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From:	Justin Fang <justinf@****.CALTECH.EDU>
Subject:	They're hee-eere...
Date:	Thu, 23 Jul 1998 17:23:09 -0700

Message no. 1 *****PRIVATE: Easy

>>>>>[*Fuck.*

It's *bad*. Look:

+++++begin vid1
Low-light video of a line of humanoid figures marching out of an underground
garage, seen from above. The camera zooms in on the head of one, showing
antennae and compound eyes. It pans along to the next: chitinous plates and
mandibles. The rest are similar.
+++++end vid1

+++++begin vid2
Infra-red video of a figure only slightly above ambient temperature,
carrying a warm body into what looks like the same building.
+++++end vid2

I was miles away when I saw that, and I still wanted to gun the engine and
get the hell out of town.

+++++idle for 30 seconds

+++++idle for 60 seconds

If they were people, normally about now I'd ask for more money to get a
crawler drone inside the building, see what they were up to. But 1) I don't
*want* to see the inside of that place; 2) we know what they're up to
anyway; 3) you can't pay me enough to get that close.

Those merc neighbors of yours owe you any favors? 'Cause I'd advise bombing
that place to hell and beyond. And then doing it again. And again.

Damm. I'm really tempted to just send the footage to SIGA or someone like
that and go on a long vacation very far away. No, wait, maybe not SIGA,
Lynch's replacement what's-his-name didn't exactly make the best impression.
But as long as I can dump the problem on *someone else* I don't think I
care.

Um. Payment. At this point I just want to get very drunk, which I think
you can handle, but on general principle I'll ask for an additional >>token
sum<<.

One more thing: before I saw the bugs, I found something else odd, maybe
half a mile away. Some sort of vehicle convoy:

+++++begin truck.vid
Vid, again from above, of a cement truck. Ahead and behind it are a couple
of smaller vehicles with camo paint jobs. The truck stops in the middle of
a deserted street, and someone gets out from one of the vehicles and lifts a
manhole cover. The truck then starts pouring cement down the manhole.
After a while, it stops and the vehicles move on.
+++++end truck.vid

There were more like that, doing the same thing at a bunch of manholes.
Can't figure out what they're doing--trying to seal the bugs off from the
sewers? But if they knew about the bugs, then...

Maybe it's completely unrelated, but somehow I doubt it. If you want, I can
look into that, for >>small amount<< up front, more after I find out how
hard it is. I may want some guards too.]<<<<<
-- Sam-I-Am <16:22:12/07-23-59>

From:	"Paul J. Adam" <Shadowtk@********.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject:	Re: They're hee-eere...
Date:	Fri, 24 Jul 1998 11:26:54 +0100

Message no. 2 *****PRIVATE: Sam-I-Am
>>>>>[That's not good. That _really_ isn't good. I've got a hive full of
bugs for neighbours? There go the property values...

One thing I know. I've never taken on bugs, and I'm not sure I know how
to, and Mani and I are _not_ strolling in there guns blazing.

What the hell, Mitchell likes throwing his weight around, I bet he'll
love this.

As for the concrete trucks... yeah, I think I can find the money. Find
you a guard or three, as well.

Okay. Time to make some calls.]<<<<<
-- Easy <09:28:45/07-24-59>

*****PRIVATE: Farmer
>>>>>[Easier to read his mail when he's in the field.

+++++begin excerpt: Mitchell's Diary
Another shitty day in paradise. It's pouring with rain, the city's
gridlocked, I'm making zero progress, things just generally suck. Then
the phone rings.

It's an official call, and Tarkington fills me in quickly on who. That
Elven samurai who's trying to rebuild Tarislar. She doesn't strike me as
the type to call the Feds...

"Hi there, Commander. Guess what we found breeding under a rock here in
Tarislar?" She's got a weird accent. Some Seattle, some Texas, some...
something, don't know what.

"I hate guessing games, Miss Christine."

"Bugs. Big, man-size bugs."

An icy cold fist grabs my guts and squeezes. "You're sure?"

"They've cleared a quarter-mile radius out of their nest, or hive, or
whatever the hell you call it. Over a hundred people that we know about,
more like twice that." She's calmer than you'd expect, but then she's a
street sam: probably rather die than show alarm, as she gives the exact
address. "I have an analysis of the missing, drone surveillance of the
region and the close-ups from last night that confirmed it."

"Send them in, we'll need them. Don't waste time with Shadowland -" I
tell her the LTG to pass this direct. Then I pause. What the hell am I
going to do about this? Kill the bugs. Yeah, well, that goes without
saying. Question is, how?

