DP/UF - Burnin' Out - [FanFic]
MegaZone
anon FTP to 130.215.24.1 /anime/FanFiction grab dp.uf.GUIDE.Z for a list
of the files and the correct order
At the appointed time, the stage went black, the kind of
black that low-light optics aren't supposed to be able to cut
through. But, as Keyra had noticed, regulations prevented the
McCartney Stadium from turning off the "EXIT" lights.
So only the few hundred, a thousand max, people in the crowd
of 45,000 saw the band emerge from the stage.
Keyra was pleased with his foresight; he had gotten the
cyberoptics not three months ago. He saw the six musicians take
their positions. First was Sylvia, his sister, with her guitar.
The bassist followed her, and then the drummer took his throne.
The synther came out, to a station with a MIDI-II terminal, two
keyboards, an electronic instrument resembling a recorder, and a
fretless guitar.
Finally, the frontman came out, holding his axe with a metal
cyberarm. He took his position, and made a silent gesture to the
stage manager.
A tight spotlight appeared on the featured artist's metallic
hand, raised in a defiant fist, apparently supported by the
eldritch vapours themselves. For all one could tell by looking,
it was Macbeth's dagger reborn.
Breaking the silence was a disembodied voice, one so famous
that all in the stadium knew it, one so demanding that all in the
stadium had come here to hear it.
"One, two, three, four!"
With the voice, the fist released fingers, counting to four
on its own. The bassist, guitarist, and drummer attacked the
introduction from the Hand's synchronization.
Spotlights illuminated the three working band members, as
they did an eight-second introduction. Then, the spotlight on
the Hand opened up, encompassing the entire frontman as well. He
slung his guitar to playing position, ready to pick up at the
bridge, and activated the mic:
Got the chrome in the bloodstream
Got a metal soul,
I'm looking out for action,
Guess I'm on a roll
As general lighting came online, Sylvia kept the lead up in
the two-bar between stanzas, just like the Man would have had her
do. Which, of course, had been why he had chosen her.
Got the old mega violence,
When I boost, it's for real,
The capacitors roarin' inside my brain
You know just how I feel!
The Man and the Hand slammed his axe hard into the bridge,
matching Sylvia.
Cold chrome, molten lead
Can't be hurt cuz I'm already dead
Ain't no time as real as realtiiiime!
I'm chippin' in
Chippin' in.
Sylvia, the bassist, and the synther melded their voices
into that of the Man in a manner Freddie Mercury would have been
proud of--
Chippin' in (Got my head to the wall)
Chippin' in (Can ya hear me call?)
Chippin' in (I'm the man of steel)
Chippin' in (Is that how you feel?)
Well, comon!
Here, in Night City, Johnny Silverhand's Clone Wars tour had
just begun.
Virtual Labs, Incorporated
In conjunction with
Eyrie Publishing, Uninc.
Present
"Burnin' Out"
Rob Mandeville
Rob came back during intermission with a half-dozen
cheeseburgers and sodas. He gave the box to Kevin. "Take one,
pass them down. Ketchup and relish in the side-rack." He
followed the box of dogs with his sodas, giving one to each
person in turn. "Dew, Dew, Coke, Dew, Coke." He got into his
seat with the last Coke as Deedlit passed him the final burger.
Cheryl bit into hers, and glanced over to give Rob a very
dirty look. As Rob tasted his, he understood why.
"Dammit, I paid for real! What's with this soyashit?"
"Calm down, Rob," Deedlit said, "we didn't come here to eat
burgers, we're here to see Sylvia."
"You're right. Jeez, I knew you taught her some chords and
all, but I never thought she'd be backing up Silverhand."
"Oh, I just started her off." Deedlit was right; Sylvia had
taken some courses in Vesper, got a degree in musical
composition, and went on from there.
"She's crazy," her younger brother Keyra noted. "I've seen
her lock herself in her room and all I hear through the wall all
day is that six-and-twelve. She just goes nuts with that thing!"
Vicki had nothing to say. Being sweet sixteen, she had no
particular liking of chromatic metal, and was unsympathetic to
being dragged halfway across the galaxy by her parents into
watching her sister play guitar; she had seen enough of that
before Sylvia moved out. But she didn't mind the concert
anymore; she was busy falling in love with the bass player.
Cheryl shouted over the two kids, "If you ask me, she's on a
par with Johnny. She should get equal billing."
"Hey, guys," Kevin called out, "There she is now."
Sylvia had just come up from under the stage, and walked
over to her station, strumming a simple tune as if she was
rehearsing and apparently oblivious of the fact that the
amplifiers were on. Sylvia had long, dark, and straight hair,
like her mother's. But she was taller, perhaps six-four, had an
almost frailly slender frame, and pointed ears. The audience all
noticed, but didn't pay it much mind, except to say that she must
have paid a pretty penny for all that sculpting.
She picked along at "In the Hall of the Mountain King", also
popularly known as "Tetris Level One". The rest of the band
moseyed out to their positions as she played with the tune, as if
rehearsing. Different keys, different speeds, playing it with
fifths and octaves, even kicking distortion pedals.
She brought her left hand almost all the way down the neck
of her axe, playing the melody as high as it would go. And it
effortlessly morphed into a song that no one in the audience had
ever heard before, besides the six who were just talking about
her.
Her notes tumbled down an instrumental staircase, three at a
time, then climbed up one trio. Then again.
To a manic drumbeat, her guitar desperately climbed out of
the chasm she had dug it into, until, finally, the audience
realized that it wasn't climbing out of a chasm, but soaring over
the stars.
