| From: | Erik Jameson <erikj@****.COM> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | State of the Rat Technology, pt.2 |
| Date: | Mon, 13 Apr 1998 14:48:58 -0400 |
"Whoops. Looks like they got their drek together." Back at the check
point, frantic movement can be seen as the checkpoint guards rush out into
the street to look as the van pulls around a corner. Another vehicle
starts up and peels out after the van. "Definitely warm."
The van speeds up and turns to head northwards as the Dark Stranger's voice
comes over the radio, "We're go Beta." As the van disappears under a
bridge for a moment, the Dark Stranger speaks again, "Gentlemen. It's been
good working with you. Just help me load our package and we'll be off."
The world flickers through the different colors once more as a moment later
two vans come out from under the bridge, followed by several people on
motorbikes, it looks like orks and trolls generally, who stop a moment
later and block the road with their bikes.
The chasing car following comes to a halt and it looks like a small
fire-fight is breaking out before the POV skims away again to track the
vans. "Heh. Ground pursuit is gone. Amazing what a little 'good will' on
a stick can provide."
The colors flicker again. On the blue they halt and two flying blips can
be seen pursuing the vans. "Uh.. looks like a couple sky-eyes on ya though.
Better split."
On cue, the two vans pull away from each other. One heading toward the
water, the other deeper into Orkland proper. The two airborne blips also
split, one following each. "Ok. They've split as well. K&K, good luck."
No response comes as the van seems busy trying to navigate the streets and
the light traffic.
The POV once again skims away to follow the van heading towards the ocean.
Hovering close over it can be seen a sleek looking drone. It doesn't
appear to have any type of weapon systems, but is quite content to follow.
"Ok guys. I got this one. I just wish we'd gotten the version with guns."
The view flips to the swirling green once more, the drone following the van
leaving it's own swirls of angry red in it's wake. It centers in the
camera-view and then the POV starts dropping rapidly towards it.
"Aaaannd.." half a second away from what's sure to be impact the view
suddenly switches back to the inside of the Fokker, Xenon's hand is on the
switch and apparently just flipped it back off. He lets out a low chuckle.
"That oughta set'em back a bit."
A quick check over the various displays and read-outs is followed by a
light tapping on the window. Opening it a Chinese man stands there with a
grin and waves towards the open water.
"Huh? Oh right.." Xenon digs around in the door pocket and comes up with a
credstick which he hands to the man. The grin on the Chinese man's face
widens and he hops back onto his little boat.
On the dock, the van pulls to an abrupt halt and the side door slides open.
Irish hauls himself out, carrying a limp Mr. Blackwater across his
shoulders. From the driver-side the Dark Stranger moves quickly to the
plane and slides open the small door. Together they manhandle their
unconscious guest inside. Irish starts belting Kyle in and then himself
all the while muttering under his breath, "...coulda been sippin' mai-tais,
gettin' waited on hand an' foot, but nooo... fraggers wanna save money an'
fly out..."
The Dark Stranger moves into the cockpit and drops down onto the seat on
the left, "All aboard," he calls over the noise of the engine.
"Yeah...problem is, how do we get in the air without them instantly
spottin' us on radar as some sorta UFO?"
"Trebuchet?" begins the Dark Stranger into his com, "Any hopes you can drop
a distraction for us?"
"Sure. But make it quick. Lots of flashing lights that I can see, and it
looks like some are heading for where that drone went down. Nice piece of
work, by the way."
The view shakes briefly, Xenon shaking his head most likely, "No good.
Unless it can last ten minutes or so, we'll still be too close." The POV
turns to look out the window, tracking the lights of a larger plane
preparing to take off from the airport.
"Trebuchet?"
"The way the winds going? You'll have four minutes tops. Which is about
what I give you until those lights reach you anyway."
Xenon's gravel voice speaks out once again, "Got it. Quick. What's the
distraction? Please tell me it's along the lines of smoke and IR and not
heavy artillery."
