SPHERES, A SCI-FI PBEM


01 HANDSHAKING

	Along a corridor of Keuschburg's starport, around the arc from the food court, there is a pretty nondescript waiting room. A single, somewhat larger section of corridor (with attached bathrooms) stretched between the customs office and the concession area. A distant speaker plays the latest song by Bantu Beat, and an autostore hologram hawks ready-made optical implants. Scents of spicy Dali-Thai food, ammonia and biofuel drift lazily in the air. A broken infogram relays news that are already weeks old (something about a visit by a high official of the Human Space Defense Alliance). 
	Two workers walk by, talking about "docking tolerances" and "container depths." A family of South Asian extraction jabber as they go down the hall, apparently lost, followed by their cargobot. A steady stream of people continue in and out of the bathroom, and up and down the corridor, all bound for other settlements or systems, but a few people stay constant in the flow. A few stand silently, a few sit in the cracked and aging seating, a few pace like caged tigers, a few shuffle nervously but all notice the others, and size them up.
	Are they going to be working with me? That very large man seated off to one side for example? Dark haired, dark eyed and of light brown complexion, he appears to be engrossed in a leatherbound softcover book titled "Manasek: Proper Procedures for the Devout", but that could be a cover. A cursory examination shows him to be dressed in a utilitarian traveler's robe w/hood emblazoned with symbols and designs of a distinctly Arabian flavor. On the seat next to him is a long wooden walking staff ringed at several spots in metal, and on other is a small backpack with many external pockets, strapped atop which is a very worn looking rolled up rug. Just then, he unstraps the rug from his backpack, lays it in one corner, kneels upon it and begins a series of prayers. Ummmm.
	This other stands against one wall, possibly a little impatient, or maybe it's some sort of hyperactive readiness. Hard to tell, as he appear to have no eyes. His head is covered in a mirrored sheath from just below his eye sockets to his cranium. What is that thing? It's obviously some sort of cybernetic enhancement, though exactly what is unsure.
	A Caucasian male sits in one chair in the corner, is he the combat expert she told me about? He is not very tall and looks vaguely like someone from the Mediterranean area of Earth... dark hair and eyes, with olive skin. He is intently watching something on a rico, with occasional exclamations of alternating joy and dispair. He sometimes looks away and up at the people around him, but usually for only about the length of a commercial break. 
	Who's that guy over there -- a derelict or some kind of disguise expert? And on that other one, is that bulge a gun, or a handscanner (and how did they get it through customs)? The man with the bulge wears what appears to be an old uniform, though any patches or markings have been removed. Its loose fitting, heavy fabric and earthy tones seem a familiar, conforting presence to him. On his upper arm, a black armband, held in place by his rico and inscribed with arabic letters and the words 'Ali's Hope'. The man himself is fit and heavy set. Is he the combat expert? Above calm blue eyes he sports a thick beard reminiscent of the thing in front of old earth trains (a cowcatcher, they called it). He is presently engaged in a quiet conversation with a mother and her child.
	Is that -- A woman walks out of the bathroom, face down, tousling her hair a bit. As she looks up, those in the group all check -- is it the woman their contacts had described? But she seem nondescript, and simply walks away, down towards the concession area. Not her then. The questions start again, some taking a more personnal bend: Am I going to get a job out of this? Why do I have to take scraps from that damned agency? Why did I ever believe that guy could get me a useful job? 
	Four o'clock comes and goes, and none of the assembled group see the person they are looking for. The hologram at the autostore changes to an ad for a new entertainment app; the cargobots are replaced by a small fleet of sweeper-mice. A couple -- apparently a pair -- eye each other, shrugg, and walk back towards the red light district. Several other people who seemed to have been gathered for the same purpose also drift off. Finally, a mere handful remain. They look at each other steadily -- they can see skill and resolve in each other's eyes, and respect is a natural courtesy for such professionals -- but just then, each receive a contact from someone. 
	In their own ways -- through skull implant, or wrist computer, or phone -- they take the call. It's the woman, the one who'd walked off after shaking her head. She simply says, "15 minutes, at the food court..." Would they follow her?

	The man in uniform disentangles his beard from the playful grasp of the child, smoothing it back into shape. "'Fraid my ride is here." He says, addressing the child's mother. "Pleasant trip." He stands, squares large shoulders, flicks the gold tack on his ear for luck and starts walking towards the concession area, heavy boots making a subdued thump with each step... He stops rather quickly though as he is met by three others moving in the same direction, obviously heeding the woman's call.
	There is the Rico-watcher, the very large man and a slender, unremarkable looking individual, wearing a grayish-green jumpsuit. He'd been sitting quietly by the door, talking to himself and reading, unnoticed by most as they came and went. When the call came in, he ran a hand across his close-cropped brown hair, looked down at the seat where a large carry-all and a small glass case were resting and muttered, "About time, eh Norris?" Then he got up and met the others, leading to the present situation...