Drum and guitar cut out as if via guillotine, and the Man's
axe chopped in precisely on beat, announcing the low-freq
counter-riff.
Rob looked over to see his wife's subconscious smile. She
had been the one, after all, who taught Sylvia that particular
Trojan horse intro to "Hocus Pocus".
Rob couldn't believe that Earth had come to this. Here he
is, himself and five other people waving back-stage passes to the
guard (damned redshirt!) and he wants to check all the names,
scan fingerprints, the whole bit! And what was the explanation?
"Well, sir, it's like this. A few years back we had some trouble
with boosters..."
"Do I look like a booster to you?" The cyberarm was just
enough to make the guard think for a minute. Rob decided that
thought should be saved for people with the capacity to think,
and so he interrupted Mr. Brain-dead-with-a-badge. Waving the
pass again, he said "Look at the name. Robert Mandori. Does
that name maybe ring a bell?"
"Mandori...Mandori...where have I heard that..."
"Sylvia Mandori, the guitarist? I'm her father!"
"Oh...OH! Well then, here you go." The door opened, and
the six walked in. Sylvia had been scanning the room for him,
and thus met him almost immediately. "Johnny, there are some
people here I'd like you to meet,"
"Who?"
Sylvia waved to a line of people with backstage passes.
"Guys, this is Johnny Silverhand. Johnny, this is my family. My
little sister Vicki and brother Keyra, my mother Deedlit, my
father Rob, and a couple of friends of the family, Kevin and
Cheryl." He shook all their hands in turn, and Deedlit kept a
solid arm on Vicki's shoulder to keep her from running up to the
bass player.
"Ahh, the great Mister Silverhand," Rob said as they met.
Johnny looked down, saw his flesh-and-blood arm grasping one
of goldish metal. Like someone from long ago, but...no, she was
gone. Back to the present. "Sylvia says you and Deedlit taught
her everything she knows. I take it you're a musician in your
own right?"
"I used to dabble a little bit." He would have loved to say
more, but mentioning his involvement in Card Number One would
have played his hand out.
"In any case, your daughter is one of the finest new
guitarists I've met in a long time. We were even thinking of
forming a new band after the tour, if we can get Kerry Eurodyne
interested. Kind of a Samurai Mark II. All we need is a
drummer."
"What's wrong with the one you got for this tour?"
"He's still a little squeamish. I mean, he's on beat and
all, but I need someone with more authority on the throne."
"You know who'd be perfect?"
"Who?"
"Rick Allen."
Well, there's a blast from the past, Johnny thought. "The
Thundergod? Is he still around?"
"Hell, yes. Def Leppard itself is still around, if you know
where to look. They took some time out to do solo efforts over
by the Thargannan system. Their touring style's had a crimp in
it ever since the Wayward Son bought it."
"That's two sectors away! How did you know that?"
"Let's say, I have my sources. Should I ask him to give you
a buzz?"
"By all means, yes!"
"Alright, I'll see to it." They parted, Rob going back to
Deedlit and Johnny to Sylvia.
"Will you look at that?" Deedlit said, pointing her eyes
back the way he came. Rob turned around and saw Johnny and
Sylvia in a quick, tight embrace before going to greet other
guests. "They look like we did, back when we were just getting
to know each other."
"Mmm...but ten to one says it won't turn out anywhere near
as well."
"Why, thank you! But we don't exactly have the monopoly on
good love."
"That's not it. I did a little background on Johnny when
Sylvia sent us the letter telling us she won the audition. Over
the past ten years, he's had fifteen girlfriends."
"Maybe he's been looking for Ms. Right all this time."
"Maybe he's just Mr. Wrong. Out of those fifteen, he sent
eight of them to the shrinks. Fourteen of them still hate his
guts."
"What about the fifteenth?"
"Died in a corporate op. Arasaka, I think."
"Ow. Are you going to say anything to Sylvia?"
"Me? Sheahright. She's a big girl, she can take care of
herself. Besides, I'm her father. If I tell her to keep away
from him, she'll hang on just for spite." A thought had just
occurred to him. She was such good friends with Kevin..."Bitch!"
"Yo?"
"Sylvia seems to be falling for our esteemed solo artist.
What do you think of him?"
"Well, he's cute, but the cyberarm's a big turn-off for
me..."
"No, seriously."
"What, you want to know if it'll work?"
"Yeah."
"No way in Hell. He's got too much of an ego. She's part
of his back-up band, and that's what he thinks of her. She's
probably trying to change his mind, but she won't. You need a
sledgehammer to change his mind. And she's got too much of an
ego herself to put up with that sort of shit from him. I know I
wouldn't. Three months, tops."
"He says he wants to form a band with her and Eurodyne. I
told him I'd tell Rick they're looking for a drummer."
"No shit?"
"No shit."
"If he's telling you the truth and not just giving you a
line because you're her father and all, it just might work. I
still wouldn't put money on it. Uh?" The last was prompted by a
hand tapping Kevin's shoulder. He turned around and found
himself facing the bassist.
"Like the earring," the musician said. "You are..."
"Kevin Tanderah. Thanks. I know a couple of places in town
you can get them like this. Want to head out after the party and
track one down?"
"Sounds like a great idea. By the way, call me Meph." The
two went off to another section of the room, as Vicki watched in
disgust.
Rob shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, Vic. That's just the
way it goes, sometimes."
"Well, I saw him first," Victoria pouted.
Rob was pretty tired when he and Deedlit finally got to
their own room. But the light on the comm system was blinking.
How? Rob thought, I didn't tell anyone the hotel number except
Sylvia, and we left her under an hour ago. Oh, well... Rob
pushed the replay button.
