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Blake smiles as Ajax extends a hand. "I'm Blake. Jerome Blake...my mother's choice. Jerry or Blake will do just fine. Mr. Ajax? Is that what you prefer?"
"Ajax will do, Blake," the big man responded with a smile and shook his hand. "You seem like a guy who knows how to burn the midnight oil. I like that." He refused the offer of coffee, and remained standing off to the side, choosing to remain standing and remain silent as he observed the others coming in.
A young kid called Peter, who looked like Ajax could punch him in half, but with a raw power that made him a bit uncomfortable. He didn't mean to stare, but what the hell was this kid doing dressed in rags? Why was he "late" of MIT&T?
The next one to enter the room was a girl that looked even younger than Peter was. She was pretty and agile. But how old was she? Fourteen!? Ajax felt really really old, and started to regret not taking up Dixie Flatline on her offer for some cheap bioClay leonization treatments.
Things started to look up by the time that Roger entered the room, and the average age started to even out a bit. Whether it was because of his age, or the square set of his shoulders, but Ajax suspected that he would either love or hate Roger, and nothing in between.
Blake lets everyone get settled, and then begins his opening pitch. He settles back into his high-backed leather chair and toys with a battered metal flywheel lighter as he speaks.
"Let's get a few things clear before we get into the details here. Anyone who accepts this job will need to be on board for three possible concurrent projects. They will also need to be at my disposal for at least the next 30 days, and possibly up to the next 60 days. If you accept, you will be asked to see this through until all three tasks are completed. If for some reason, you cannot see this through to the end; then I'll ask that you be willing to stay in a sequestered location until the tasks are complete. This is only for operational security concerns. Finally, you'll need to be willing to work closely with me. Many of these operations will need to occur quickly and I may very well need to be involved and onsite. Two of these operations may need to be done with very little prep time, so I've already begun work on gathering as much intel on the targets as possible."
He clears his throat and takes down some coffee. Looking around the room, he lets his gaze settle on each of the four people in the room for a moment. "Because of the less than ideal circumstances I've just mentioned, compensation for these tasks is extremely high. But as expected, there's always a twist. You'll need to be willing to work with me and not ask too many questions. I'll simply state that there is a patron supporting these operations, and that I am serving as his point of contact. This patron has the assets to make this retainer contract pay well enough that none of you may never need to work again, as that is what we're effectively talking about. However, this level of compensation requires an even higher price in secrecy. Before I can get into the details of these tasks, I'll need to have your agreement up front to see these tasks completed. If you do not wish to be a part of this project, I'll understand." He lays down four credsticks with the agreed upon fee for hearing him out on the desk. "I'll thank you for your time, and you can be on your way."
"I cannot provide exact details, but I can give some general overview here. We will be attempting to force a subversive group into the open, and stop them from completing their assigned tasks. To accomplish this, we'll be working through three different stages. The first stage will require infilitration of a social function, with the goal of retrieving certain files on this group from one of the party's attendees. These files are stored on an isolated system, which will need to be connected to the Matrix. I have an electronic intelligence specialist who will be working from off-site, once the system is properly connected. This specialist will work behind the scenes for now, but will be available for the team's needs."
"After we have the files, the second stage will be to compile as much information as possible on this group's plans. Once we have the necessary information, we'll plan our own counterstrikes. This stage may likely require a number of smaller operations to gather intel, pinpoint contacts for the organization, and locate any bases of operations in the city."
"The final phase is simple. We'll get any additional assistance necessary, and make sure this group's plans do not succeed. It is confirmed through intel that this group will be putting their own plans into action within the next 30 days. I can confirm that this group will be operating inside the Seattle metroplex limits, and that their targets are here in the city. We don't know their exact targets yet, but our patron is quite willing to use whatever means necessary to ensure that this group fails in its plans."
Blake looks tired for a moment as he lets the information sink in. "If you have questions, now is the time for them. If you have concerns, then you know your way out of here. But before we can get into the details of payment and the operation itself, you'll need to be willing to commit to this task. You can either take your fee and I'll wish you well, or you can stay and see this through to the end. The risks are high, the circumstances are less than ideal, but the compensation will allow for a future free of concern. Either way, I'll need to know immediately. If you have any general questions, I'll answer them as best as I can." He falls silent and turns the floor over to the group, after setting off the bombshells he had in his arsenal.
Screw liquid diamond. I want to be able to fling apartment building sized ingots of extracted metal into space.
Even though he'd been in jungle combat, had smuggled any number of different types of contraband across any number of borders, had seen urban conflict, had survived the outright idiocy of the Hollywood Correctional Facility, had stood toe-to-toe with Yak enforcers, had outgunned eastern European mercenaries, had outrun suicidal wiredheads, had laughed at the zealots of the Genetic Purity Council and lived, had fought many top pit-fighting contenders, he felt completely out of his depth. He'd always had his crew at his back, until that nightmare in Germany happened and Vasquez had died, and after that the amount of problems with each job had increased as the amount of people from his old crew had decreased, and now there was nobody in the room that he was familiar with. And then the gravitas with which Blake spoke of the situation...it made everything feel like Bishop might have been right, that he should take his listening fee and walk.
A decade ago, he had fought against a Vory-backed beast by the name of Samson. The odds were stacked against him at 8 to 1, not quite enough to get the fighters agree on the underdog coming out on top so that everyone could go home with a paycheck - and besides, the Vory didn't back this guy for the money, they backed him because he was animal, and had done at least as much time as any accomplished Vor, and so he was to stand as an example; stand in our way and you get mutilated. Now, Ajax had seen the trids, and studied his material, and knew that he could beat him, he just had to tire him out and trust in his rock-solid jaw. The thing he shouldn't do is panic and step off the gameplan. He shouldn't be goaded into making rash decisions and see things through to the end, and then when he was tired, break out the pain. That was the plan, and to keep his mind focused on the plan, and not fly off the handle, he had temporary tattoos places on the backs of his hands. It said "C", for "calm." He had to stay calm.
Thinking of that fight, of those two C's, he calmed down. His heart stopped racing, and his breathing got back under control. That victory had been amazing, and it had netted him and his crew a lot of money. Samson was found dead the following morning, strung up by his own entrails on a fence in his neighborhood, and, ironically, his head scalped.
Ajax looked at the reactions around the room. Blake must have picked these people for a reason. A reason beyond their desperation. He must have some faith that some, if not all of the stages of his plan could be achieved with these people. He just needed a sign from one of them to give him some confidence...
Ajax did not, however, get that sign from Peter. Floating in a half-reclined position over one of the back row chairs, as Blake spoke, the lines of his face deepened with concern and disbelief. He had no problem with a 2-month project, provided he could hold it together than long; though it was at the outside of his projections, he was confident he could find a way, if it meant the possibility of a solution.
But this...
They must have gotten the wrong guy, was all he could think. This was covert ops stuff, black bag. They made trids about this. And he wasn't a fool or ignorant: he knew some such must occur in the real world, as well, but nothing in the course of his life had prepared him for the possibility of being in this room, being asked to do it himself.
