage. Back at the jetty, several
long heavy crates are lifted off the recently arrived boat. Clearly
stamped on the sides of the boxes is the logo "Remmington Industries."


+++++End Include:

+++++Include: Drone footage + audio matte.


"Get that fucking thing back on-line, something's happening."


"Shit Taz, hold your horses."


An expensive Riverine patrol boat purrs up to the jetty, mooring
alongside. Two immaculately attired crew tie the boat up, while a third
helps an ageing man off the boat. The man stands for a moment, dusting
off an expensive suit and straightening the clothing before walking
towards the camp, escorted by the three crew. They are met and greeted
at the edge of the village and escorted to the largest building near the
centre. The group pauses at the cage, where a short exchange of words
takes place. An unpleasant smile breaks across the old man's face for a
moment before they proceed on to the large house.


"Who the hell is he? Damn I wish we had a netjock with us."


"What the fuck would he jack into Moose? A tree? Now shutup. Check
out the boat, try and get the name or registration."


"You got it."


The Riverine is immaculate, gleaming softly. Two powerful turbines purr
quietly under the rear housing, exhausts gently bubbling at water level
under the name "Amaldinne", beneath this is a 6 figure number and the
words "Sau Luis". A crewman, carrying a rifle steps out of the cabin,
looking around the boat, behind him a small radar turns slowly.


"Get it out of there! NOW!"


The boat and river bank over sickeningly and the dark jungle approaches
at considerable speed.


+++++End Include.

]<<<<<
-- Shado <14:45:22/11-10-59>

Further Reading

If you enjoyed reading about RS: Jaws of the Tiger, you may also be interested in:

Disclaimer

These messages were posted a long time ago on a mailing list far, far away. The copyright to their contents probably lies with the original authors of the individual messages, but since they were published in an electronic forum that anyone could subscribe to, and the logs were available to subscribers and most likely non-subscribers as well, it's felt that re-publishing them here is a kind of public service.

Thwap!