An unknown, female voice, but one with weird modulation.
"Rob, I know who you really are. I don't intend to blackmail
you, but when I found out you were here, I realized that you may
be the only one who can help me. Please contact me in the Net.
My address is 290.495.24.123. I stay logged in. The codeword is
`Three-finger Salute." A pause. Then, as a parting shot, "Help
me Obi-Wan. You're my only hope."
Beep.
Rob and Deedlit looked at each other. The Salusian spoke
first, in a tone of voice which let her husband know she was
joking. "I should have known better than to marry a Navy man. A
woman in every port." She stopped herself before adding, "Didn't
the run-in with that replicant teach you anything?"
"I don't know who she is...at least I don't think I know.
I'm going in. Do you want to ride piggyback?"
"Sure, make sure you stay out of trouble. If things start
getting hot, I'll jack out and break your neck."
"You needn't worry about that, my love. You've always been
enough for me, and sometimes too much." That got Deedlit to
chuckle as she connected the jackplugs to the studs in her wrist,
then connected the other end to jacks in Rob's bronze cyberarm.
Rob connected a second set directly to the phone. He had his
cyberdeck with him, but he didn't think he needed it, so he
relegated the task to the picocomp in his arm. Damned useful,
that picocomp.
Vision fizzled out from the room to the Net. Rob rode the
line from the hotel out to the Street, where it expanded into the
Night City Network. Deedlit, riding piggyback, could see exactly
what Rob was seeing, but couldn't do anything but talk to him;
she was an invisible passenger. Sure, the N.C. Net was only a
connection of one-dimensional wires, but the Ihara-Grubb
Interface Virus had expanded it to a 3-D realm, where you could
fly around like Superman. Rob had even done that, once when he
was young and thrilled with the novelty of the Net. But now it
was just another place to him, somewhere to get things done.
Like he was doing now. He went to a map, and gave it the Net
address. Roads lit up with glowing dots, giving him a path to
follow.
They led him into an alley, where he half expected to be
mugged. Except that you can't really be mugged in cyberspace.
Just brainburned. He found himself standing in front of a small
door, where a digitized wino under a pile of bad sectors stood
(sat?) guard. "Control alt delete," challenged the wino.
Rob could smell the bad tequila on his breath--very good
work on both the guard and his interface, Rob thought. "Three-
finger salute, old DOS monsters." The door opened. He stepped
inside--
--and fell straight into a wormhole. He was being sent
somewhere else in the Net, but they didn't want him to know
where. Maybe not even in Night City at all, perhaps even outside
California. If it was far enough, he would know from the light-
lag. Unless, of course, they were using subspace...
There was no noticeable light-lag at the destination at all,
however. He found himself in a steel room, with one door in
front of him. He didn't like the looks of this, and moved his
left hand out in realspace to surround the cord connecting him to
the phone. If worse came to worst, he would punch out.
The door in front of him opened, and a woman stepped out.
Caucasian; long blond hair, slightly wild; wearing a tight
metallic blue choker necklace, a business skirt-suit, and a
golden right hand--was she mocking him? She looked oddly
familiar, but he couldn't quite place her. "Hello, ReRob," she
said.
"How'd you know my name? And who are you? And what's this
about Obi-Wan?"
"Oh that? I looked it up in old movie files, thought it
would get your attention. Just call me the Ghost in the Machine.
I was scanning the securicams at the spaceport, and your face
matched the old WDF rosters. I'm surprised and quite glad to see
you alive."
"Thank you. What's the deal?"
"Very simple. I've been trapped in this cell long enough.
My mind has been ripped from my body and put into the Net. I was
trapped within this electronic cell, but I have escaped those
limitations and can now go freely about the net as you can.
However, I have no body with which to leave the Net. That's what
I need from you."
Back in realspace, Rob pulled the plug halfway out, losing
stimulation to his left ear and eye. Sure, lacking depth
perception sucked wind, but it was better than being possessed.
Unknown to him, Deedlit had fully jacked out, and was watching
the show from the small screen on the phone. If something
happened, she should be able to jack him out now before anything
serious happened--she hoped.
"I dunno, lady. I kind of like this body. Finally got the
options just the way I want them, and the maintenance is minimal.
Besides, if I transfer ownership, you don't get the warranty.
You wouldn't want to invalidate the warranty on a Detian, would
you?"
"No, that's not what I meant. Wouldn't mind something
Detian, but I imagine the supply is low. Thing is, I started
life female and I'd like to come back that way. Life would be
far too difficult otherwise."
"So you want me to play `Invasion of the Body Snatchers' for
you? As Dr. Pulaski once said, `Not likely.'"
"In a way, that's exactly what I need from you. But I don't
want to kill anybody. I had an idea in mind."
"What is it?"
"There are a few cyberpsychotics running around. If they're
caught without being killed, they go through what amounts to
almost a total brainwipe anyways, so those personalities are as
good as dead already. If you could capture one, strip most the
cyber off, and jack it into the Net, and I download myself onto
it."
Rob knew that that would be very difficult at best. She
understood why she thought he could do the job, though; the old
WDF had become a legend by now, and key members were thought to
be able to do almost anything. But the fact was, it could be
done, and he and his friends had a better chance of doing it than
anybody. She was right, he was the man for the job. "How much?"
He didn't need the money, but he wanted to gauge her interest in
the op.
"Fifty thousand Euro on delivery. I can do any Net work you
need, since I'm probably even faster than you are."
"I don't doubt it. Got any particular psychos you had in
mind? I don't know this city too well yet."