	From off the side, the derelict, a not so well dressed man of Middle Eastern descent, stands up from his squatting position and moves to the knot of other men. As he does, they notice a leather thong threaded with beads. Maybe you assume that these are his prayer beads and that he is in-fact a man of the Islamic world view. Your guesses are confirmed as he addresses the group with the traditional "A'Selaam Ahley-Kuum" and begins playing with his beads in his right hand. 
	Some answer with "Ahley-Kuum A'Selaam.". Others wonder what it all means while the man with the glass case just says "Hi". As nobody seems to be moving down the corridor, the man in uniform curves his path and plunk himself down on a nearby seat with a sigh.
	The mirrored man is resting against one wall, with one leg up. He seems to be staring directly ahead, although of course this is hard to tell as he has no visible eyes.
	The derelict gets right to the point, "I saw that you all got the call from the woman. Who she is, I don't know but I don't like working for women. How about you?"
	The rico man's mouth falls open for a second. "What difference does that make?" he says.
	"What difference?" says Selaam "My last boss was a woman. Now I believe all woman are problem and need men to control them. Maybe I am wrong, but I don't see many business run by women."
	The large man says to the not so well dressed man, "Aleikum a'Salaam, my brother. Forgive me for overhearing your comments, but I am cursed with large ears and excellent hearing and could hardly refrain. Though each man is indeed entitled to his own opinions, some perhaps weigh on the scales of Allah better than others. I would suffer you to perhaps ponder on your opinions about women in light of remembering the actions of the Prophet himself. It is said that when in the early days of his battles with the tribe of Quraish after the flight to Medina he turned to his young wife Aisha to provide the generalship his troops needed to win victory over his harassers. Thus if the Prophet deemed that a woman was fit to command his armies, indeed he must feel her able to command any man if the need be. Alhamduallah!!"
	The man in uniform raises his voice so as to be heard from his position at the outskirts, "Women run it all anyway, brother." he says with suppressed laughter, "Praise Allah most of them don't know it!"
	The not so well dressed smelly man that introduced himself as Salaam chuckles at the other's remarks and nods in stern agreement when the holy book is mentioned. 

	As the conversation continues, the very large man takes a seat next to the bearded uniformed individual. "Sometimes think things were better in the service." remarks the later off-handedly. "Less discussing... You seem the quiet type at least." His upper body dips down on greeting. "Korshnoi. Parents gave me a proper Muslim name, course, but doesn't quite fit anymore. Asgar <smallest>, Asgar Korshnoi." He smiles a small, self-mocking smile.
	The large man turns to Korshnoi and exclaims, "a'Salaam, my friend! It is good indeed to see that the people of Allah have made such a presence for themselves in the Spheres. The Muslim colony here is not very large, yet this day I have met two new brothers. I am most fortunate, indeed. I must admit, though, I am curious as to why you say you had to change the name your father gave you for sake of convenience. Does this not cause you to loose touch with your true self ?"
	Korshnoi raises a thoughtful eyebrow, somewhat surprised, "Prob'ly would at that. Still got the name though, just go by the paternal one." The man smiles from a sudden memory, "Father was pissed when he found out about the nordic connection too. You go out of your way to show your son's spiritual heritage and people think you're honoring some viking valhalla! Hehe, haven't thought about that in years..." He focuses back on the robed man in front of him, "You're from Keuschburg..? Didn't see you in Masjid, brother..?"
	After pondering the question for a moment, Joseph forms a reply to Korshnoi's inquiry, "Ahh, it is true I have not seen you at Friday prayers, my friend. I have only recently arrived on Keuschburg and am still exploring our community here. Outside of a fine family of well wishers who have taken me into their home during my stay here I have not had the good fortune to meet many people. I HAVE had the opportunity to explore the culinary arts of Mediterranean cuisine with my good friend Mr. Walker here," he points to the man carrying the plant, "whom I highly recommend if you enjoy traditonal Arabic cooking."
	"Assalamu 'alaykum, Walker."
	With a partial nod towards the case in his left hand, the man with the glass case says "Well, howdy to yourself. Norris here says 'hi' too"  With a closer look, one can see a small green plant, most likely a fern, within the case. "My name is Jon Walker, since we're bein' friendly and all, this is a good pal of mine, Norris."
	The rico-watcher man says, "I'm Nick."  He looks closely at the case, then says, "Did anyone ever mention to you that your good pal appears to be a plant?"
	The derelict moves closer and the two men begin to SMELL him. "Yes, my name is Salaam" Looking around at the others a little perplexed "What? No one is of the Qumrah? No one knows the Selam?" Finally looking down at the plant to which Mr. Walker is gesturing, "What...you smoke that crap?"
	"Ummm, of course he's a plant.. second best friend I've ever had, too. He doesn't talk much, but he listens well... and no, you can't smoke him either.." 
	Smiling at the exchange, the very large man continues his earlier train of thought, "I have also had some small opportunity to speak with some of the local scholars, but outside of that I am still learning my way around this fine planet of yours."
