Logs for ShadowRN and Associated Mailing Lists

From:	Jett <zmjett@*********.COM>
Subject:	The job is done/home again
Date:	Sat, 27 Jun 1998 20:11:03 -0400

Message no. 1 *****PRIVATE: Cat-o-nine
>>>>>[The run is done, and the kid has been delivered safe and sound. We
ran into the assassins twice, once at the pickup point and once upon our arrival in South
Africa, but managed to elude them both times, the latter after a brief exchange of fire.
No conflicts with the law, no casualties on my team, and only minor injuries. Overall, I
think the run went well. I'm back in Seattle, but I'll be out of action for a couple of
weeks due to a wound sustained during the run. Upon my return to biz, if my work has met
your approval, please keep me in mind for future jobs.]<<<<<
-- Jett <19:32:14/06-27-59>

*****PRIVATE: Scrape
>>>>>[I know this will probably be a pain in the ass, but I don't suppose
you could give me a lift to the Stuffer Shack and the pharmacy a little later? There's no
way I'm gonna be able to ride my bike with my leg trashed, and I need to do some shopping
and pick up the rest of these meds. The doc says I'll be stuck in a brace and on crutches
for at least two weeks, and that's a low estimate. He wanted me to stay in the clinic for
a few days, but I refused so he sent me home with a shitload of painkillers and
antibiotics. I'm pretty embarassed at how clumsy I am, but I'm laughing about it, too.
Probably because of the painkillers I'm on now. I'm sure I won't be laughing when the
drugs wear off.
Anyway, check out this vid I snagged from the security camera. Don't I
look silly?

+++++start secure-cam.vid

A young woman with long black hair and blue eyes, with a purple
triangle tattoo over her left eye and dressed in a t-shirt, leather
jacket, and jeans with one leg totally cut off, wobbles into the foyer
of an apartment building on crutches. Her face is drawn, and a swath of
bandages and a medieval-looking plastic and steel brace covering her
bare left leg from hip to knee. There is also a band of gauze around her
upper right arm. A large troll follows behind closely. "You want me to
carry you?" he offers solicitously.

"No way, Snook. I got it all worked out. Watch!" Jett sits down on the
steps. She lifts herself to the next step, and the next, dragging her
dead leg and then crutches as she ascends. The troll tries to suppress a
smile as he watches Jett drag herself, rear-end first, up the steps. He
ascends behind her, a few steps below in case she falls. At the top, she
rolls over and, one-legged, hauls herself up by the railing. "See? Not a
problem!" As soon as she says this, she grabs for the railing in an
attempt to regain her balance. The troll catches her and sets her
straight, handing her crutches up to her.

"I still think you should have stayed at the doc's. At least
overnight," he says. "A real hospital would make you stay a week. You
nearly had your leg blown off less than 48 hours ago, Julie. You've got
a ton of stitches, a fractured femur, and more new pins in your leg than
a bowling alley. You shouldn't be up and around."

Jett waves a hand dismissively. "I'd rather be at home. We've been on
the road for long enough. Besides, I'll stay in bed and all that drek. I
promise."

"You're stubborn as hell, you know that?" Snookums says fondly.

"Yeah, yeah. Can you get the door? I don't know what the doc gave me,
but it's gooooooood stuff. I'm ready to fall over here."

+++++End vid

Anyway, thought you could use a laugh. Let me know if you can give me a
lift later on.]<<<<<
-- Jett <19:58:21/06-27-59>

From:	Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject:	Re: The job is done/home again
Date:	Sun, 28 Jun 1998 01:16:09 +0100

Message no. 2 *****PRIVATE: Jett
>>>>>[Thank you. Your handling of this matter has been excellent.

+++++Include: Agreed Amount +15%

Sorry to hear you sustained injuries.