That was wrong, though. Actually, his whole life had led to this. Obviously, some aspect of this issue was magical, or they wouldn't have brought so many adepts, wouldn't have asked a magical researcher to join the team. And even if the problem was mundane, the simple fact was that Peter's raw knowledge and power was on par with that of the greatest mages in the world. Blake obviously knew of Peter's condition, and that meant he knew what Peter was capable of. Blake wouldn't have summoned Peter if he weren't certain Peter was capable of success in this matter. Blake was a professional, and wouldn't make an error such as this.
The reason calmed him. He could see his role. He didn't know what the moral stance of these strangers were, but most of them looked hard. The team would need someone who would be a moral compass, who would avoid violence when possible, who could knock hundreds unconscious with a thought, sparing the need for a bomb or sharpshooter. Peter's confidence grew, until Blake's next words:
"We will be attempting to force a subversive group into the open."
Force a what?! Peter thought. Subversive group? Holy hell. This was beyond him. Dream stuff. Blake was asking him to join a team of presumably non-law-enforcement sorts against a team of...what, terrorists? Stop their evil plan? Counterstrikes and recon, intel and bases of operation?
Raw power, yes, but what did Peter know of this world? Surely those near him couldn't compensate for his ignorance, and what he didn't know could kill them all. They weren't asking for his knowledge about magic, they were asking him to go into combat and stop a nefarious plot. He couldn't do this. There was no way. He'd get killed, and go off, and...
Peter stopped and looked around. Every object in the room with a mass of less than a kilo was slowly, silently spinning in place, and the steam from the coffees blew downward, warming hands. He clamped down, forcing back the torrent of mana with calculation and will.
Capability was not a factor. This was all he had, now. One chance. He ran a hand of telekinetic force through his hair, ruffling it. Doubt just wasn't going to be of use: this wasn't a question of choosing between two courses of action. This was all he had. So he pressed doubt away, closing it off as he had stemmed the flow of mana. He would do this mad thing, and he would do it as well as he might. He would succeed, because failure was not allowable.
"I have no questions," he said, his voice calm and even as it had not been previously. "I'll do what you ask."
He knew. It wasn't a speculation but a certainty. Outside Alley maintained her casual air of interest, tightly controlling her body language and aura as best as she had been trained to. Inside a torrent of emotion crashed up against a racing train of thought. Every gut instinct screamed at her to take the money and run while a logical voice whispered blackmail and betrayal. Alleycat didn't have the reputation to score a job like this. Blake knew far more than he should.
She sipped her coffee deliberately, discretely eyeing the others for a reaction. She didn't get quite what she was looking for when her undefinable sense for magic went into overdrive and the cup in her hands started to rotate. Given the current population, her best guess was the Peter the floating man, but whether a show of power or of loss of control she couldn't say.
A subversive group, a team that included lots of raw power, and yet still needing someone of her abilities and apparently her experience. The choices were not good. Walk and have the knowledge that Blake could sell her out at any point, stay and commit to a job with little details, a shady why, and being at the beck and call of an apparently very well connected man. She didn't like either, but doing something was better than waiting for something to happen.
Even as Peter answered, she nodded to Blake. "I'm in."
"What the f..." Ajax said quietly as he noticed the sudden change in...physics! With an astonished expression he focussed on Peter and tried to read him like a fighter reads his opponent, like a card-shark reads his competition. It was obvious that Peter was a powerful, magically awakened individual - not something Ajax had a lot of experience with - but the nonchalance with which he used his abilities shocked him.
It took a moment for Ajax to return to the matter at hand after Peter took control of his abilities once again. He focussed back on Blake, still silent, and then on Roger, who also hadn't spoken yet. Fools rush in, he thought. Perhaps it was testimony to his advancing age that he hadn't decided yet, seeing as how the younger operatives in the room had already agreed, while the older ones remained silent.
"This subversive group," he finally said, "how large a group is this?" He let the question hang in the air before continuing. "Is it a small group like ours, or are we talking about a terrorist cell, or are we talking about an army? Are they technically proficient? Are they armed?" Ajax frowned, "I guess what I would like to know is, besides the size of the group, is what kind of a group it is. Is it a subversive political group or a group of mercenaries? Is it a policlub or a bunch of social activists?" He crossed his arms across his chest and settled back down, waiting for Blake's response.
Blake leans back for a moment, slowly considering the questions before answering.
"Keep in mind that this information is more supposition than hard fact at this point. I anticipate that the group has a number of cells, anywhere from two to seven, working in the city. Each cell likely holds at least three members, possibly as high as ten members. However, we do not need to engage all of the cells with or without their support members. I have specific objectives that need to be accomplished, mostly with a very narrow focus. This will allow this team to minimize their risk of exposure. The cells are likely highly competent with most modern technology, though they are rumored to be weakest in the field of electronic security and communications. I would also plan that the cells will have very skilled magical support, though not necessarily in large numbers."
"I also have two other teams that will be handling other operations based on the intel received during this project. I'll coordinate any relevant intel from all operations, which means we'll also have some friends out there if need be. Additionally, I would hazard a guess that my patron did not only higher me to perform these operations alone."
"Does that answer enough of your questions, Mr. Ajax? I'm not sure how much more I'l willing to give away without an agreement, for the sake of security."
Screw liquid diamond. I want to be able to fling apartment building sized ingots of extracted metal into space.
Ajax remains silent for a moment. "Call me Ajax, please." Ajax smiled at Blake and continued, "I have a million different questions for you, Blake. But I wouldn't want to rub you the wrong way, you know. In the end," he sighed, "I need to make an educated decision regarding my participation in this endeavor, and not let you hurry me into a commitment, which in itself inspires me with a healthy dose of paranoia. Some of the others," nodding towards Peter and Alley, "have agreed quite readily, which means their either very skilled and confident, or very desperate to get their hands on the rewards you're dangling in front of them." Again, Ajax remains silent for a moment, contemplating his next words. "And seeing as how you haven't told us what our financial reward is going to be, you're essentially asking us to commit to something you're being very tight-lipped about, without telling us what we stand to gain. In the end, I don't know what we're up against, and I don't know what I'll be making off this work. So I don't see how I'm capable of making an accurate risk-analysis of this entire situation. You may find all of this a little childish, and perhaps even a bit unprofessional, but, like you, I'm concerned with security, too. Not just mine, but the security of our entire group. So for now, I'm on the fence about this one until you allow me to ask some more questions about the work and perhaps the pay." Ajax tried to seem as polite, as unthreatening and unabrasive as possible while he said these words, trying to convey a sincere concern rather than flippancy. "So if you need a moment to decide 'how much more you're willing to give away' without my agreement, I'll be more than happy. I'm a very patient guy."