"Exactly," smugly replies the Dark Stranger.
"Okay. Buckle in. This is gonna be rough. Have Treb fire at the end of
the airport runway and as far out towards us as he can, making the coverage
as total and as fast as possible. Fire on my mark...oh, and get someone to
untie this thing. We ain't goin' nowhere attached to the dock."
Leaving the Dark Stranger to handle that, he reaches forward to grab the
wire for the plane. Faintly, he says, "I can't believe I'm even thinkin'
this."
The view changes to the wash of greens again, and the plane starts to
slowly move forward between the boats into the open water. Aligning the
plane, he starts to accelerate. The radio begins to chirp with Japanese
voices, mostly dealing with a take off of some sort. In the plane, the
speakers come to life with a computerized voice, "Ready.. ready.. MARK!"
A second later, several hundred meters behind the plane and at the end of a
runway where a 727 is lifting up into the air, great pillars of smoke and
chaff suddenly billow up. The radio is filled with frantic Japanese
yelling, one voice that seems to be the pilot is yelling about too late to
abort, he's going to take off through this. The green view starts to
change to blues as the plane hits its maximum acceleration and begins to
lift off.
A faint "whump" sounds from outside and the blue's suddenly have tinges of
yellow on the outside for a moment, but they pass rapidly behind the plane
as it lifts off of the water. The 727 screams over the smaller plane and
the blues vanish leaving a fiery red. The Fiat-Fokker continues to
accelerate beneath the larger plane, the view remaining bright red with a
faint tinge of yellow on the outside. Inside the plane, an internal camera
shows that Irish and the Dark Stranger have grabbed onto their arm-rests
trying to resist the violent shaking of the plane. The speakers suddenly
bark out with what can only be a computerized scream. A scream which is
matched by the sounds of something creaking heavily outside.
Back to the red wash. It seems to be sliding back and forth, trying to
throw the plane away from it. Several long minutes pass as the plane
fights to keep inside it. Once, twice, the engine threatens to stall and
the plane dips down into the cooler, comforting blue for a moment before
raising up into the red again. A trickle of blood can be seen coming from
Xenon's mouth, but the Fokker remains beneath the larger craft, fighting
it's jet-wash as it struggles to keep close.
A Japanese voice breaks into the radio, the translation coming through a
half second later, "Wan, are you all right? Something was seen coming off
from your plane for a moment."
"Everything's all right. All systems check. What the hell was that?"
"We don't know yet. We have reports of some disturbance in one of the
corporate enclaves tonight as well."
"Why don't they just get rid of those metas? They cause too much trouble
no matter how much they want racial integration?"
"No idea. You're clear now?"
"Yes. Everything looks good from here. Talk to you later."
"Sayonara"
The radio cuts off, and the small plane fights for a second or two more in
the red before finally dipping down, down out of the red turbulence and
into the calm green region a meter or two above the waves. The plane stays
low to the water and turns back towards the mainland as the radio breaks in
again, "Wan, please confirm your status. We have something on radar coming
off your flight path."
"Everything checks okay. Could it be disturbance from the attack still?"
"Possible. We're sending an escort to take a visual around you. ETA 5
minutes."
The Fokker continues to fly towards the mainland for another two minutes
before cutting the engines and coming down in the water. The plane rocks
vigorously on the ocean waves as the computerized voice comes through the
internal speakers again. If a computer could sound worn out, this one does
it. "Okay...passive...ECM on...no engines...should hide us...then clear...
to L.A." Two minutes later a contrail appears as a small fighter craft
flies overhead. The radio confirms Xenon's hope a moment later as the
pilot confirms, "All clear here. Must have been a glitch."
A long pause, then through the speakers, "Hey Stranger...can you...can
you...check out my meat...it looks like I bit...through my fraggin' tongue."
+++++insert edit/StrangerPOV/dat
The airport shuttle van pulls up to the curb at the busy airport terminal.