	"Can't say our Masjid boasts the best of anything, not like the one on Central anyway, but I like the quiet vibe and Allah willing, Jouseph Emerick will be our kathib this friday. The guy's got passion -"
	A caucasian man and woman walk past, towards the food court. The woman has her passport plugged into a small infosystem, and appears to be checking the details of her visa. The man is glancing at her infosystem, but also gives a rather patronizing or perhaps disapproving glance to Korshnoi's armband.
	Korshnoi stares back, daggers in his blue eyes, still addressing the men around him, "Ar Raheem, one block off north Mandela... They think it's some suicide pact. Idiots. Malacca would never raise such Muslims." As the couple disappear, Korshnoi's jaw unclench and he speaks in a more relaxed manner, "My home system you see... 'trying to kick the authorities into greater zeal in the Ali's Hope investigation. Either of you want an armband ?"
	"Um, no thanks," replies Walker, "I'm not involved in that sort of thing, you know.  Me and Norris here, we just cook. Well, actually, I do all the work, he just kinda sits there and looks green."
	"We all serve Allah in our own way." smiles Korshnoi.
	"Ali's Hope?" questions the very large man. "Would that make you of the Party of Ali, my friend? I have not heard of this group before in relation to our Shia brothers. Enlighten me, if you have the time."
	"Not a group, brother, a ship. Haven't inquired what madh-hab they belonged to, for all I know it was named after the owner. Hardly matters: one Shahadah, one people, right ? Right." Despite his words, Korshnoi's statement come accross as more sadly hopeful than anything he actualy believes exists. 
	"Anyway, we're talking pilgrims from Malacca here. They found the entire group of them drifting in-system, out there in the cold. The authorities said pirate raid, sad bussiness but nothing special 'To Allah we belong and to Him we return.' but rumors started floating when they didn't find any sign of struggle and then that uhum. Well, let's just say a certain columnist saw fit to allude to the matter in his... publication."
	"I am still confused as concerns your connection with this colony ship. 
Were you a crewmember? If so, how did you survive the 'pirates'?"
	Korshnoi blinks a few times then waves his hand forcebly, "Na, na. Nothing like that. I'm just a concerned individual doing what he can..." He looks up at the ceiling, then down at his knees, "Guess a quote from the Quran would be nice at this point, but can't think of any. Quoting's never been my strongsuit. A Hafiz I'm not." As there is no immediate answer, he flips the flap on a pocket, revealing a dark bundled armband. "So what do you think ?"
	"What's the deal with these armbands, anyway?" Nick asks.
	"Yes, a more detailed account, please," says walker looking towards Korshnoi, "Maybe if it is spoken of more often, people will begin to realize just what a tragedy it truly was."
	Korshnoi shrugs, "Not that much more to say. Investigation still going. Slowly sure, but going. We do know the crew pro'bly didn't do it: found them among the forty (just a regular ship, by the way). Sad business all around... For the rest," He taps his own armband. The main text states: "Ali's Hope. Understanding through Hardship. Hear the truth on Botha.Islam" while the bottom is taken up by a prayer for the dead in arabic and the top apparently consists of the names of various groups. "Heated debate on the form, but we finaly settled on something everybody would ID as a sign of mourning." Korshnoi looks to the rico-man, the plant guy and the pilgrim, "Only got the one extra though. Could swing by later on...?" 
	Shaking of the head and various other negative gestures from all concerned. Korshnoi shrugs and sinks back into his seat, watching as two kids run past out of the customs area. They don't appear related to the two caucasians from before. The two kids are arguing over who gets to be "Lisa." 
	With a sigh, Walker sits down, rearranging his coat, valise, cane and
plant more comfortably. He turns back to the others and says with a small grin, "Say, do any of you know what it is she even wants from us? I know why she might want my services, after all, I am a pretty good chef, but why all the holy guys? Am I cooking for a holy convention? What?"
	Salaam speaks in a hushed tone. "I'm not sure what this woman wants but I think it must have something to do with what we have to offer her. For many years I have lived 'underground' and tend to have good ears if you know my meaning. People don't notice me or think that I am a threat so I can get very close to them." You can really smell him now and his breath....Mashallah.
	"Explains the toxic fumes on Akapulco. Allah is indeed merciful." Korshnoi continues in a louder voice, "Could just ask her.... But guessing passes the time, I guess. Me, I'm your hardware guy." He pats a large pocket and is answered by the soft clink of metalic things loose in their housing. An interrogative look then goes towards rico-man and the Quran expert.
	The rico-man says, "If you're hardware, I must be software... at least, that's what I'm best at. I've patched up a wound or two in my time, too, although I haven't got my medkit with me at the moment. My name's Nick Kazantz."
	The exchange between Salaam and Korshnoi engenders a thoughtful look on Joseph's tanned face. After looking curiously at the RICO-addict for a moment, he replies to Korshnoi's implied inquery. "Hardware, eh, Korshnoi. A man who is good with his hands need answer to no other, so you are most fortunate. And Salaam here is a man of ears and eyes and obviously smell most exuberant. Again, most useful. And of course my good friend Johnny here makes a most excellent shawarma and couscous dish, Allah Be Praised for His Foresight in allowing man the Art of Cuisine. I myself am not so lucky a man as yourselves, but in compensation I have been blessed by Allah with the ability to... facilitate answers to other people's dilemma's. How about you, my RICO watching friend? Are you a watcher of stocks & bonds, that you view that little screen with such intent?"