If I have work in the future I will certainly keep you in mind.]<<<<<
-- Cat-o-nine <20:14:11/06-27-59>

From:	Jett <zmjett@*********.COM>
Subject:	Re: The job is done/home again
Date:	Sat, 27 Jun 1998 23:49:48 -0400

Message no. 3 ******Internal: personal Archives of Jett IronThorne

>>>>>>[ It's been a long time since I've run a team. I thought after we
nearly got our asses toasted that last time, I was ready to lay down the guns and retire.
Maybe take up crocheting or something. You think almost getting my team killed once was
enough. Hell, I did. I came back to Seattle as a solo op, so if I put anyone's ass on the
line, it would be mine. But no, here I am playing the game again.

I'm learning. It's awkward being back in biz, but some things don't
change, so the routine was sorta comforting. We picked up the IDs and
weapons, no problems, went through practicing getting our aliases
straight, and our disguises. I covered up my tattoo and shifted my
cyberhair to blond. Then, we got moving.

Scrape's magician friend turned out to be a cat shaman. About my age,
but seems a lot younger and fresher. I figure he hasn't seen much of the
shadows. I'd almost say he's a bit naïve, but he has a serious side and
knows a bunch of spells that are meant for when the drek hits the fan.
He locked Bullet Barriers to my spell locks for the girl, Angie, and
himself. For the rest of us, armor clothing over bp vests. Snookums has
so many layers of defensive bio and cyber that he's a walking tank even
naked (try not to visualize that.

We got off to a good start. We had planned that the gunners would
probably be hanging around the school, and we were right. Even as I
walked into the school, I felt eyes watching Snook and me. That's why
before we walked out the door, I draped my jacket over the kid's
shoulders, dropped the amulet with the Bullet barrier locked to it
around her neck and activated it. Snook took the front, acting as a
walking wall between us and our watchers, and I took the rear.

Next came the hard part, as the words spilled from my lips and I made a
gesture close to myself. For someone as wired as I am, the price for
magic is heavy. As soon as the invisibility spell kicks in, the pain
does, too, especially around my cyber. My fingertips itch and burn, my
arms and legs feel numb, and a fine line of fire starts down my spine.
Still, I grit my teeth and hold it, cloaking both myself and the girl
and making us DAMN hard targets. The gunners don't even bother shooting
at us. Instead they wait, and watch.

We make it back to Scrape and the waiting rental limo without event.
Bill, the shaman, conjures a big spirit to ride shotgun and Conceal the
limo. Two quick, tricky turns and we lose our tail. Bill bounced back
fast from the drain, which makes me think he's got a trauma damper or
something. After a little while driving around aimlessly to throw the
tail even further, we dropped him off in Seattle to meet Angie. They
already had their tickets for the same plane as us, as of a couple days
in advance: Snook, Scrape and I had to make more covert arrangements.
The idea was to have a couple of the team hanging back just in case. It
would help the opposition underestimate us, if they managed to find us
again..

The kid was pleasant company. She was quiet, polite, and wasn't
intimidated by any of us. Not even Snookums, the giant among Trolls, or
Scrape's cybernetic hand. She and Snook played some card games as we
cruised around, and didn't complain when we spent the night on cots in a
garage in Tacoma.

The next day, boarding the plane was thankfully routine. There was that
moment of tenseness when Snook, then me, and finally Scrape passed
through the metal detector. Of course, me and Snook both set the bells
and whistles ringing, seeing as between the two of us we have enough
cyber to open our own clinic. The ID's were good, though, and after a
brief scan of the cards, we were allowed through.

We planned well, kept one step ahead of them the whole trip, but they
kn'd placed a bet that we'd show up at the airport. It was the most
likely place we'd turn up. Since they had no idea when we'd show, they
had to have been laying in wait, and the second we stepped out the
doors, the shit hit the fan.

+++++Begin TrogCam recording to TragCam1.vid

The POV is that of an exceptionally large troll in an expensive black
suit. The owner of the TrogCam narrates internally as the cam scans the
people near him. He's remarkably well-spoken for his metatype.