The readout on the van’s dashboard reads 4:42am.
The overly-tan driver speaks up and his voice betrays the slight twang of
“surfer speak.”
“Okay, Santa Monica Municipal Airport to LAX. Kinda strange, but hey.
It’ll be 230 nuyen for the bunch of ya.”
The man behind the slightly grainy camera hands the driver a certified cred
stick; it looks like it’s for 275nY. “Keep the change. You got around
that wreck on the 405 very well, in time for us to make it to our flight.
Good job.”
“Thanks dude.”
The group piles out of the van. Irish is now wearing white shorts and loud
Hawaiian print shirt; he looks like he shops at the same store as about
half a dozen other people you see walking in the background. A massive
troll with an eyepatch is wearing simple blue jeans and a brown leather
bomber jacket. Kyle Blackwater, their package, is looking blankly ahead,
moving like a robot behind the massive troll. He’s still wearing the
“Metahuman Surf Nazis” t-shirt but they’ve managed to put jeans and simple
tennis shoes on him.
“So why the frag do I gotta be Sucko the Stereotypical Tourist? I hate
bright colors!”
Xenon replies with a smirk. “I don’t know, sorta looks cute on you.
‘Sides, the outfit don’t fit me.”
“Yeah, and who’s choice was it to buy the drekkin’ thing anyway?” The
question goes unanswered.
Even at though it is well before the sun is due to rise, Los Angeles
International Airport is still crammed with people traveling to and fro,
business men working their seven day work week, bleary-eyed tourists and
students hoping to save money by flying the red-eye flights. Within
moments the team is just a part of the crowd, flowing with it’s rhythms and
ebbs.
Eventually they approach Gate 19 and they slow to a halt in the midst of
the light crowd. The camera wearer’s right hand slips into the same dark
suit he was wearing during the extraction and pulls out four blue plastic
cards and hand one each to Xenon and Irish. The third one he wedges into
the hands of Blackwater and the fourth he keeps. The view bounces as he nods.
First Irish makes his way towards the security gate. Without anything
metallic other than his cyberware and having dumped their gear in the bay
outside Santa Monica Airport, he walks straight to the metal detector with
casual ease.
He hands his blue card and his ID/credstick to the waiting guard as the
metal detector make a deep, annoying buzz. Another guard takes a step back
and put her hand on the SMG hanging from her shoulder. Irish just shrugs.
The audio isn’t strong enough to pick up what is being said at this
distance, but the first guard is waving a portable metal detector across
Irish’s body. After consulting his computer, he hands back the blue card
and the ID/cred stick to Irish, who takes them and simply walks on without
looking back at his companions.
Both the camera and Blackwater walk up at the same time, but the camera
wearer hands the first guard both blue cards and ID/cred sticks. The guard
looks at Blackwater strangely; his blank expression must have caught the
guards early morning eye.
“So Mr. Blackwater, what brings you out this early in the morning? It
looks like you could use some strong coffee.”
As he replies, you can hear the camera wearer mumbling the same words under
his own breath.
“Gotta head up to Seattle; family emergency. I’m not even sure if my socks
match. I’m hoping CalFree Pacific has free coffee refills.”
“Okay Mr. Blackwater. Have a nice day.”
The guard hands both cards and sticks back to the camera wearer with a
silent nod.
+++++end video playback
The flight back up was uneventful. We all took different seats in the same
section. Hit Blackwater with a small Sleep spell to keep him out on the
flight. Half the rest of the people were snoring, so he didn’t look out of
place.
Landing in SeaTac was uneventful; security didn’t check ID’s hard either,
they just wanted to make sure nobody was packing anything illegal. And
since we dumped the gear in the ocean before we landed, we didn’t have
anything to worry about.
Glad to be of service to you Mr. Morningstar. I believe with the transfer
of the agreed upon bonuses to be confirmed by this footage, our business is
complete. Good day.]<<<<<
-- the Dark Stranger <11:27:38/04-13-59>