	"Stocks and bonds? I wish I had the money for that kind of thing. No, I've got a game on here, between the Stars and the Mittetal Waves. The Waves are doing pretty good, especially compared to the whipping they took from the Slicers in their last game. Any of you guys see that one?" Nick glances at everyone hopefully.
	"Oh man, the Slicers were rocking! I loved it when Gonzalez swept those last couple of points away from the Waves like they were little kids! The only downside was the bad cream I had, made dinner that night a little bland without it, but the game was good.", says Walker with a smile, "I try not to miss the Slicer games, but travel makes that difficult sometimes."
	The ads at Kambela's change to a rather loud promo for Bantu Beat.
	Korshnoi shakes his head at the sports talk, "Follow the kites myself, but that's about it. Too much looking leads to a lack of doing, I always say..." He looks pointedly at the two, shades of friendly ribbing dancing behind his eyes. 
	"Speaking of lack, rather like the lack of focus in what we do. Looks like she picked for range and that could mean long term, Allah willing." He turns to Walker, scratching a bearded chin thoughfully, "Can't quite place you though. As much as I like a good meal now and then... You do some chemistry or you're a plant expert on the side, right ?"
	"Well, unless you pay attention to the people that cook and serve for the rich and popular people, it is unlikely you would be able to place me. Since I cook, I do have a working knowledge of both bootany and chemistry, why do you ask?", Walker inquires speculatively of Korshnoi.
	"Ahh, Johnny. I believe my friend Korshnoi here is attempting to guess your role in this little escapade we are all seeming to be involved in here. I myself had always assumed you were a simple, if magnificent, chef. Is it possible that Allah has seen fit to bless you with even more benefits? If so, you must be among the most blessed of his children. I myself would be most content if you could simply provide we, your peers, with an occasional fine repast during the course of what could be a long stay in the realms of our {hopefully} new employer."
	"Is that so?  Well, I am sorry to disappoint in that case, as I am but what I am. A simple chef of some meager skill. I am sure that the reason for my presence is so that the group of strong men about me can be well fed and happy during whatever task it is that our mysterious patron has in store for us. I did spend some time in the military, however, so I am able to take care of myself with a modicum of decency. Is there any else you might like to know, friend Korshnoi? My life is an open book..."
	"...written in an unknown language. As always with such things." 
	"Yes," Walker replies with a small grin, "indeed as always."
	A hand waves casually, brushing his own comment aside. "Since you offer, I'd be curious to know how you came by your love of beef and boot polish. An unusual mix that... unless you cooked for home and Sphere ?"
	"My enjoyment of the culinary arts has been with me for some time, the unit that I found myself in provided some additional education as they felt I had little or no potential as a killer crazy loon. So, after cooking for many soldiers, I thought to continue my art, but only for those that I choose." Walker shrugs, lifting his hands slightly, "It's a small thing. And you, friend Korshnoi, now that you have pulled the past from where it belongs, how is it that you find yourself here, now? What makes you tick, hmm?"
	Korshnoi shrugs, "No idea. Suspect Allah's got something to do with it though... As for how I got here, well, took a job in Luyten after the war. Got family around and didn't want to stay in the service after the bugs failed to show (Of course, cutbacks might have had some influence too). Pretty nice here but... combat engineer is what I signed up for, you know ?"
	"What about yourself ? Taking a trip with -" Turning to the very large man, "Um Talked your ears off but failed to spot your name in the conversation, brother."
	"This is my most excellent friend, Joseph Ma'siir. We've been travelling together for some time now, seeing the people, seeking new and exciting recipes to share with others. I look forward to spending some time in the kitchens and libraries of this world, so many experiences to be had!"
	Korshnoi leans forward, looking somewhat doubtful, "Riiiight. Nothing like a paying job to break the boredom of being rich."
	"Rich?", Walker asks with a puzzled expression, "I am not rich, other than the wealth of good friends and wonderful cuisine. Perhaps you are referring to my friend Joseph?"
	"I am indeed rich in the knowledge I have gained from my travels and in the people I have met, but as for money, I have little and need little."
	"Um, well. Not that I doubt your word, oh most honest of persons, but star-hoping (Heck even just system-hoping if that's what were talking about) isn't exactly cheap. We're talking 10K a LY, brother, and vacuum isn't all that conductive to hitchicking... How do you manage ?"
	Two more cargobots head down the corridor, apparently as yet unaccompanied by the people who rented them.
	"Yes, travel is expensive and all that I make goes towards the funding of it, I must admit. I also rely heavily on the goodwill of those around me. You would be surprised how many good starsailors are willing to help a traveller by offering a job in the ship kitchen to cover passage."
	"Amazingly enough," interjects Walker, "Joe is rather adept at assisting within the kitchen, when he wants to be."