Peter raised his hand slightly into the silence that followed. "Uh, if it helps, I'm not skilled and confident. Well, I mean, I, uh, I'm skilled, and I, uh, like to think I have a pretty good self image, but I'm not, you know, a professional, like..." He trailed off, looking around, realizing he'd walked himself into a corner. Gamely he continued, "You know. Criminal. Anyway, I'm just very desperate. But also skilled." He looked around again, feeling suddenly like a freshman in a grad class. "Yeah. Sorry." He smiled awkwardly.
Alley shrugged as nonchalantly as she could at Ajax's assesment. "Six of one, half dozen of the other...a man who I don't know and my contacts don't know invites me personally to listen to a proposition along with a small number of deliberatly chosen individuals who seem to exemplify certain aspects of these sorts of jobs. He will pay me well to listen, lets one of his vices and his age show, and honestly seems to mean what he says. I'd say that means he's either very skilled and confident or very desperate to get his hands on capable staff. In the case of the first, he knows my face and enough to find me unassisted by me, its already too late if he's going to try something, in the case of the second its a very enticing offer that everyone benefits from."
Blake raises a hand to cut into the conversation. His gaze locks onto Ajax for a moment, and the chill behind that gaze is palpable. He then lets a slow smile spread across his face as he chuckles. The laugh is quiet at first, and ends up breaking into a moderate guffaw before he stops. "It looks like I picked the right people afterall."
"Both Ally and Ajax are correct. There's obviously a bit more here than I've revealed. So let's speak plainly."
The old man leans back in the chair and steeples his fingers. "We all have our reasons for being here. Some are personal." His eyes flicker towards the formerly levitating objects and Peter. "Some are professional. In my case, both reasons apply."
"I'm here on behalf of a group with public safety at heart. The group we are working against has the very real potential to pull off an attack against this city that could devastate its infrastructure. I'm here because officially, my patrons cannot be involved. Normally, the group I'm representing works abroad, with very little domestic action allowed. Because they are operating outside the rules, they had to recruit from outside the usual channels. That's a story I'm sure you've heard before, for those of you that are familiar with this type of work. Without breaking this group's anonymity, I can imagine that I've provided enough details to point you in the right direction of who I represent."
His hands move of their own accord as he speaks, and idly begin playing with a nearby lighter as a nervous reaction. "As for being desperate...Ally is correct. I am desperate. I need a team now, and this is the team that I want. I don't have time for the usual games, as I suspect that the targets will be moving much faster than our intelligence indicates. There's no wizard behind the curtain. It's just me asking you to help me. It's an exceedingly difficult operation, and losses should be expected. This team will be hitting the primary targets and objectives, while secondary tasks will be handed off to the other teams."
"As for the compensation, it's fairly simple. What do you need to walk away from this job as if it was your last? That's what I offer. Retirement, free and clear. And I guarentee that it can be provided. I won't set you up as captains of industry after this. But provided you live, my patrons will assure you live out your natural life comfortably. Now, regarding those personal reasons I mentioned earlier...I'd imagine not everyone is here for just for the monetary rewards. If you have...alternate methods of payment you would prefer, we can just as easily discuss those in public or private. However, I believe that Ajax is looking for some specifics, and I can't blame him."
"One, a fully legal identity will be provided for you, if you so desire. Such an identity will be provided with some of the more difficult to acquire licenses and permits for the average citizen, so traveling with such an identity should be quite easy. Two, you will be provided with funds that will guarentee you can easily live an upper middle class lifestyle for at least 50 years. These funds will be provided in whatever way you wish them to be handled. Three, if there's something you'd prefer beyond mere money, that could also possibly be arranged. We'll have to speak specifically on that issue though, whether in public or private. Four, you've been given your fee up front. I'll also provide 3K nuyen a day in certified credsticks for expenses and per diem compensation. Any medical expenses accrued during this operation will be covered entirely by myself. In the event that you would die during this operation, your payment would be passed along to any beneficiaries that you specified. I think that should clarify the payment issue."
Ajax finally stops fidgeting with the lighter for a moment and shows an exasperated expression. "Screw it." He grabs a cigarette from a pack in a nearby desk drawer and lights it, after kicking up the environmental controls to deal with the smoke. "These things will be the death of me yet."
"As for the group itself, here's what I know in the broader sense without giving away restricted information. The group is a terrorist organization with a membership numbering in the thousands worldwide, at least truly committed members. I have solid intel that leads me to believe they will be striking several targets across the globe within the next 30 days. I also believe that they will be striking these targets with the intention of causing the maximum amount of damage and disruption of society. The members of this group are zealots to their beliefs and their cause, so do not expect anyone to roll over and die easily. The group is known to possess a strong support base when it comes to magic, and they are considered to be fairly capable in regards to technology that does not involve the Matrix. Part of their beliefs lead them to avoid using the Matrix whenever possible. Your part in this is simpler than it sounds though. I don't need this team to go after the group en masse. I need specific weak points that I've identified to be pressured. If these weak spots are hit hard enough, I believe the operations planned for Seattle will crumble. That should allow the other teams to pick up any remaining members of this group with relative ease."
"Now, does that cover the questions of the group? If not, let me know what more I can answer. I've made it clear that I want each of you involved. And I need a team immediately. So as Ajax made so clear, I need to provide whatever information is required for an informed decision." The grey-haired operative, because it's exceedingly clear that Blake is not management under normal circumstances, taps his cigarette into a nearby ashtray and looks over the group.
Screw liquid diamond. I want to be able to fling apartment building sized ingots of extracted metal into space.
Roger stood very still, resisting the urge to straighten his tie or check the polish on his shoes one more time. He was quite obviously out of his league-they all were. An ex-con, a girl, a freak and of course there was the never-was. That's really what he was-a never had been.
And this? This was suicide, only by another name-the greater public good. Except this was supposed to have been sold on better than life sims, and not here. Not now. Certainly not to him. This wasn't a James Bond sim, this was real life-and as sure as Sister Mary Francis was likely to be at prayer right now, he was going to die. And suddenly he didn't care. Suddenly he was very much at peace with the idea, that this was his last job. His whole life had been one long fucked mess, so why shouldn't he go out like this?
Suddenly feeling very much like a character in an old western he spoke, his thick Boston accent easily betraying more than he'd like-somethings were inevitable he supposed.
"When I was growing up my Dad used t take me to the fountain in Union Park, and we'd feed the ducks old crusts of bread, and crackers." Roger moved quietly over to the filtered water, turning his back to the others. As he dropped ice cubes into the glass he continued. "And this one time when I was like nine or ten I remember seeing this duck, right? And it was all fucked up-it's wing was broken, and it's beak was all twisted and shit, right?" He poured water into the tumbler, keeping his back turned. "And so I see this duck right? And it's all fucked up, and limping and shit-but these other ducks they don't care right? 'Cause I've got bread, and that's all they care about you know? So they're pushing this duck out of the way, and hissing at him-fucking freaky thing hearing a pissed off duck, but anyways-so I'm feeling sorry for this little duck. I mean he's all fucked up, and obviously hungry right?"