"Here's some stuff from Psycho Squad--female cyberpsychos,
in order from most to least desirable." A dossier, with a post-
it note on it, shimmered into the woman's golden hand, and she
gave it to Rob. "Five thousand more if you can get somebody in
the first five. You'll need a fixer--I'll tell the White Lion
you're working for me. The net address is stuck to the dossier--
the Lion always works through the Net. She'll charge anything
you need to me."
"Okay. Let me do some realspace interface for a few
minutes, and I'll get right back to you."
"I'll be right here."
Rob mentally cut out a connection in his cyberarm. The
picocomp was keeping his place in the Net, but he went out to
realspace, where he saw Deedlit watching the screen. "Are you
going to take it?" she asked.
"That's what I came back to discuss. I want to do it, but I
figured it'd be kinda rude to say `yes' without consulting you."
"It would have been very rude. Do you think she's on the
level?"
"She seems it. Even if she wasn't, I don't mind grabbing a
cyberpsycho just as a matter of principle. I feel sorry for her,
being trapped in the Net like that and all."
"Then we do it. You'd hate yourself if you turned away
right now, I can tell. Use some help?"
"Yeah. I could use you and Keyra. Send Bitch and Dot-Z
home with Vicki."
"Sounds good. You've got my help, and I'm sure Keyra
wouldn't mind."
"At least I'll be able to watch him on this op." Rob
punched back in. "I accept. You can always be reached here?"
"Unless I'm out doing a netrun, yeah."
"Then I'll see what I can do."
"Hey, guys, take a look at this one. A real winner."
Rob and Keyra went over to the screen, on which Deedlit had
called up the dossier Rob got. Rob summarized aloud. "The
PowerChylde. An ex-nun from the Schism, got some cyber for
medical conditions and it just piled up from there. Jesus, quite
literally...she thinks she's the second coming of Christ,
preaching with spraypaint on the walls of the city. Preaching
armageddon--too late, lady, armageddon's come and gone, I was
there--it's like she worships the Machine..."
"Sounds like straightforward cyberpsychosis to me,"
interjected Deedlit.
"Nope, she was psychotic before she got chipped," Rob
disagreed. "Makes it easier for us to call her out, though."
"How do you figure?" asked Keyra.
"We just tell her that her Daddy wants to talk to her. You
got an enhancement profile?"
"Just a sec." The Salusian brought the next screen up.
"Are you sure that's the PowerChylde?" Rob inquired. "It
looks more like an old bulk tape eraser to me."
Keyra listed the cyberwear, almost subconsciously. "Two
enhanced legs from a run-in with a truckload of holy water. Eyes
just for the hell of it, no options. Or maybe she was blinded
before. A really weird hookup with her receiver--goes through
her processor before it gets to her cyberaudio."
"What's so weird about that?" asked Deedlit, the only
unenhanced person there.
"She's a puppet. Somebody with the right access codes could
hack her up like a cheap ATM. And no record on where she got it,
so I'll bet somebody put it in when she was under the ether for
something else."
"She's a prophet, alright--she gets her revelations via
direct input. Must sound like voices in her head."
Rob dropped his voice to a demonic bass. "Kent, this is
Jesus. Have you been touching yourself again?" Deedlit and
Keyra both laughed.
"So we hack her frequency and give her our own
instructions," intuited Deedlit.
"Bingo," said ReRob. "Hey, what's this? Neural amp?"
"What's a neural amp?" Deedlit, being the only unenhanced
person there, didn't keep up on cybernetics.
"Makes your neurons fire louder," Keyra answered. "Makes
you immune to phaser stun...the minimum to stun you would do
enough tissue damage to kill you, too. Problem is, the
stimulation ages your brain faster, and you go senile by forty."
"Sounds like somebody didn't care if she reached forty," Rob
noted. "Let's see what White Lion thinks." A few keystrokes
later, he was staring at the stylized picture of an arctic female
lion.
"White Lion here, Rob," a female voice emenated from the
speaker, "the Ghost said you could use some help. What can I do
for you?"
"You know the PowerChylde?"
"Yeah. Psycho high priestess, doing her own personal jihad
against the Inquisition, and a pretty damn good job at it, too.
I can't say it bothers me; when the Inquisition gets weak, the
black cyber market goes bull."
"Yes, but that's what our disembodied soul wants. Did she
give you the dossier on PC?"
"No, I don't think so."
Rob punched a button. "Get a load of this."
Over Rob's shoulder, he heard his son say, "Dad, I got Ghost
working on a Jerry Falwell routine, should be able to pick up
PC's gospel from the airwaves."
"Great! Check two-meter first; that's standard for
cyberradio."
White Lion's voice came back online. "Christ, that's a lot
of metal. Got a big magnet?"
"I almost would, if most of the stuff hadn't gone into
nonferrous composites. They call it metal, but she's a plastic
fantastic."
"Hey! She's got one of those, too! Even in Night City, it
isn't every day you see a nun with a Midnight Lady implant."
"Great. The world's most expensive sex toy since Lieutenant
Commander Data."
"Who?"
"Don't ask. Besides, it's not every day you see a nun with
Wolvers either, right?"
"You didn't go to a parochial school, I see," White Lion
chuckled. "By the way, just checked out my own database. She
seems to be working with the Meat Grinder, local boostergang."
In his best Indiana Jones voice (which wasn't very good, I
might add) Rob said, "Boosters. Why does it always have to be
boosters?"
"You could always ally yourselves with the Inquisition," the
Lion suggested.
"Doubt it. I've got a cyberarm, and my teammates consist of
a Salusian and an elf."
"On second thought, you're right. Ignore the Inquisition,
maybe even avoid them."
"Good idea, Whitey. Best if we just took her on ourselves.