	Korshnoi smiles a small smile, "Sure is a multi-talented fellow. Well, I suppose convincing people *is* your thing after all." 
	Looking somewhat embarrassed, Walker says "Ummm, usually the folks I have to convince to do anything, well, they aren't all that much good for anything afterwards. I prefer to ask nicely first." Walker smiles at this...
	Korshnoi, who had been refering to Joseph Ma'siir's "facilitate answers to other people's dilemma's", jerks his head around and gives the diminutive cook a long stare... "Explains some things, doesn't it ? Still... Hope you won't ever have to use that stuff." A quiet tremble of disgust travels through his large frame.
	Walker ducks his head in apology, "Nono, I don't do THAT type of persuasion, dear me, no.." He sputters to a stop, trying to quit while still ahead, "Ummm, so, about them Slicers? Gotta love 'em..." So much for seeming the nice guy...
	The uniformed muslim maintains his stare a while longer, then looks away as no further explanation seem forthcoming. A while later he takes it upon himself to break the mounting silence, "You two been to earth ? Mecca ?" He looks to the strangely silent derelict, "Selaam ?"
	"Ah, Mecca is my dream. I travel the universe but in truth I am making my 
way to earth as part of al-Hajj to visit the land of the Prophet and bring fulfillment to my life. It is a long journey, and as you noted very expensive, but I must see for myself the sites of our forefathers."
	Korshnoi nods gravely, "Yeah, the Hajj gets more difficult the farther we go. Good thing in a way, ain't much of a pilgrimage for the folks in the next town over, is it ?"
	A man walks out of Andruus and heads towards the bathroom rather nervously. He eyes eyeryone in the corridor, but pays specific attention to the group of men gathered in the waiting lounge.
	Nick quickly begins zoning out on all the talk of Islam. He says, "Maybe you guys could catch up on old times later?"
	The mirror-man seem to echo that sentiment as he jerks upright. "Vacc this," he says in a low voice. He then moves off directly towards the food concession, passing the others.
	Picking up the carry-all and case, Walker stands aside as yet another impatient person pushes by, this one with a chromed head. "Goodness, whatever will people do for attention, eh, Norris?", he mutters, looking down at the case he is carrying. Then louder "Gentlemen, perhaps we should follow the rude man, as he is headed in the proper direction?" Making sure that his coat and cane are strapped to the carryall, Walker takes a few steps then turns to wait for the rest of the group.
	"Suits me." agrees Korshnoi with a nod, "The Hajj is eternal, so it'll probably be there later." He gets up and starts moving down the corridor, keeping a wary eye on the reflective individual.
	As the miror-man clears the last of them, he breaks into a run and gets out some sort of instrument.
	Salaam begins running down the passageway shouting in arabic "Kafir, Kafir, Ay Allah," his baggy pants (knee high crotch and all) and grimy filthy suit jacket billow with the effort as he goes cursing after the mysterious man shaking his grimy fist in the air.
	Korshnoi's mouth twists in dismay, then hardens. He pats various pockets then takes off at a quick, stiff-kneed almost-run. "Opening gambit: pawn bait with bishop support." he grumbles unhapilly.

	Nick heads slowly in their direction, quickly trying the local net and nearby transmissions to see if he picks up anything related to the mirror-head or this situation.
	Not wanting to cause any further attention to be drawn to the little group, Walker walks after Korshnoi, hoping that all of this ruckus isn't over some guy late for a date and carrying a rico.
	Joseph watches the progression of the woman and the mirror-headed man, then takes note of the actions of his new companions. Like his companions his wits are about him, but he appears to be choosing the route of "Wait and See". Throwing on his pack, he picks up his staff and follows along at a good pace, intending to bring up the rear of the moving band.

	As the mirrored man goes down the hall, he appears to be taking no notice of the loose grouping of people who follow him. He does take out some sort of intrument with a large display, but its exact nature is unclear.
	What appears to be a family speeds by on a skycap-style cart. The cart is Laden with luggage of various sorts. As the cart whizzes past, the man ducks into the PanMedia Infoservices offices. The woman who meandered down the hall earlier did not go into these offices -- she disappeared further down.
	Walker continues down the hallway, looking for this woman  "Strange people we work for, eh Norris?" he mutters as he walks. 
	Nick keeps idly checking the 'net, but looks for the woman on foot. He gives a half frown in the direction of the guy talking to a plant.
	"Korshnoi, perhaps you should duck into the office for a minute and check on our friend? I don't think we want him informing the authorities of our presence just yet." Walker smiles as he says this. With a nod to Korshnoi, as if in agreement with Walker's request, Joseph follows Walker down the corridor side-by-side.
	The bearded engineer nods once without turning around. Passing Salaam, he quietly comments "Nice try. *I* would have stopped." before going through the gates of PanMedia. His stride is steady and confident. He belongs here. He knows where he's going. ('Believe it and they'll believe it... You hear that heart? Quiet down!')