He paused and took a sip of the cold water. "That's good. So where was I? So I turn to my dad, and I ask him-Daddy why do the other ducks keep messing with this poor little guy? Why don't they share? I mean we got enough bread right? So my Dad he' sitting down on this bench, and he looks me in the eyes and he says-get this-Well son they don't any better. Do you understand that? They don't know any better.."
Roger turned and faced them again. His eyes coldly bore into Blakes, unafraid of whatever the old man thought he knew or had. "He was right of course. You understand that Mr. Blake? You know what I'm saying?"
Roger wasn't a killer. It wasn't something he couldn't do if it came down to it, and his life or the lives of others depended on it-but he wasn't some fucking hired gun in some old two-vee action movie. This wasn't the shoot out at the O-K Corral, and if they couldn't handle that he'd walk.
The rest was meaningless-numbers and lies.
Spectacular achievements are always preceded by unspectacular preparation.
A little perplexed at Roger's anecdote, Ajax kept silent for a little while, giving Blake and Roger enough time to finish the unspoken part of their conversation. When he thought enough time had passed for Roger's words to properly sink in, he walked over to Roger's desk, his steps deliberate, leaned over the desk and extended his hand, smiling happily, glad that Blake convinced him. "I'm in, Blake."
"There's one extra thing I hope you could look into arranging for me as part of the rewards," he said. "It's not a must, but considering who you work for it might be as easy as ordering pizza, so I'm just going to throw it out there." He took a deep breath, building up the courage to ask. "I want my new identity to be entitled to a military funeral. If you can arrange that, I'd be more than happy."
He let go of Blake's hand and walked back to his original spot, once again leaning up against the wall.
Roger watched the large man cross the room, and offer his hand-but it was his request that particularly caught his attention. He was glad he was wearing the sun glasses, as his eyes had certainly visibly widened. Counting in his head, he waited until he hit five and then took another sip of water.
He watched Ajax lean back up against the wall, wondering just who this man really was.
Spectacular achievements are always preceded by unspectacular preparation.
Blake smiles at Ajax's request. "Yes, I believe that can be arranged."
Turning to look at the rest of the people in the room, he turns that same smile on them. "It looks like I have my team then. As for payment arrangements, if there is anything specific you want followed then you can simply let me know in the next day or two. I had planned to have the final arrangements handled through the Malaysian Independent Bank, but that can be changed if necessary."
Blake opens up a nearby desk drawer and pulls out three data chips and a rather thick portfolio of papers. "These chips contain information on our first task. The intel is reliable, and fairly extensive. Unfortunately, the time for actual planning is short. In two days, we'll need to infilitrate a party being hosted by this target and retrieve some data from an offline computer system. I did manage to set up some roles that will allow three people to be on site. Take a look over the information, and we'll meet again tomorrow to begin looking over our options." He sets the information out on the table, with the portfolio nearest to Peter. His gaze meets Peter's for a brief moment, allowing the mage to know his "issues" can be dealt with in terms of this job. "I think we've probably covered enough for this evening, unless there are any other questions. Otherwise, the location for the meeting tomorrow is included in your data packets. That location will be a safehouse and base of operations for at least the next week or so. I'd like to meet there tomorrow by 2 pm at the latest. That should give everyone enough time to make any necessary arrangements and gather whatever gear they may need. Contact info for myself is also included in the briefings. Unless there's something else, I'd like to thank you all for your time and welcome you to the team."
Screw liquid diamond. I want to be able to fling apartment building sized ingots of extracted metal into space.
Roger watched as the man set the data on the table, resisting the urge to just walk forward and snatch it all up. He'd see what the rest would do first. Counting quietly in his head, he waited....
One thousand one.
One thousand two....
Spectacular achievements are always preceded by unspectacular preparation.
Ajax walks up the table and picks up one of the datachips. He turns towards the rest and asks; "So, does one of you know a good place to have a drink around here so we can talk this over?"
"Well, there's a coffee shop down the street," Peter offered, then briefly considered and finished lamely, "but it's not particularly private." He considered offering them some of the nicer squats he'd found in the barrens, which were very private and would certainly not be a place any reasonable listener would or could follow, but they would know better than he what was appropriate. He could suggest simply sinking them all in the Sound and protecting them with a barrier, but that brought back memories too raw to think about. Best to let the professionals handle their areas of expertise, and just do his portion of the job.
Alley pulled out her pocsec, keying up Sev's notations for the area. "Near here? Well lets see..." She briefly reviewed the points of interest he'd marked, looking for one that was prime mind your own business without being a haven for types looking for dirt to steal.
One thousand five....Ajax, a name Roger found sort of ironic, picked up one of the optical chips with a gentleness that was shocking-especially considering the mans size, even his fingers were thick.
"So, does one of you know a good place to have a drink around here so we can talk this over?"
"Well, there's a coffee shop down the street," Roger disliked the idea immediately-and wondered again just what this guy was doing here? And for that matter why he was here-he seemed very much out of place, even more so than Roger was. "but it's not particularly private." Before Roger could speak however the girl pulled a pocket secretary, and began keying up locations.
"Near here? Well lets see..." Roger wanted to speak again, but he felt a little embarrassed. I mean she was what? Half his age? If that? And she seemed to be on top of this game in way he'd never manage. He felt very much like an old man.
Walking over to the window Roger stared out at the city. It was going to rain soon. Very soon.
One thousand thirty three....
Spectacular achievements are always preceded by unspectacular preparation.
Seemed there was a lounge style bar not far, two story, private booths available. She shared that information with the people gathered, and looked expectantly to see if they wanted to head there.
"Sounds good to me," he said with a smile, "I am assuming everyone's here using their own transportation. If necessary, I can take one person along with me. Just let me know." The big man turned towards Blake, "I'm going to take these crazy kids for a malt, and I'll see you tomorrow," and shook his hand again. He walked over to Alley he looked at the address on the display of her PDA and memorized it. Heading over to the door, he turned before disappearing down the hallway, "Last opportunity for a ride, if anyone's interested..."
Peter nodded at the girl, looking over her shoulder at her pocsec and entering the address into his Frommer's Guide. It would take only moments to fly there. The spell still hung from its focus; mana flowed through the focus and maintained the spell's power, allowing Peter to simply alter the conditions of the spell to maintain and manipulate it. He began to gather flows of power, first pulling the mana together to send his sight outside; conditions were still perfect for flight, though he still erected a barrier of force to protect him from any condensate or detritus. Then he double-checked, feeling the ties of life between himself and all near, making certain no one here wished him harm; this spell he hung from its own focus: while it wouldn't protect him from accidents, maintaining that connection to the emotional states of those around him would warn him if anyone nearby become homicidal. Finally he bent the aspect of mana which would control electromagnetism, warping the flows of light and heat around him until he was invisible to anyone outside the field.
Other traditions used emotion, or cultural cues, or elaborate wording or gestures, to teach the mind to control the flow of mana. MIT&T had always taken a more pragmatic, industrial approach to magic, and had found this education suited him better than most. Magic was to him simple cause and effect, circuits and power, direct manipulation of the energies of the astral plane. Doing so made it possible for Peter to grasp and direct the forces of magic with will alone, silently and without movement, but too late, he realized those intercessories might serve a purpose, to insulate the wielder from the raw forces under his command.