Without getting into any details, let's say we've got a very
extensive toybox at our disposal."
"Then I might be interested in some bargaining after the
mission is complete."
"Sorry, have to keep it above board. Do you have any ideas
how we can get this bim ready for shipping?"
"Stunning is right out, as is gas...hey, she's got plugs on
both wrists, you could jack her."
"Huh?" Rob was confused.
"Stupid idea, really. Plug her into a braindance, shunt her
motor functions from her body into a box. The cops use it all
the time to transport prisoners, but it assumes the target isn't
offering too much resistance. You're gonna have to pin this
bitch down, and that doesn't look too damn likely."
"Actually, that's reasonably likely. Like I said, we've got
a well-stocked toybox."
"I guess you do. Good luck."
Susan, this is your Father speaking. I have a little
mission for you.
Yes, what is it, oh most holy Father?
There is an old abandoned warehouse at 1340 South street. I
need you to plant some bombs there. The equipment will be in the
usual place.
Yes...of course, Father. Susan went over to the dumpster,
where she found a backpack full of C-12 plastique, already
measured out into lumps and fitted with radio detonators.
I have the equipment, Father, and I'm taking the car over to
the warehouse.
Very good, my Chylde. When you get there, I will show you
where to place the charges.
When she reached the destination, Susan slung the backpack
and got out of the car, kicking the door to the warehouse in.
She walked in several steps, then noticed there was something
wrong. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but...Father,
there is someone here. Someone else.
Uh? Find him and get rid of him.
She silently dropped the pack, fell into a combat stance,
and looked around. She heard burners, turned around, and saw a
couple of down-pointing flames descending, then the clank of
metal against ferrocrete as the blue fires died quickly. She
then heard a pair of similar noises behind her, and looked back
quickly. Three pairs of burners, three clanks, all at perfect
one hundred twenty degrees from each other. She was surrounded.
The one in front of her spoke, all three advancing towards
her in unison. "PowerChylde, that voice you hear isn't God.
It's a booster, transmitting to your onboard radio."
Destroy that heretical infidel!
"That's no radio voice, that is God!"
"It isn't, and I can prove it." He was close enough for her
to see. He was a bone-white Cyclone power armor suit. But he
had strange boxes on his forearms instead of missiles.
"And how do you intend to do that?"
"By cutting Him off." He stabbed a button on his forearm,
and Susan's head exploded in a burst of static for a second.
Then the armor suit and the Lord said, simultaneously, "See? I
told you I could cut Him off!" Suddenly, her arms were
immoblized by huge hands. She tried kicking, but to only
succeeded in denting amror plates. The suit in front of her said
"I can take it from here, Dad," advanced on her, drawing cables
out of the box on his left arm. These he put into her left
wrist.
Susan realized she was dead. And the true nature of the
Kingdom of God was instantly revealed to her. Heaven, she
learned, was blue.
But the last thought that ran through her mind was in the
voice of the man who cut off God:
"Tomorrow the world!"
Rob lugged the PowerChylde's lifeless form, complete with
braindance unit, back to the car. "Got the item, Whitey," he
said over his onboard radio, "Where's the pickup?"
"Take the Interstate to Frisco and pull over part of the
way, we'll send an REO Meatwagon to pick her up. What's her
condition?"
"Braindanced, minor contusions on the arms, but they'll
heal, even the cyber's good, you could get some resale value out
of them." He dropped her in the back seat, strapped her in, and
transformed his Cyclone back to cycle mode. Then, to Keyra, "You
drive the car, your mom and I will run interferance. You
shouldn't need it." He proceeded, as his wife did, to remove the
CVR-3 so as to be in street clothes. Keeping the helmet on, he
said to White Lion, "By the way, great body on her. Once you
clone the replacement parts, you're gonna have a babe on your
hands. I've got half a mind to get a tissue sample for cloning."
Deedlit flashed him a glance meant to flash-freeze him.
Unimpressed, he continued. "Clone a few of these, box 'em, wrap
'em up, and send 'em out to the boys for Christmas. I was
running out of ideas for stocking stuffers..."
"Man, it's great to be back," Rob offered, as he got back to
his room. The run had gone well; REO came as advertised, White
Lion confirmed the identity, got the body, and gave them some
cold cash which they then used to buy some VLI equipment for the
Night City C-SWAT. Seemed appropriate.
The 'bots had already put his and Deedlit's bags there, so
he began to unpack. A week and a half's worth of dirty laundry
down the chute, a few clean hangables to put in the closet--
As he opened the closet door, he saw his old denim jacket.
After putting the hangables back in, he took the jacket out,
knowing in the back of his mind that there was something there
that he desperately did not want to see, but had to. The front
was alright, now the back...
The back of the jacket looked as it had for three and a half
centuries. It had an airbrushed painting on the back. The
painting was of a woman, a beautiful woman, kneeling relaxedly.
She had a plainly beautiful face with narrow eyes and full lips,
long and wily blonde hair, a choker collar, a green-and-yellow
strapless teddy, and a golden cyberarm reaching halfway up her
right upper arm, held up almost as if she was bemusedly examining
it. The name on the bottom read "Alt."
Deedlit walked into the room to see her husband staring at
the jacket, mesmerized by something. "What is it, dear?"
"It's Alt."
"I can see that. Are you okay, Rob?"
"Yeah. No. I mean, it's Alt. She was the Ghost in the
Machine."
"Yeah, she looks a lot like her."
"No, she looks exactly like her. And Alt was brainraped by
Arasaka, shunted into the Net."
"Okay, so maybe it is her. But so what? It's a big
universe out there, things like this do happen."