Memories of Chicago hit me and I start shaking. Takes a moment to get it
under control. That even broke through the move-by-wire... not good.

But every day we leave them, they'll be harder to burn out.

The Elf's still talking, "...cement crews are with you or not?"

"Cement crews? I was thinking, not listening. Sorry."

"There's a work crew going round, sealing off sewers. Are they with you
guys?"

"Wasn't me. Nobody told me about a bug hive in Tarislar, either. I'll
see what I can find out."

"So will I, then. Just didn't want to screw up your plans. You need any
more info, you know where I am."

Cold, but cool. I like her already.

I grab the laptop, set up the secure link to DC, start digging. Turns
out Easy did some occasional wetwork for the Agency. Might be worth
remembering... but then I grab the contingency plans. At least there
_are_ plans, a lesson learned in blood after the Chicago clusterfuck.

Not that I think much of them. "Mobilise the Metroplex Guard". Yeah,
right. Three battalions of reservists and retired part-timers and a wing
of old fighters, against a bug hive. Even assuming I can get this one
past the Governor in less than a week, they'll be chewed up and spat out
by the bugs. Bughunting's not a job for weekend warriors.

Lynch worked with one of the Force Recon teams at Everett, even went
over the Wall with them twice. A quick check tells me they're
unavailable. Damn.

Zack's out of comms chasing down a lead on Curry. Double damn.

I need a company or so of troops, with some specialist support, and I
need them right now. Short of stripping the MARDET of every ship in the
Navy Yard, I can't think where I'd get that... wait up.

Skimming the data Easy sent me, it hits. Obvious, really. Professional
troops, expendable, politically "safe" to use. Not cheap, but hell,
nobody's going to count pennies as long as we win.

"Rusanov's Rebels, how may we help you?" A female voice, welcoming and
friendly.

"Commander Mitchell. Director, Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency."
I wish that sounded less like a bad joke, but even if the Agency's in
the toilet it's still _my_ agency. And we're still good for _something_.

That gets her attention. "Good morning, Commander. What can we do for
you?"

"I've got a bug hive about three miles east of you. I want to hire your
unit to help."

"Certainly, Commander. Come down and we'll negotiate the details. Do you
want us to send a helicopter to collect you?"

I look out at the window. The traffic is still solid, a sea of
taillights and honking horns in the rained-out streets. "That might be
best."

The helicopter is there in less than half an hour: a grey-camouflaged
King Stallion that seems to come out of the rain like a ghost. I've had
time to get into fatigues and gear up a little: no point taking all the
murder machines, but I don't feel dressed without a sidearm.

The helicopter's practical rather than comfortable: no VIP transport
here. The pilot's rigged in and flying IFR, which is good because I can
hardly see a hundred yards. When it lands, and I get out (someone hands
me a rain cape, for which I'm grateful) the groundcrew are attaching
stub wings and a belly turret even before I'm off the hardstanding, and
as I follow my guide through the sheeting rain I pass Wandjina attack
RPVs being armed and fuelled. I guess I got their attention.

Rusanov greets me as I come into his office. Big guy, Russian by birth.
Finnish-Estonian by parentage, a curious mix. Formerly _reydokyvii_,
defected, set up as a merc unit that just growed like Topsy. Out of
curiosity I have tea rather than coffee when it's offered: it turns out
to be pretty good.

He introduces me to his wife, who's as small and delicate as he is huge.
I try not to think the obvious question. We talk turkey.

He works cheap, for the UCAS anyway, but we're replacing lost hardware
and casualties will cost us mucho money... but then I'd rather spend
money than lives any day. He's also got a surprising amount of
experience, and some specialised equipment that should really help.

His men are deploying to contain the hive by the time I leave... but
then I'm going to be living out here for a while, I just want my gear,
my uplink and the L7. That was _made_ to splatter bugs.

It crosses my mind that I could just kick back and let Rusanov's men
handle it all.

Fuck it. My resposibility, my mission, I'll lead it from the front. If I
get killed, then at least I died doing my job.

Need somewhere to stay that's close, and a more suitable vehicle than a
rental car. Well, guess the Easy Eight has rooms to rent, and checking
the files I see Lynch was authorised a vehicle... good enough for him,
good enough for me.

Maybe a Director shouldn't be so hands-on. I'm too close to this
problem, missing other stuff. Still can't find that missing VX. My
Agency's still falling apart. But what the hell, I do what I do. At
least I can do _this_ well.
+++++end diary]<<<<<
-- Furrow <11:26:43/07-24-59>

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