In the next seat, a girl of about 14 with longish black hair, dressed
in jeans and a t-shirt. <<"This is our charge, the girl we're
escorting.">>
Seated at the other side of the girl, reading a magazine, is a human
woman with blond hair done up in a french twist, wearing a heather gray
pantsuit. She looks to be in her early twenties, of medium height and
with a sturdy build. <<"That's Jett. Hardly looks like her, does
it?">>

A tall, well-built norm with black crew-cut hair and a cybernetic hand
sits past Jett, near the window, staring out the window. <<"The dude
wit' the metal hand is Scrape.">>

The camera pans across the plane, to a couple seated about four rows
back and across the aisle. The man is slender, with soft, pale,
collar-length hair that is blond bordering on white. <<"That's our magic
guy. Invisi-Bill, Bill for short. I asked him where the handle came
from, and he said something about "Cat walking Unseen". But I don't know
anything about dat.">>

The woman sitting next to Bill is tall and slender, with short auburn
hair, dressed in a short green dress fitting to a corporate biff. Her
ears have a slight, delicate point. <<"This chica is Angie.">>

The camera rolls down over a vast chest, massive shoulders, and bulging
arm muscles, the TrogCam owner himself. Knotty, grayish hands fold
neatly across the tree-trunk thighs, and the ripple of a gun is visible
under the well-tailored suit. <<"This vision of beauty is me. Snookums
the troll. Don't ask, you REALLY don't want to know. And if you want to
bug me about the nick, feel free. Just remember which one of us is the
walking tank.">> The troll is folded uncomfortably into the seat, his
knees forced up by the lack of leg space. The woman in front of him, an
elderly lady who looks more like a prison matron than a grandmother,
turns and glowers at him as he shifts position. <<"The charming lady
(snort) in front of us has all the charm and appeal of a barghest with a
red-hot poker up its ass. If the plane crashes, I'm going to do my
damndest to land on her.">>

+++++Cut Trogcam

Snookums pretty much summed up the group with his little running
commentary. He tends to ramble, but it's important to know who the
players are. So I'll spare you the rest of this and cut to the action.

++++Trogcam3.vid

The scene: the outside doors of the airport. The runners have made it
through security with minimal holdups.

None of the runners hear anything until a bullet fired from a silenced
gun slams into the troll's skull. The camera reels as the owner stumbles
slightly, then looks down at the bullet as it falls to the pavement. The
troll briefly rubs his now dented skull.

*Voice patch from the owner of the TrogCam: "And THAT, boys and girls,
is why cyberskulls are good and you should ALWAYS send the troll out
first."*
The two human bodyguards fan out and return fire, pinning the assassins
long enough for the other two team members, the magician and the
brunette woman, to catch up.

As soon as the magician arrives, the troll makes a break for the van
with the girl cradled in his arms. A glowing aura surrounds them, moving
and shifting with them as bullets flatter against it. The troll fumbles
in his pocket, hits a few buttons, and a voice from the van states in
flat, metallic tones, "Vehicle secure."
He slams open the door, shoves the girl inside as quickly as he dares
without hurting her, and climbs into the bucket seat, slamming the
armored door behind him. "Sorry about that, honey. But it's safer in
here. Get under that jacket there and stay low." The girl nods, slightly
shaken, and does as requested, crawling under the troll-sized armor
jacket and pulling it over her head.

+++++POV transfer to VanCam engaged: opening file Vancam1.vid

The field of view opens up to capture the whole scene. Jett, Scrape and
Angie return fire from between two cars, keeping one group of assassins
pinned down. Meanwhile, the young magician in the business suit gestures
from inside the van. One of the gunners from the other side falls
forward, convulsing with bloody froth at his lips, nose, and ears. The
shaman smiles and gestures again, dropping another assassin before
turning to more serious work. He makes a long, complex series of
gestures, his lips moving, before doubling over. The air shimmers and
ripples, and Bill smiles weakly, blood dripping from his nose. "Hey
Snook, we got a spirit. Soon as we're good to go, I'll ask him to cover
us."

Jett pops up out of her safe point between two cars, opening fire
again. Bullets crack and ping against the armor of the van.