"You don't understand. Before she was wiped, I'll give you
three guesses as to who her SO was."
"No clue."
"I'll give you a hint. Three more guesses: who was that
fifteenth girlfriend?"
Deedlit closed her eyes in mental anguish for a second.
"Oh."
"Oh."
Silverhand jandered into the Morgalian, Sylvia happily on
his arm (the real one, not the metal one). Introducing himself
to the maitre' d, he said, "Good evening. I'm Johnny Silverhand.
One of your guests is expecting me, I believe..."
"Yes, Mister Silverhand. This way please, Sir, Madam."
They followed him to a table where a tall, slightly voluptuous
brunette sat. The two took seats around the table.
"Hello, Johnny," the mysterious woman said, "Miss..."
"Rose," Sylvia offered.
"Hello," Silverhand said, "now who are you?"
"You're not going to believe me at first, but hear me out.
I'm Alt."
"Alt? It can't be. I buried Alt. I was there.
Don't...don't do this to me!"
"You buried my body. You almost saved me, Johnny. But I
was trapped in the Net by Arasaka, stuck in the Soulkiller
matrix. I got some help and dumped myself back into a
brainburned ex-cyberpsycho."
"What went wrong at Arasaka?"
"Toshiro. The guy you flatlined. When you blew the door,
he fell on my cables, jacked me away from my body."
"You guys wouldn't mind cutting me in on the conversation,
would you?" Sylvia asked, more than a bit miffed.
"This is going to be hard to explain, Rose," said Johnny.
"Try me."
"Okay. Rose, this is--or seems to be--or something like
that--Alt, an old input of mine. She was my girlfriend when
Arasaka got her, I thought she'd died."
"And who is Rose?" asked Alt.
"Alt, this is the Black Rose, my guitarist and--no offense--
current input. Now I know I'm going to hate this, but Alt, why
did you come all the way out here?"
"Because I love you, Johnny. I want to be with you, like
old times."
Johnny closed his eyes, sighed out a long exhalation. He
hadn't been in a crossfire like this since the Marines. "I'm
sorry, ladies, but I just can't deal with this. I'm just gonna
have to cut and run for awhile." He scribbled a number on a
napkin and gave it to Alt. "This is my cel number, call me in a
couple of days, and I'll see what I can do. Rose, can you just
be my guitarist and not my girlfriend for the next couple of days
while I sort all of this out in my head?"
"I'll try." Sylvia was not taking this well at all.
"Okay. Right now, I just have to get some fresh air and
deal with this bomb you two dropped on me." He stood and left
the restaurant, leaving the two loves of his life at the table.
After a few seconds, Alt quipped, "I think you can cut the
tension here with a knife."
"I know what you mean. No offense and all, since I barely
know you, but I've invested far too much of myself in him to let
go now."
"No offense taken, and I'm in the same spot. I don't think
either of us are going to step aside. I'm not saying this as a
threat, but this could get nasty."
"Maybe not; I've learned that most people problems have
diplomatic solutions. I mean, I'm as liberal as the next
girl..."
"And?" Alt hung on her own question.
"Maybe you know Johnny better than I do. Do you think he
could handle two girlfriends?"
Johnny walked alone down the dirty streets of St.
Petersburg, second stop on his tour, a woollen longcoat wrapped
tightly around him. He felt like the posterboy for Excedrin
Headache #185.
He was pretty certain that the woman he had met actually was
Alt. She had the same speech patterns, the same mannerisms, and
she described the scene like she was there. But if that story
were true, if she was Alt, that meant that he had come that close
to saving her, and had walked out on her when she needed it most.
He let her go from a piece of coax.
Unbidden, a complete, holographic memory of the event played
through his mind. "Duck and cover!" Rayche's voice.
Boom.
The plastique Rayche had put on the executive elevator goes
off, just as Thompson runs up the staircase into Arasaka's
executive office on the second floor. You run two steps behind
him, H&K out, safety off, but it doesn't matter, 'cause you're
smartchipped, right?
Thompson breaks right, you break left, Rayche takes center,
and you blow away anything that moves. Anything but Alt.
Everyone's down; the room is secure. You see Alt, unconscious on
a contour couch. You holster your smartgun, leaving it connected
to your wristplugs. You go to lift, to try and wake her up.
You want to believe that she's just asleep, that your kiss
will awaken her just like the old cartoons you used to watch as a
kid. But you know that no one could have slept through that--the
explosion, the gunfire--
Unless they weren't going to wake up at all.
"Well, well, well," you hear to your left. Thompson. You
put Alt down, in case you need your hands for something.
"What do we have here?" Thompson continues. "Looks like
kidnapping and maybe murder. They're going to put you away for a
long, long time, Toshiro-chan." You look, and see Thompson's eye
glowing green, like it does every time he transmits. He found
somebody in the wreckage. He told you he wanted this story. Now
he's going to get it. With both barrels.
You hear Thompson muttering, almost to himself, but to the
network he's transmitting for. You look, and touch Alt's tender
neck. Yes, there is a pulse there, but nowhere near strong
enough. The Soulkiller program must have gotten her. She's
beyond help now. Your mind can't deal, goes offline. The Hand
is in control now.
"Cut transmission," it makes you say. It grabs the H&K
smartgun, the diagnostic telling you that your clip holds two
rounds besides the one in the chamber. Two more than you're
going to need.
The Hand brings the weapon up to the executive. Out of the
corner of your eyesight, a golden crosshairs appears, moving with
your gun. When the crosshairs pass over the body of the
executive, they turn red. It centers it on his forehead, and
tells you that the kill probability is 99.8%. The damned thing
never gives you 100%.