	Inside, he sees a fairly standard office room. There is a desk in the front at which a blonde secretary is sitting typing something at a terminal. The room has two doors, both behind the secretary. Along the left wall of the room are three smallish pubterms, two of which are occupied, though neither is occupied by the mirrored man. The left door is labeled "STAFF ONLY." The right door is labeled "INFO SUITES -- Paid Access Only." Neither door is ajar, though the mirrored man is presumably behind one, as he is nowhere else in sight.
	As Korshnoi comes in, the secretary looks up courteously and asks, "May I help you? Are you a member, sir?"
	"How much are your suites ?" he temporises. Dancing in the polished plastics of the secretary's shirt is a wavery reflection of her screen ('Allah praise fashion.'). Now if the last transaction window is still open... Unfortunately the display is not very well reflected, and apparently shows only whether a suite is occupied or not rather than who is occupying it.
	The male secretary answers with professional gentleness, "A private suite, sir, is $1.50 per gig and $0.75 a minute, or $3.00 per minute with unlimited infopro. Of course, rates for members are even better. Would you be interested in a suite sir? Or perhaps a membership? Someone just came in..."  He looks down at a display on his desk. "But we have a suite open now, if you'd like."
	"Do that. No membership." agrees Korshnoi as he tries to makes the most of the info on the screen but the movements of the man has he checks him in render his task impossible. 
	"Sir, may I have your wrist for a moment?" the secretary says, looking at Korshnoi's rico. "For payment purposes, of course. An initial fee of $10, fully refundable if not fully used." Then he is walked to the door. "Please go in, sir."  At these words (probably keyed to the secretary's voice), the door opens and a narrowish corridor opens. "Simply let the system know when you'd like to leave, sir."
	"Thank you." With one last look at the lobby, Korshnoi walks down the corridor, leaving the secretary behind. In his mind's eye, he sees the scene that last inocent look aforded him: the screen on the secretary's desk does have times on it, but quite too small to see without squinting. However, he does notice in retrospect that the rooms are color-coded in terms of time. Red rooms appear to have been here the longest; Korshnoi's room was coded blue, with various other shades in between (running the full rainbow). Using this system, Korshnoi guesses that the mirrored guy must be in either suite E or suite F, both of which were orangish in color.
	He spots the possibles as he makes his way down the corridor. Not too hard since there are only a few rooms in the place; each is secure behind a heavy matte black door with no window visible from the outside. Small black domes above all doors, he notes, but the doors themselves appear pretty flimsy: there doesn't appear to be any kind of reinforcement holding the doors shut. Korshnoi could probably force them, but not very quickly -- it would take three to four good blows with a shoulder or two to three strong kicks. 'Lock-picking then.' However, as Korshnoi enters the open room and the door shuts, he sees that not only is there another black dome in the far corner of the room, but the door includes a one-way mirror showing the corridor outside as well. All the rooms probably do -- and thus the mirrored man might be watching him at this very moment! 
	'Wonderful, just wonderful.' The muslim tech pulls the small coffee table in front of the door and settles in place: at least mirror-man won't be getting out without being spotted. 'Better look like I'm using the place.' A few keystrokes is all that is needed to set up a download. Brilliant images and perhaps profond bits of wisdom scroll on the large holoscreen, unheaded. "Rico, re-dial last incoming number." Korshnoi slowly pulls on his beard as small electronic noises fill the air... Then, "The number you have dialed is a public termina-click"
	'No good.' Seconds crawl by while he stares at an empty corridor, thinking. "Access public telecom directory. Search contact numbers for Nick Kazantz, Joseph Ma'siir, Jon Walker... Selaam too." but not a trace of them. Very private people apparently, little surprise there. 'The will of Allah.' he sighs, resigned.
	Korshnoi is getting ready to leave his cubicle, when a call comes in. It is a brief text message, requesting he come to the Simeria General Services offices on the Sheraton spur. It also says to ask for Ms. Donnelly at the front desk there. No ID on the sender, of course. 'Looks like the boss's getting impatient. Late on a first meeting, good start.'
	One other client -- clearly not the mirror-headed man, unless he can perform magic -- leaves the bathroom and then leaves the Panmedia offices altogether. 'Not a bad idea.' His door swishes open, the room behind now dark and quiet. Unhurried steps take him down the other leg of the corridor's L and into the facilities.
	Once inside, a sharp look around to verify the abscence of other users and then tense silence, ready to pounce. 'Come on, perfect opportunity to escape: take it! (provided he even knows I'm here for him.)' adds the critical part of his mind. Whether he does or not, the mirrored man doesn't care to make an appearance. Korshnoi goes about his business, waiting as long as possible to see if the man will emerge. 
	The bathroom is generally quite clean -- clients wish as much anonymity as possible, usually, and this apparently extends to having their DNA fished out of toilets. There is a tiny scrawl in one stall though: 

         Ali's Hope
        NEVER FORGET

	It is written in some sort of pen, and apparently was written only a short time ago (perhaps a few hours), as the bathrooms are obviously serviced quite frequently. With a warm feeling he lightly brushes the tip of his fingers against the graffiti, as if to connect himself with an unseen community, an unknown brother who had left a good word. "And upon you peace."
