2 days ago:
Bug sneaks into the 'secure' (yeah right) parking lot , find the
horrendously green car he saw in the vision. Another little insectile
robot
(like the ones now feeding illusions into the lot's cameras) flies out
of
the deck he's plugged into.
10 seconds later the car's security is no more. (hmm surprisingly
good
security for a rolling pile of junk.) The car's little robot brain is
reprogrammed , an internal timer starts: 46:34:15 to all-systems
shutdown.
Bug sneaks out, blends into the sidewalk crowds unseen. Walks past
the
storefront window with the badly painted stars and moons and zodiac
signs,
a strange little smile on his lips.
yesterday:
A busy day. Bug has: sold some trade secrets, contracted to steal
the
plans for some new "guard dog/pet bot" (pet? ha! pull the other one)
from
ARES for some Japanese mega-corp, bought an anvil and a kiddie slide,
planted some 'evidence' in the apartment of some cor****ate big wig
(paid
for by his AI, always be nice to your computer), sold the location of
some
runaway-dictator-in-hiding to the death squad that's after him, rented
an
apartment, upgraded the security of a street gang's territory (the
neighborhood's residents had been on the gang leader's back about the
police
increased predations), assembled the slide inside the apartment so it
face
just the right window, set the anvil on the slide, attached some
electronics to the anvil,set the timer, and then he went home.
today:
0:03:06
An horrendously green cars speeds up the street, the occupant looks
at
his list, "last place, at last", grabs the little holographic message
display
robot, jumps out of the car when it stops in front of some rundown old
bar, opens
the door and without exposing himself throws the message bomb in, he
dives
back into the car shouting "GO!", the car peels off at full speed.
Inside the Chat. A flash of light as the door is thrown open, but
instead of somebody standing at the door something the size and shape
of a
soda can flies in, the patrons with better reflexes are already behind
cover when the little robot stops, hovers in midair, its hologram goes
on
too bright, its screechy voice blares:
In article <01bcbba1$d21bd760$b7bf39cc@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
>, "jules"
<jg4...@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
> wrote:
> ***********************************************
> Psychic tells you about your financial
> future, love, success, and your health!
> ***********************************************
> 1 - 900 - xxx - xxxx, Ext 8880
> $3.99 per min - Must be 18+ yrs
> Serv-U (619) xxx-xxxx
> ***********************************************
The little robots is fast enough to evade the wannabes' shots but
only
the wannabes. Screech of tires outside, the wannabes run out (to show
they
care) and maybe one or two regulars who are fed up with spam, a mad
dash
for the few cars and cycles, an horrendously green car just goes
around the
corner with only a handful of bullet holes in its back end. Inside the
bar's regulars sigh, shake their heads and order replacements for
spilled
drinks. On the floor, a little pile of slag cools down to merely
cherry
red.
0:00:42
The 'psychic' upon hearing the sound of pursuit hits the red panic
button overriding the cars safety protocols and starting an evasion
routine. The car swerves and weaves through traffic, around
corners. "oh ****! oh ****! oh ****!!" the car's sole passenger looks
back not believing he got away. The car suddenly stop all the lights
on its console
are dead. "****!" The spammer squeezes out of the half open window and
stars
to run, reaches the end of the block, turns the corner, stops against
the
wall gasping for breath trying to listen for the sound of pursuit.
Nothing,
he starts to relax. Overhead the sudden crash of a window breaking,
the
spammer looks up, he has just enough time to recognize the anvil
before the
lights go out.
The Bug walks up the street, ahead is the fla****ng neon sign of the
bar he
was looking for. He shakes his head and mutters: "And he called
himself a
psychic."
The Chatsubo's door opens a nondescript figure walks in, hands in
plain
sight, hacker's deck on a shoulder strap, beat up old overcoat, tight
against his face black insectile lenses hide his eyes. Reaches the
bar. "So
this is the Chat. I've been hearing of this place for some time,
finally
got a chance to check it out.", to Ratz "I'll have a beer, Medalla if
you've got it." He takes a swig of the beer, looks around, smiles, "I
think
I'll like it here." , and heads for an empty table.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And that was my first post to alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo, ten whole years
ago.
With a few minor fixes, and the charmingly wacked quote marks.
And as always feedback is always encouraged.
Charleson Mambo
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