Brushing aside the slight drowsiness the rush of mana left him with, Peter said, "I don't need a ride, but thanks," and sealed the field, vanishing from sight.
Alley stared as Peter disappeared. Normal people, at least normal people in her line of work, didn't throw that much magic around as offhandedly as this guy did. She shook her head as Ajax gave a last call. "...actually, I'll take you up on that if you don't mind."
As the others left Roger followed, pausing at the door to take one last look at Blake, and the room-had they been recorded? Were they being watched right now? Followed? The others seemed so calm about it all, perhaps he was just being too paranoid. As he took the elevator down with Ajax and Alleycat he saw that the larger man was checking them both out-'Looking for my piece eh?' Roger thought. Glad that his mirror shades hid his eyes he waited until the elevator door opened to fish his truck keys out of his pocket.
Spectacular achievements are always preceded by unspectacular preparation.
Roger watches the building as the others leave the area. There seems to be no visible tails, though there is always the possibility of someone following in the astral or using a high-altitude recon drone. However, no vehicles are seen obviously or even discreetly following the rest of the team as they leave.
The security expert watches as Blake makes his way out of the building a few minutes after the departure of Ajax and Alley. The old spook waves to the security guard at the desk and exchanges a few parting words. He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder and makes his way to a unremarkable 2055 Nissan sedan. He slowly makes his way out of the parking lot, and turns left. The front man appears to be heading the opposite direction from the rest of the team, and does not change that path until Roger loses sight of him in the distance. Extrapolating from his last path and direction, it appears that he is heading out of Tacoma and towards Everett.
Screw liquid diamond. I want to be able to fling apartment building sized ingots of extracted metal into space.
Roger wrote the numbers down the old fashioned way-a small note pad, and a pen. He'd punched the numbers into his phone as a memo-but you never knew when you'd lose something to the various hazards of this job. The wait had given his big diesel time to warm up, and it was running smoothly now. An old Kenny Rogers song came out from the radio in the dash-Roger liked the real classics, and country music seemed to grow on him as he aged.
You've painted up your lips an rolled and curled your tinted hair.
Ruby are you contemplating going out somewhere?
The Shadow on the wall tells me the sun is going down -
Oh Ruby
Don't take your love to town
Shifting the big truck into gear he decided he'd check for a tail one last time, and began the slow tedious process of circling the area a few times before he met up with the others....
Spectacular achievements are always preceded by unspectacular preparation.
He rode down the elevator with Roger and and Alley and felt a little uncomfortable in such a confined space. He noticed with some amusement that while the elevator-cage was developed with all manner of metahumans in mind, the door would never allow a troll to walk in without ducking low. No, it wasn't that his tall frame had to hunch down inside the elevator, it was more that he couldn't maneuver too well. Memories of the Hollywood Correctional Facility came flooding back in an instant. His time spent in the hole completely redefined his definition of a tough guy. Duke had always been the toughest guy he knew, but seeing him in that hellhole, Ajax realised that penitentiary is where tough guys get unmade, and scars are put on your soul. Smiling at Roger as they rode the elevator down, he saw those scars quite visibly reflected in Roger's mirrorshade, and he wondered if they could see them, too.
After a long and awkwardly silent ride down, they walked out through the lobby and out the door. He made a point not to wish the security guard a good shift, since that might just draw a bit too much attention to himself. He stood out as it was, and being friendly to those people that generally only got despised, even though it came natural to him, wouldn't be very wise if he wished to remain as immemorable as possible.
Heading in the general direction of where Bishop had parked his beast, he said goodbye to Roger and keyed Bishop's number, telling him he was coming out and had another person that would tag along. As they entered the narrow alleyway in which Bishop was waiting, he smiled at Alley, trying to reassure her a little bit. As they approached the big, yellow monster truck, he looked at Alley and said; "He might look a bit mean, but I'm sure that by the time he brings us to where we need to go, you'll have James eating out of your hand." He opened the passenger door to the cab and climbed inside and sat down in the middle seat, leaving enough room for Alley to climb in.
Smiling at James he introduced the two before Alley got in. "James, this pretty young lady is Alleycat. Alleycat, this ugly bag of dogshit is James." Without looking at James, he braced for the thump he'd get on his shoulder for saying that, but instead of a thump, he got a slap upside the head, the hard calcium deposits on the big troll's skin painfully grazing the skin on the back of his head. Giggling like a schoolgirl, he continued, "Don't worry, James, she's not packing any significant heat. Anything that she might be carrying won't be powerful enough to put a dent in that ugly mug of yours."
Waiting for Alley to get into the cab, he gave James the address of the place they were heading for. "If you could drop us off here, I'd appreciate it. I doubt that I'll need a getaway car from there until much later in the evening, at which time I'll give you another call, deal?"
Alley rode the elevator down in silence, mentally wondering if it would be worth her time and money to have Sev look into the impromptu team she found herself a part of. Ajax seemed at ease, Peter resigned, Roger...Roger seemed to be wanting to stay professional. What were the chances that whatever Sev could turn up would be just as misleading as what could be pulled up about her?
She took her cues from Ajax as they exited the building. A momentary wave of ill ease washed over her as they approached a narrow alley, but nothing in Ajax's demenor or stance suggested he meant any harm. She blinked as the large yellow truck came into view, it was not the sort of thing she pictured him to drive, and his comments reinforced that belief.
Alley smiled engagingly at the troll behind the wheel and quite literally climbed into the truck. "Nice to make your aquaintence, James." She had to agree with Ajax's assesment, even he wasn't aware she was armed, what she had certainly wouldn't do much good against James. Letting Ajax give directions, she sat back into the seat.
Bonneville, Tacoma Super Flats, aka Tacoma Squats
Seattle, UCAS
October 14, 2064
The message that waits from Darji is a welcome surprise. Work has been anything but steady lately, and both Connie and Scarlett could use the funds.
It sounds too good to be true, Scarlett. But you asked me to pass along any work I found. The guy is asking for you specifically, by the name of Scarlett. That bothers me to begin with. But you asked, and I'm answering. His contact info is attached, and he goes by the name of Jerome Blake. I have no solid ID on the guy, but a wild guess would place him as possibly linked to Ares. There's some preliminary work he wants done, and then a longer retainer job. Payment is high for all the work. 20K up front, just for speaking with him. Matrix only meet, the kind that you prefer. A place of your choice, so you can set up the security as you like. 30K for the preliminary data work he needs done, and a negotiable fee for the retainer contract. He did promise "extremely lucrative terms." His words, not mine. Be careful, girlie. This one stinks...bad.
Darji's usual concern isn't surprising. Ever since the Thunder God's passing, he has shown a bit of uncharacteristic sympathy towards the neuron basher. She wanted big, and it looks like the biggest kind of job just fell into Scarlett's lap.