	As Korshnoi leaves the bathroom, cautiously but nonchalantly walking out of the Panmedia offices, he sees neither hide nor hair(less) of the man. Now that he thinks about it though, this text business isn't all that straight cut. Why resort to text now? Could be one of his future associate made the contact, but again, why text? Voice *is* harder to manufacture on short notice so... The mirror-man himself to draw him off? 
	Questions like holoproj ads, buzzing around making little sense. 'Stick to the plan.' Old engineer wisdom and as valid as ever. Right now, the plan was to meet his employer. The rest would sort itself out, eventually. Right. Off to Simerian (...after a little detour to see he isn't followed. Wouldn't do to bring trouble.)
	As he comes into the offices, a secretary is working at his desk. He looks up, rather blandly but with no judgment in his eyes. When Korshnoi mentions the name "Donnelly," the secretary continues looking bland, but buzzes him into the back rooms. Two people are using the cheap terminals in the front room, but they give Korshnoi no attention at all as he walks past them into the back. The doors of suite B are open, and Korshnoi hears voices coming from within.


02 MASS DOWNLOAD

	Setting his bundles on the floor next to the couch, Walker places the plant holder on the table, "Get a good view, eh Norris?" he mutters quietly as he sits back on the edge of the couch. "Can we proceed then? I'm sure that Mr. Korshnoi will be along shortly."
	Speak of the devil, just as Walker says this, a buzz sounds distantly, and Korshnoi walks through the doors of the suite, which close behind him.
	He sees the shaggy-haired woman, apparently named Donnelly, standing at the wet bar, making drinks. She hears him come in, and turns. "Hey, you must be Korshnoi. What's your drink? Sorry, nothin' fancy here." The large holopro screen next to her shows a starfield, frozen in mid-image. The location is unclear.
	"Assalamu 'alaykum, Ms Donnelly. Orange juice if you have it."
	"Hmm, I think so..." She reaches down to the bottom shelf of the bar, withdrawing a can of orange juice and giving it to Korshnoi. 
	"Thank you." <Pshtu> While the instant-chill cools his drink, the uniformed tech settles on the couch, across from the chairs. 'Good view of the door as well.' Walker is to his left, Joseph and Nick are standing, not having taken seats yet. The smells of Halal food are drifting through the room from containers, open on the large, low table. "Dig in, if you want," Donnelly says in Korshnoi's direction, but indicating the others as well.
	Walker nods to Korshnoi, saying "Hep Mr. Korshnoi. I'm sure I am not alone in being curious as to what befell you. Can you tell us?"
	The man in question grunts non-comitaly, "Not that much, unfortunetly. Our man got an info-suite and used it 'til I got the recall. Didn't know the details so I went discreet. Could have used you Nick." He throws a half-smile in Mr. Kazantz's direction before turning squarely towards their employer, "Exactly how much do we care about this mirror-man?"
	"Who was that?" Donnelly says briefly before remembering. "Oh, that guy -- yeah, I did contact him, but by the fact that he's not here now, I guess he's not coming, right? Do you guys think he's anything to worry about? Personally, I didn't think his qualifications were all that hot. I didn't think he'd make the cut."
	Nick sits in one of the middle chairs along the table and checks through a few of the food containers. He picks a couple and starts eating.
	"He wasn't acting very user-friendly, I'm afraid." answers Korshnoi. "Has names, pics, maybe voice samples too." A shrug, "Only Allah and yourself know if that can have an impact."
	"I must say", interjects Walker, "that I'm not really in favor of this man being in possession of such details. Unless he's looking for a pastry chef, perhaps. Of course, by now, he has already transmitted any information to his masters, which means that this may very well be our last job within this sphere"
	"Only if those jobs involve looking like somebody were not in front of these specific and right now frankly hypothetical guys." reminds the bearded tech.
	"Well yes", sighs Walker, "but I have become rather attached to this identity.  Oh well, back to the kitchen to brew up a new one."
	"Yes..." Donnely looks up. "I wouldn't worry about that mirrored guy just yet. It'll be worth keeping an eye out for him, but we don't really know if he's actually dangerous yet."
	Korshnoi nods agreeably. "What about Selaam? Don't see him here."
	"Selaam said he was 'unavoidably detained' or something. Sorry, he didn't say much more."

	Joseph sets down his pack and leans his staff against the table, then sits down in a chair facing Ms. Donnelly. He helps himself to some halal food for a moment while composing his thoughts, then addresses their hostess directly. "I do not wish to appear rude, Ms., but we have been waiting for quite some time for you appear and explain the obligations you wish us to incur on your behalf. If we could perhaps, umm...how do you say it, Johnny?... ahh yes, "cut with the chit-chat and get down to business", I for one would be most appreciative."
	With a brief smile at Joseph, Walker says "Chit-chat indeed, Joseph. Norris is getting anxious, and you know how he gets when he is upset."