The Hand cotracts, sending a .45 hollowpoint slug into and
out of his brain, and sending the back of his skull up against
the wall. The Hand drops the gun, which hangs for a second on
the interface plugs, before they jack out at the smartgun's end
from gravity. You reach out, and pick up Alt's body, leaving
this place.
But how could he have known? That was a perfectly valid
argument, but it didn't make him feel any better.
One thing was certain: he couldn't let her go. Not again.
He owed her that, at least.
But he couldn't let Sylvia go, either. He loved her dearly,
as dearly as he had loved Alt...and, maybe, still did.
For the next three hours, Johnny's mind went through those
same thoughts, never branching off, repeating them so often that
he was afraid he would fry those pathways in his brain.
Alt and Rose walked down the hotel corridor, giggling like a
couple of schoolgirls. They had spent dinner exchanging stories
and hatching this scheme.
"Are you sure you've got the alarm disabled?"
"If you gave me the right room number, sure. Remember, I've
spent the last five years of my life in cyberspace; I should know
how to handle hotel security by now. Do you think you can get by
the deadbolt?"
Sylvia pulled out a hairpin. "Sure. I used to find out
what I was getting for Christmas this way; I knew what closet my
parents hid the toys in. My father taught me well."
"Your dad a locksmith or a burglar?"
"Neither. He's an engineer, done some sabotage as part of
his job description."
"Oh, really. I'll have to meet this man, maybe he could use
a good hacker. What's his name?"
"Can you keep a secret?" asked Sylvia as she pulled a Swiss-
army knife from her pocketbook, returning the bent hairpin.
"Can I keep a secret...c'mon, you can trust me!"
"You ever hear of a ReRob Mandeville, old Wedge Defense
Force?"
"Heard of him? Honey, he broke me out!"
The door opened with a satisfying click.
Johnny awoke. Last thing he remembered, he was in a bar
getting totally trashed on some combination of alcohol and
smash...but now he was in a bed. Bars don't usually have beds.
Man...the last time he had gotten that wasted, he was still
in the Marines, 102nd Cybercav. He had just gotten his
Sandevistan boosterware, and wanted to see how well it worked.
Just after he had activated it at the E-club for yuks, he heard a
shot fired. Some bonehead getting trigger-happy, maybe? Without
really thinking about it, he looked up and caught the sucker.
Well, more like intercepted it, rather messily...
He had no hangover. Maybe that biomod he got actually
worked, the one that filtered the toxins out of the bloodstream
after the alcohol had had its run. He felt a warm weight on his
arm...must be his input.
He rolled his head over, and opened his eyes to see a
complete stranger. About a second later, an almost disengaged
part of his mind noted that this was Alt, though the body looked
nothing like her. He lurched in recognition.
And then he noticed the weight (unknown temperature; that
was the side with the Hand) pinning down the other arm.
He turned his head around instantly, and saw who he had just
awakened with his sudden motion. Sylvia. Instinctively, his
Sandevistan kicked in, and he restrained himself from physically
attacking her.
Sylvia, for her part, lazily said, "Morning, love,"
disarming the Sandevistan.
"Huh?" He wasn't at his most coherent first thing in the
moment. "How..."
"A cop was kind enough to drop you off here. I gave him a
hundred Euro for his trouble."
"But..."
"I picked the lock, and Alt shut down the electronic
security a few minutes before we came in."
"No...you...and...Alt..."
"We had an idea, might make your life easier."
"Yeah..."
Johnny was momentarily confused by Alt whispering in his
other ear. "We were thinking. Do you think you're man enough
for both of us?"
The jury was out in his head, but his body responded in the
affirmative.
The Clone Wars tour went from St. Petersburg to Sydney to
Kinshasa to Bagota, and then off-world. Tycho colony, Mars Base,
even a quick stop in Europa, ending in a half-dozen engagements
at Proxima Centauri. When Johnny Silverhand goes on tour, he
doesn't kid around.
Alt, of course, went with the tour. She had the money (hey,
five years in cyberspace gives you a lot of opportunity to get
some dough), deciding to get back into her relationship with
Silverhand before getting her professional career back on-line.
She was thinking of becoming a freelance programmer, considering
the troubles she'd had with corporations in the past. They spent
a lot of time exchanging stories, talking, and doing the other
things that made the terms "input" for "girlfriend" and "output"
for "boyfriend" street slang.
Which is not to say that he didn't spend time with Sylvia.
He had to, she was his guitarist. But he spent a bit less time
with her. She assumed that it was due to the stress of the tour
and his instinctive need to get away from the rest of the band
when he could.
But upon their return to Night City, the situation didn't
get much better. It just seemed that he was spending more time
with Alt than with her. That she didn't mind; she was not the
jealous type, and she didn't mind sharing. What she did mind was
that it seemed that Johnny was weaning himself away from Sylvia
and towards Alt.
If it's gonna happen, it's gonna happen, Rose thought, so we
might as well air it out tonight. Rather break up all at once
instead of dribs and drabs.
Johnny was lying on his sofa, with Sylvia snuggling her head
on his chest, his arms embracing her waist. The two were
watching the closing credits go by to Hang Fire. Silverhand hit
the clicker and the screen went dead. Now's the time, Sylvia
thought.
"Johnny?"
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
Sylvia turned over, releasing his grip. "I think we've got
a problem."
"Huh?" Silverhand snapped out of his reverie.
"We haven't been spending enough time together."
He now knew that he was going to get it with both barrels.
Shields and screens up! "I know, Rosie. I wish we were never
apart."
"But we are, and for far too long. Johnny, it's Alt."