Screw liquid diamond. I want to be able to fling apartment building sized ingots of extracted metal into space.
After exiting the big yelllow truck and saying goodbye to James, Ajax strolled into the bar, holding the door open for Alley. "Mademoiselle,..." he said politely as she slipped past. The place looked a lot nicer on the inside than it did on the outside, with a long bar running along the right-hand side after walking in, populated mostly by what looked like regulars and truck-drivers coming in off the I5 North, and some tables and booths near the back, close to the restrooms. "What's your poison, Alley?" he asked as he rapped his knuckles on the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice him.
The bar was heavy and wooden, real wood, not the polymer synth-shit that you'd find in any number of lounges in Downtown Seattle, and behind the bar, the mirror-backed shelves were filled with liquors of all kinds. With some satisfaction he noticed some good whiskeys and none of those sweet-flavored, tropical drinks. A typical bar, he thought, noticing the sports-memorabilia and faded pictures of several celebrities adorning the wall. When the bartender was finally done doing what he was doing, he was surprised to see the man returning his friendly smile dead-on; he was as tall as Ajax, though not as broad, and seemed like a nice-enough fellow. Young, and freckled to hell in back, with ginger hair and an incredible pasty complexion.
Peter was anxious, now. Almost without thinking, he began re-arranging the threads of mana in his mind, letting this circuit lapse, weaving a connection here, activating and deactivating foci, all while he drifted quickly and invisibly toward the stairwell. Sometimes he used to get like this in his undergrad days, and he wondered if maybe it wasn't the coffee that helped him focus so clearly yet without evident effort. He had always had a mind of singular focus, and decades of training had honed his concentration to a deadly edge. He knew perhaps only a handful of men in the world with his level of power could be afflicted with his condition and withstand it; he had heard, in his researches, of another similar case in California, the unfortunate victim of which he had never discovered the eventual fate of. The man had been a farmer, of all things, and his house lay at the junction of several manalines, which had conspired to open a hole to astral space in the man's basement. Records showed the man's condition had deteriorated over the course of a few years, until the records abruptly stopped. Peter feared the worst; he had never read of a single case of recovery amongst the handful of similar cases.
As he approached the stairwell door, he began to weave the threads of a spell, but held off completing it for the moment. He hit the door at speed, and nearly without thought placed his hand on the guardrail, allowing his inertia to alter his course, up and over the railing into the empty space between the sets of stairs. He dropped his levitation and powered the spell he had held in abeyance, succumbing to gravity even as his form shifted. Shaped and sized as a human, he would have had no chance of fitting between the stairs, but shaped as a falcon, he dropped like a stone, pulling the door below open with a thought and flitting through it, all in a smooth flow and within seconds.
Without pause, he extended a hand of force to open the front door, ignoring the sounds of surprise from the guard, and flew through at great speed. At his best, he could muster over 80kph with levitation, more if he strained, but combining the various forces he could wield to control gravity, lift, and wind resistance, he could reach vastly higher velocities in such a fleet form. He'd spend many hours talking with various other grad students in his downtime, learning how to shape a barrier to as to best cut the wind, learning about air density and inertia; he seldom had cause any more to use such knowledge, but in school, it had been a great asset in getting from class to bar long before anyone thought possible, until there was some scandal implying he'd developed a means of teleportation and failed to inform the faculty, against the terms of his collegiate contract. Eventually, he'd been forced to publish his findings, which had made the loss of surprise worth it by bringing him to the attention of academia. And Marita, he thought with a surprising rush of mixed guilt and horror.
The rush of city air brought his thoughts back to the present. The Frommer's Guide was still in his back pocket, which meant it existed now in a limbo, a forced state of flux between reality and the astral plane, while a form pulled from the Absolute of Falcon replaced it, so he was forced to operate from memory of the briefly-seen screen of "Alleycat's" pocsec. He took a single wrong turn, but arrived before the others, pulling a form from memory, that of the Rock Pigeon, a common sight in the cities back home, and a form of supreme unnoticeability. Taking momentary shelter above the bar's sign, he dropped his invisibility and stood, cooing, on the signpost, waiting for all to arrive, and watching the street. He was not certain what he should be looking for, but he nevertheless felt as if some sort of looking was prudent. He flashed back and forth between the eyes of the pigeon and his own astral sight, preening himself periodically for a reason he couldn't quite define, and pressing aside a deep yearning to defecate.
Eyes the color of the finest red wine shining in sunlight narrowed the golden pupils contracted into repitlian slits as their owner considered the message shining from the monitor before her. The eyes had been a conceit once from when times were good or at least not so... She lacked the words, but then again no one ever hired her for her glib tongue.
But Ares. Asking for her. Her lips thinned and tightened in old anger and clawlike hands contracted in on themselves before she could stop herself. It wouldn't do to bring on another attack, not when she was so close to having work again. The money just for the meet alone would open doors that would otherwise remain closed.
It was but a matter of moments to make her arrangements for the meeting, a few breaths in the meat world. Sadly it was easier than breathing some days.
Picking the place was easy. Scarlett entered one of several available rooms created on Shadowland Seattle for just this sort of purpose. Anonymity was guarenteed (as well as such a thing could be guarenteed on Shadowland), and the security controls were set in place as Scarlett had requested. The fee for the room's usage was minor, and would be easily recovered through the guarenteed fee.
A few minutes after she had sent a message back providing details on the meeting place, she received an alert that the other party was preparing to enter the room. She was surprised by the speed of the response, as the decker had been in the middle of preparing to focus her attention elsewhere while she waited. A short message from the automated sysop bot unraveled in Scarlett's field of vision.
Your requested party has arrived. Identification verifed. Your fee for the services has been charged. Requested party has also deposited the agreed upon payment into an account that will be made available to you upon leaving the room.
As the mysterious Blake entered the room, Scarlett found that the mystery of his identity was not held in a great deal of secrecy. A quick check of her verification protocols showed that Blake was not detected as using any kind of ID spoofing or masking.
[/i]He's given me an open line to his current physical location, as well as a verifiable trail on the Matrix. And his icon even matches up to the visual image provided from Darji's vidphone display. He is either very foolish or very confident.[/i]
Blake's persona enters the room slowly, and nods a greeting as he takes a seat at the virtual conference table. "Good evening, Miss Scarlett. My name is Jerome Blake. I'm glad you received my message. I have a job I'd like to offer to you...the very lucrative kind."
Screw liquid diamond. I want to be able to fling apartment building sized ingots of extracted metal into space.
Between how quickly the man reacted and the possible extremes, she felt more on edge than she had in the last few weeks. The setup was completely to her advantage, but that didn't help as she activated routines to record everything about this meet. She'd go over the details with a fine tooth comb later.
This is just too easy, what's the catch?
She was already sitting at the virtual table, having decided to go with a typical, neutral seeming office that could be found at any business. Her icon being one of numerous standard bland female personae clad in a business suit whose style had been used by women for at least one hundred years, if not longer.