Angie is the next to make a run for it. She sprints to the safety as
Jett and Scrape provide cover fire, then pause to reload, staying low as
it's their turn to be pinned down. Meanwhile, gunfire continues to
pepper the armored van, leaving an assortment of dings and gouges in the
paint. The attackers' gunshots become less muffled as the baffles of the
silencers wear down, going from whispers to thumps.

"Go! Go! Go!" Jett shouts, and stands, presenting herself dangerously.
She opens fire again, and the assault on the van stops long enough for
Scrape to clear the free-fire zone.

Moments pass. More gunshots are exchanged. Then, Jett stands again. She
flickers from sight as she breaks from her hiding place. Scrape and
Angie fire out at the assassins, attempting to minimize the gunfire
raining on their comrade, but their blind fire doesn't have quite the
suppression power of the aimed shots. Chips of concrete fly up as the
gunmen fire on the faint shimmer that marks the form of Jett, a hail of
bullets following her all the way to her destination.

Jett suddenly materializes a few yards from the van with a strangled
cry of surprise. Blood blossoms at the back of her left thigh as she
lurches forward and the back doors of the van are thrown open. Bullets
whiz and ping against the armored doors, inches from Jett as Scrape
reaches out and helps pull his teammate in. The door slams shut, there's
the roar of a revving engine, and then the scenery of the airport starts
to recede.

+++++End footage

You know the law of the streets. If you fire enough bullets, eventually
you'll hit something. Well, it's true. That something was my left leg,
and it was a solid hit. I stayed on my feet long enough to get into the
van, but once the adrenaline wore off� it hurt. Still, I had to keep a
brave appearance for the kid. I've taken a few bullets and blades in my
line of duty, but she'd never seen someone shot before.

According to Scrape's check, aided by the PocketDoc, my femur was
smashed halfway through, which I could have told the fragging computer
myself. If not for the armor cloth of my pants, the leg would probably
have been blown off. It was also bleeding quite a bit.

A quick assessment of the rest of the team showed that I was the only
one injured. The kid was pretty shaken up, but not hurt. No fragging
healing magic around, an oversight on my part, but Scrape managed to
stop the bleeding with first aid, and patch my leg best he could. I had
to bite a bundle of cloth to keep from screaming when he dug the bullet
out, then from cursing as he washed out the wound, but eventually he
managed to patch it up.

Still panting, exhausted from pain, I washed a handful of painkillers
down with warm, metallic-tasting water from the canteen in the van. They
barely dented the burning-scraping pain that was starting to creep up my
leg, and putting weight on it made brilliant white lights flash in front
of my eyes.
We delivered the kid safely after the fiasco at the airport. I stroll
in to the employer's office smiling as nice as can be, despite the pain
that was gnawing through my injured thigh like a small, hungry animal
with very sharp teeth. I'm pretty sure that the teeth were actually bone
fragments, but I didn't let it show. I can walk on the leg, mostly, even
though the bone grates painfully with each step. The hospital, I figure,
can wait till we get home. Biz first.
Three bottles of painkillers and a long flight later, we make it back
to Seattle. I close the deal with Scrape, Bill, Snook and Angie and drop
a message to the J to let him know the job is done. Then I check myself
in with the streetdoc. Bill and Scrape head home to Tacoma, but Snookums
insists on coming with me to get checked out.
The doc tells me that my leg is wrecked, and I'll be off my feet for a
while. He's not happy with me, either. "You damn stubborn runners�what
the hell possessed you to walk for twenty-four hours on a shattered
thigh?" he asks me. I shrug. "You're lucky that you didn't bleed to
death. If not for your friend and his medkit, you might well have
anyway!"

So anyway, to make a long story short (too late, I know), I'm off my
feet for a while. Sure, staying out of action isn't any fun, but what
can you do but take advantage of the break while ya got it? So I may as
well kick back and enjoy my spoils.

+++++End log ]<<<<<
-- Jett <01:02:44/06-28-59>

Mailing List Logs for

Further Reading

Disclaimer