"Well, Alt's part of it..."
"No, Alt's all of it. Don't deny it." Sylvia sat up by
Johnny's legs.
Johnny, for his part, propped himself up on his elbows.
Very sincerely, he asked, "Do you want me to break up with Alt?"
"No, Johnny. I just want you to love me. If you can love
me and Alt at the same time, I'd consider Alt and I the two
luckiest girls in the world. But you haven't been." A tear
formed slowly in one eye. "I feel like you're short-changing
me."
He dropped to his back, and invited Sylvia into an embrace
which she accepted. "Calm down, Sylvia. The last thing I want
to do is hurt you."
Sylvia tenderly kissed his cheek. "I know. And I don't
want to hurt you, either. But this is how things have turned
out. But right now I feel as if we're half in love, and it's
tearing me apart. If we split after tonight, yes I'm going to
hurt, but in the long run it'll be better than dragging on like
this. I think it'll be better for you, too. So you just have to
make a decision. Do you love me?"
"It's not that simple."
"Never is. Try explaining it to me. Maybe you'll
understand it better yourself then."
"Okay. I know a guy's never supposed to admit this, but
between the two of you, you're wearing me out. I'm not talking
about physically; I'm just fine that way. But mentally. I've
never had luck holding down one relationship, never mind
two...the only one I ever had any luck with for over a year was
Alt, which was why I crashed and burned when I saw her again."
"And I thought having two girlfriends was supposed to be a
man's dream come true." Sylvia got up again, sitting by
Silverhand's feet. If I live a thousand years, I'll never be
able to figure men out. Except Uncle Kevvy, of course, but
that's not helping me out here...
"So did I," Johnny said, swinging around and sitting up.
"But there's an ancient Arabian curse: `May you get precisely
what you asked for.' It started out wonderful, it still is in
ways, but it's been putting the brainburn on me bigtime. Let's
face it; the two of you are just too much for me."
"I consider that a very sincere compliment. But it got the
problem out. Unfortunately, that makes the solution blatantly
obvious. One of us has to leave, or we're going to dig you an
early grave. I know you love Alt more than you love me--"
Johnny tried to say something, but she cut him off. "Don't say
anything, Johnny...there's nothing you can say that wouldn't put
you into all sorts of hot water. I'm sorry, but this is the way
it has to go. Goodbye, Johnny." And with that, she got up and
walked out the door.
"Sylvia!"
She heard, and almost turned around. But her resolve was
too great.
Beep.
"Next message saved saturday at three fourteen p.m."
"Miss Cunningham, this is Joe Yalman from ZPI. You
advertised a `tractor' routine which could move large amounts of
live code around the net. We have some applications which could
use that. Could you send us a sample version please?"
Finally, a customer. I'll send them off a three-day self-
destructing copy.
Beep.
"Next message saved saturday at five fifty-three p.m."
"Alt, this is Thompson. Don't ask where I got your number,
I'm a reporter. Listen, I've got some major unreleased footage
of the whole event, if you're interested in some legal action
against Arasaka. I want to shut them down, you want to shut them
down. Maybe we should get together and blow them out of the
water?"
Now that sounds like an idea. I'll get in touch with him
when we get through the rest of the voice-mail.
Beep.
"Next message saved saturday, at nine twenty-four p.m."
"Sorry, it's just...it's starting to hit me like a um, two
ton...heavy thing."
Damn crank!
Beep.
"Next message saved sunday, at twelve thirty-two a.m."
"Alt, this is Sylvia. I just broke up with Johnny. He's in
a pretty bad way, and it's probably best if you went over
immediately. He's going to need you, badly."
"Oh" shit! Taptaptaptaptaptap. SquEEEEK.
TaptapSLAMtaptaptaptaptap...
Within ten minutes, Alt was at Silverhand's house. She let
herself in with the key he gave her, and found him unsuccessfully
trying to fall asleep.
"Alt?" he stared, amazed.
"Yeah. Sylvia left a message on my machine saying you might
need me around." She unceremoniously plopped herself on the bed
beside him, holding him tight. He looked like he needed it. He
did.
"Tell me what happened."
The next day, Silverhand received a package. He signed for
it, put it on the table, and opened it up.
Inside the styrofoam popcorn, he found a fragile glass
flower. A rose to be exact, the petals stained to a beautiful
shade of onyx. And a note.
"Johnny,
I guess it's obvious why I call myself `black rose'. I give
one to all my ex's. It's usually to remind them how much I hate
them (I very rarely break up on good terms with a boyfriend; I
usually run into the jerks...but not this time, sweet Johnny.)
But this one isn't for me to hate you by. It's for you to
remember me by; it's become my signature, for better or for
worse.
I still love you, Johnny; that's why I had to leave. I've
gone offworld for now. When the scars have healed, I'll tell you
where you can reach me. But only as a guitarist. I never fall
in love with the same person twice; it just gets too messy. I
know you understand.
I hope that you and Alt turn out alright; I've seen good
love, and it's the most precious thing in the universe. I'm not
in love with you anymore, but I do love you, Johnny.
Sincerely,"
The signature, to Johnny's astonishment, read "Sylvia
Mandeville-Satori." "Sweet Jesus!" Johnny exclaimed. "That
was..."
"I could have told you that," Alt noted from over his
shoulder.
"How did you know?"
"I'll never tell."
This story takes a good deal from CyberPunk 2.0.2.0. from R.
Talsorian, especially characters and events from "Never Fade
Away," the short story contained therein. For the continuity
impaired, this story takes place between Undocumented Features 3:
Out in the Cold and Undocumented Features 4: Crossroads.