A simple nod in return to his greeting and spoke in smooth, cool tones, "I'm always interested in lucrative ventures, Mr. Blake. What did you have in mind?"
((Sorry, moving offices at my particular job during the week of Gencon is a surefire receipe for fried brain ))
Alley's experienced eyes swept the bar, scanning to asess the clientele. Everything seemed to be right for the locale, and she sighed inwardly at having to pass up what looked like actual decent tequila. "Gin and Tonic", she repiled to Ajax's inquiry, and went to claim a booth for the group.
Reika wrote:Between how quickly the man reacted and the possible extremes, she felt more on edge than she had in the last few weeks. The setup was completely to her advantage, but that didn't help as she activated routines to record everything about this meet. She'd go over the details with a fine tooth comb later.
This is just too easy, what's the catch?
She was already sitting at the virtual table, having decided to go with a typical, neutral seeming office that could be found at any business. Her icon being one of numerous standard bland female personae clad in a business suit whose style had been used by women for at least one hundred years, if not longer.
A simple nod in return to his greeting and spoke in smooth, cool tones, "I'm always interested in lucrative ventures, Mr. Blake. What did you have in mind?"
"I'll save us both the usual games, and be completely blunt, Miss Scarlett. I have need of a decker for a retainer contract. For a host of reasons, I want you. Before you start getting paranoid, I'll simply say that you have the skills I'm looking for and I feel that you have the right motivation to participate in a high-risk job like this. 20K up front, 30K for the preliminary data work, which would be gathering some intel and security information and schedules for me on a number of targets. Beyond that, a very nice per diem, and a blank ticket with some pounds of reason. That's right. Name your price tag. And knowing some of your...situation...it doesn't necessarily need to be handled all in monetary payment. I have some connections that could help with the some of the health concerns of yours."
The man exhibits a creepy level of knowledge about Scarlett, but he locks eyes with her for a long moment. It isn't a dominance contest, it is an attempt to show a truly honest look to a suspicious person.
Screw liquid diamond. I want to be able to fling apartment building sized ingots of extracted metal into space.
Alley's experienced eyes swept the bar, scanning to asess the clientele. Everything seemed to be right for the locale, and she sighed inwardly at having to pass up what looked like actual decent tequila. "Gin and Tonic", she repiled to Ajax's inquiry, and went to claim a booth for the group.
Ajax turned to face the tall, ginger-haired guy behind the bar and said; "...and whatever 15-year-old, single malt you have opened up for me. On the rocks," he added, almost ashamed of the request. He was about to turn for the booth Alley had slipped into but changed his mind. "Oh, and a bag of peanuts or chips if you have it. Anything salty and non-soy, really." He smiled again, walked over to the booth and sat down. He retrieved his pocket secretary from the inside of his jacket and jacked the chip given to them by Blake in the appropriate slot and started reading the information on it. When Ginger came around with the drinks he quickly slotted his credstick in the portable reader the bartender carried and paid for the drinks. He took the glass in his hand and swirled the ice-cubes around in the almost syrupy liquid. He sure did love the sound of ice-cubes bouncing around in a glass of good liquor. "Is it me or are the others getting kind of late?"
Roger pulled his truck into a parking spot a few blocks down from the meet, and let it idle for a minute. Turning the radio off he scanned the streets looking for anything unusual-and then grunted at the absurdity of it all. How would he know anyways? Re-holstering his Glock, he slid his mini-recorder into his pocket, and slid his notebook and pen into the another pocket.
Locking the truck he took a leisurely route to the meet, crossing the street twice just to make sure. As he entered the bar he scanned the crowd once, immediately spotting Ajax and Alleycat. They weren't the usual crowd in this place, by any means.
Nodding once he crossed the room to their table, and with a nod he simply said, "Sorry I'm late. Mind if I sit?"
Spectacular achievements are always preceded by unspectacular preparation.
Peter hopped behind the sign's mount and bent light around himself. Fluttering down from his perch and diving in to the bar before the door slid shut behind Roger, Peter immediately sought the cover of the ceiling, where a patron would not accidentally step on his transparent pigeon form. He slowly hopped his way across the floor, taking great care to avoid conflict, until he stood beneath their own table.
Bending low, he reversed the physical transformation, pushing his absolute from pigeon to Peter - an easier transformation, since his aura already "knew" who he was - and crouched yet lower as his form bent. Shielded by legs and feet, he let light begin reflecting from him as normal, and then pushed himself up until he sat in the last empty chair.
Roger started as Peter came from out of nowhere, barely resisting the urge to reach for his weapon Roger took his seat, and flipped through the wireless menu pad with his finger. Finally settling on Coke and an order of spiced krill noodles with a side of slated seaweed salad.
Spectacular achievements are always preceded by unspectacular preparation.
Ally nodded to Ajax and was about to comment when Roger entered. Relaxing slightly, she loaded the information into her pocsec and began scanning the info contained therein. She looked up as the undefineable something about magic close to her pricked but was completely unprepared for the source of it being Peter under the table. Biting back a curse, she glared at him. "Don't do that unless you want to get shot or worse."
Peter laughed, then quite suddenly ceased when he remembered that it was entirely likely she had actually shot someone at some point in her life. On purpose.
Damn, they all probably have, he thought. What he'd only done accidentally - and lamented daily - they'd done intentionally, possibly more than once. He wondered: did they anguish over it as he had? Did it wake them up nights? Did the killings fill their dreams? Or was it only those who did not choose murder who felt guilt? Was it possible that, having made the choice, considered it reasonable or necessary, they could assuage their guilt?
The lights above their table flickered, once, then resumed their normal illumination. He kept his face still, and nodded. "Sorry," he said, but he sounded distracted as he said it.
Peter appeared. Roger responded, only slightly. Alley startled and warned him. Ajax had dropped his pocket secretary and was out of his seat, closing the distance between him and the threat. The threat, he soon realised, was Peter, and he calmed down quickly and sat down. The entire movement was almost imperceptibly fast, impossibly fast, and with some satisfaction he noted that Peter was preoccupied with whatever Alley had hissed at him, as he sat back down.
Slightly annoyed at Peter, he picked up the pocket secretary he'd dropped, which had slipped into his seat. He noted Peter's slightly pained, faraway look in his eyes and considered it for a moment, his face hard like granite. He briefly glanced over to Roger to see what he was thinking and found that he couldn't figure it out. A man whose emotions were encased in obsidian and coated in teflon-polymer. He looked at Alley, who was looking over the information in her pocket secretary. Her face like marble, cool and even. Nothing there, he thought. He put the pocket secretary down, and tried to smile at Peter.
"What's your story, Peter?" he asked with a smile. "I've only known you for perhaps an hour, in which you've said perhaps a dozen words, and displayed more of your magic skills than I've seen others do in my entire life. And I've known one or two people who could do similar things to what you can do," he paused, "but never with the nonchalant ease with which you seem to wield the power that you do." He paused again, considering his next words. "Are you trying to impress us with what is obviously a tremendous power you wield? Are you trying to scare us? Are you making a statement?" He paused, "or are you a little naive, thinking that it's okay to startle us like that, or draw so much attention to us?" Before Peter could respond he added, "it's obviously making us uncomfortable, Peter."
"I'll save us both the usual games, and be completely blunt, Miss Scarlett. I have need of a decker for a retainer contract. For a host of reasons, I want you. Before you start getting paranoid, I'll simply say that you have the skills I'm looking for and I feel that you have the right motivation to participate in a high-risk job like this. 20K up front, 30K for the preliminary data work, which would be gathering some intel and security information and schedules for me on a number of targets. Beyond that, a very nice per diem, and a blank ticket with some pounds of reason. That's right. Name your price tag. And knowing some of your...situation...it doesn't necessarily need to be handled all in monetary payment. I have some connections that could help with the some of the health concerns of yours."
The man exhibits a creepy level of knowledge about Scarlett, but he locks eyes with her for a long moment. It isn't a dominance contest, it is an attempt to show a truly honest look to a suspicious person.
This guy doesn't have the feel of your typical corp. What the hell is going on here? Well, whatever it is, I'll play along for now. 20k will buy you that much, Mr. Blake.
But deep within her heart, she privately acknowledged to herself that the bait was sweet enough to not only take a nibble, but take hook, line and sinker.
None of that showed on her virtual expression, calmly, too calmly for her paranoia, she folded her simulated hands on the conference table and regarded Blake's icon with a serenity that was more false than their meeting spot.
"A tempting offer, Mr. Blake. And what might be the nature of these targets? I understand no details until I accept the job, but a vague hint would be appreciated."
So this is what making a deal with the devil feels like...
Peter pondered his answer for a moment, looking slightly bemused as he did so. Finally he seemed to come to some sort of internal accord, and he started speaking, loudly enough so that all could hear, but not so loudly as to publicly broadcast his words. "I'm sorry. I didn't... Where I come from, this is pretty tame, I guess. I didn't really think that much about...I mean, I figured you guys have seen a lot magic before, in, um, your lifestyle, so I just assumed it wasn't that big a deal. I mean, as far as this bit goes," he gestured to his seat and the table, "I figured appearing where no one could see me, under the table, was probably better than a pigeon turning into a dude on the sidewalk or something, which was my other option. 'Between-the-knees' is a Blood and Concrete tradition, you know?" No one appeared to, but he continued anyway, now a bit less enthused and slightly more quietly; the urge to lean in a bit closer to hear him was nearly unavoidable.
"As for the rest...no, I'm not trying to impress, or make a statement. I'm definitely pretty naive - I don't know about the rest of you, but this is the first time I've done, you know, anything even a little bit like this - but that's not why...."
He stopped, his face screwed up in thought, as if struggling with some inner conflict. "I guess I should tell you, uh, about the other thing. If we're going to be spending, you know, time together. I have a kind of...condition, I guess you'd say. It's not - " Roger wrapped some noodles around his chopsticks, his eyes on Peter; just as he opened his mouth to accept the bite, he glanced down and noted the noodles were curling around each other, twining like dozens of worms, forming patterns like mandalas around his utensils. "- dangerous, exactly, I don't think, but sometimes things do...happen around me. Strange things. I have, I, I'm, uh, a little bit broken, I guess. The connection between myself - " Roger slowly returned his morsel to the bowl, noting his bowl was now full of noodle-worms, and the spiced krill were swimming within a sea of them; tiny ghostly legs appeared beneath them, churning along through the thick mass. His face tightened in annoyance. "- and the astral plane does not close when I complete a spell; it remains open, leaking astral energies through to the physical plane, without a guiding mental element to weave the threads of mana from latency into actuality."
Roger slapped the mage on the arm and said sharply, "Omae," while gesturing to his plate with his free hand; as soon as Peter's concentration focused on the dish, the squirming stopped, and all was as it had been, though Roger found he had no appetite for the food now, and instead took a long drink of Coke.
"Sorry," Peter said, and continued. "I promise to do what I can, but the fact is that you're going to have to deal with some little oddities from time to time, because I'm doing this job." He sounded more certain now than at any time they'd heard him speak. "And in exchange, you get somebody who can do what I can do, and that's pretty rare. I'll try to watch the incidental use of magic, too, but I've spent as many years doing everything with magic as you have, I don't know, driving a car, and if somebody asked you to drive a car without your hands and feet, I think you'd think it was pretty tough."
He looked around, afraid he'd gone too far. "I'm sorry. I'll try."
Roger was almost visibly relieved when his Coke turned out to be just that-coke. He was sure that he'd never seen anything like this-it was unsettling at best. Pushing his food slowly aside, for now, he turned towards Ajax.
"Perhaps we should get on with it?"
Spectacular achievements are always preceded by unspectacular preparation.
Ajax decided to ponder what Peter had told him for a moment longer, not entirely sure he understood everything he was just told. He looked at the others, who seemed to be taking it a lot better than he was, and wondered whether it was just his inexperience that was getting the better of him in this situation.
"Perhaps we should get on with it?" Roger asked him. Was that a question or a statement? For someone who is so uptight it's hard to imagine him being okay with what just happened to his food. They all saw it, right? Yeah, they must have, since Roger doesn't seem to be too interested in his food. I'm so out of my depth, Ajax thought again, and focussed his attention to the pocket secretary in his hand. As he looked at the fragile device in his oversized, hard-knock hands, he suddenly felt dumb and useless. I wish Duke was still here. At least I wouldn't be the dumbest at the table, he thought. I miss them...
With a sigh his vision focussed back on the information on his screen. "It seems we're not really well-equipped to deal with this situation smoothly. The obvious choices for the two security jobs would be Roger and I, though I'm not so keen on putting Peter in the waiting staff." He looked over to Peter with a weak smile, "No offense intended, don't turn me into a devil rat." He sighed, "Perhaps I should be on the waiting staff, doing the manual labour, and Alley can be on the waiting staff service food and beverages. Perhaps we can move either Roger or Peter over to the bartender's position, to have some more people in the building. Alley, are you technically proficient enough to provide the hookup?"
Scarlett wrote:None of that showed on her virtual expression, calmly, too calmly for her paranoia, she folded her simulated hands on the conference table and regarded Blake's icon with a serenity that was more false than their meeting spot.
"A tempting offer, Mr. Blake. And what might be the nature of these targets? I understand no details until I accept the job, but a vague hint would be appreciated."
So this is what making a deal with the devil feels like...
"Two VIPs, one on the gray side of the equation. The third target for the information is a group, attempting to operate in secret inside the city. They have a specific task to complete within the next 60 days. I need that task stopped. After the preliminary work I need done, I would also want to keep you on retainer for the remaining three phases of the contract. This would also be nearly guarenteed to include active field work alongside several other contractors." The virtual Blake folds his hands and waits.
Screw liquid diamond. I want to be able to fling apartment building sized ingots of extracted metal into space.
))