	Korshnoi, who was about to comment on the Selaam business, idly checks the time instead: somewhat less than 45 minutes since they all met... 'Have to ask if there's some kind of time limit on the play.' he thinks wryly. He let the feeling quietly surface, shaping it into a more or less apologetic smile combined with a slight shrug.
	"So, uh, down to business, right? System, start beta." The holoscreen goes into motion-mode, projecting the same starfield, but now panning down towards the surface of a moon or some sort of vacuum world. The camera stops, showing some sort of large, reflective object sitting in the middle. The object is cigar-shaped, and has four handles around it. The camera freezes there for a moment. "That's the only motion-capture I've got," Donnelly says. "But there is this one, too." The holopro again goes into freeze-frame mode, showing the same module from one end. Several small lights are visible in a display on the end.
	The module is obviously resting on some sort of table or metallic object. The exact location where the picture was taken is unclear. "Any of you guys know what this thing is?" Donnelly asks to the four men. "It's obviously some kind of biotech module, and I'm pretty sure what kind specifically, but I'd like a second opinion.  Also, anybody notice anything else we should know about this thing?"
	Donnelly looks around at the men who are carefully studying the holo images. Some of them are deep in though, others are peering deep into the picture, looking for details they may have missed. She scans the room with a smile that shows satisfaction. "You guys obviously know a lot -- want to share some of it?"
	Korshnoi settles back with a disatisfied grunt, "The squishy stuff isn't really my field, so I'll just say the casing's standard human fare. Could whip up a twin with a store-bought base. That's about it unless you want to hear about the moon as such ?"
	"Not right now, no. Anything else ?"
	From his couch, Walker starts hesitantly speaking. "weeeeell, the device reminds me of a human bio-module used to transport a small biochem factory, a bio-computer, or else, much like Norris' terrarium, its just a samples case. I have no clue what the blinky things are, but the case is very expensive."
	Joseph listens to "Shaggy woman" and the commentary from the others, then stands up and moves over to the holoprojection. Pointing at the front of the biomodule, he inquires, "What does this numbered sequence stand for? Any idea?" Joseph moves back to his seat and resumes munching on his dinner.
	Nick says, "The numbers are probably a fuel indicator... I'm not sure if it's showing volume or time left. Is there any video of this thing? We could watch it and see if it counts down." He takes a quick bite of something with rice in it and says, mouth half-full, "Looks sealed up tight, too, probably insulated, which is good if it's sitting out in vacuum."
	Joseph asks, "Can we focus in on the surface reflection from the module and possibly get some idea of what is in front of it?" 
	"Nothing." breathes Korshnoi. That was what was bothering him, "There's *nothing* in front of it. Look here, that's where our camera-guy should be." He points to a decidedly empty spot in the reflections. "Hard to tell with the low qual imagery (who took this anyway?), but nothing in the background either, no footprints, no tracks, nothing. Uh." Click-clack, pieces falling into place, "I'll take a wild stab and say ransom demand or black market sales pitch."
	"Donnelly, not to sound like a major pain, but if you truly wanted this holo identified, you would have hired a team of scientists or mechanical whizkids," Walker offers a quick nod to Korshnoi when he says "mechanical whizkids". "A chef-in-training, a holy man, and two technicians are hardly the types to be getting these answers from. What is your purpose? Do you wish it found? Destroyed? Recovered? Or do you simply want the current owners to tell you in person what it is?"
	The other occupant of the couch frowns a bit: the two travelers are acting like all this is some sort of imposition on their precious free time. He makes a (hopefully) discreet "cool it" gesture in the cook's direction while smiling mildly in the other. 'Looks like I'll get plenty of use for that apologetic smile...'
	Donnelly looks around, from Walker to Korshnoi, and then to the others, obviously testing the mental waters. "Um, yeah," she says. "I suppose you guys want to get down to work, right? Okay, well, the first thing is, I've got to get you guys to sign a standard non-disclosure agreement. System, agreement display."  
	The holoscreen shows a woman, obviously computer-generated and legally bland, who says a pretty standard agreement: all of the parties present guarantee their silence about the issues discussed in exchange for their remuneration, etc. etc.
	The system asks for vocal, eyeprint and handwritten signatures from all present. Figuring that each of the men present have at least a few personal/legal details they'd like to hide from the others, Donnelly asks that the others retire to the hall while one stays within to do the agreements. "Annoying, but necessary," says Donnelly with a shrug. Donnelly stays in the hall the whole time and chats with those who aren't inside.

	Joseph takes Korshnoi and Johnny aside out in the hallway while they are waiting for Nick to sign his contract. "Korshnoi, my friend, I  got the impression that you thought we were behaving badly towards Miss Donnelly by our abrupt questions, eh? You must understand that as a being of mortal years my time is extremely valuable, as I only have so much in which to discover all the wonders of Allah's Universe and understand their significance before my time ends. In addition, as a professional, I am rather insulted by the very un-professional way in which this interview was initiated. The woman likes to play games, which in my experience can get people in our realm of influence who rely on the judgement of those like her hurt or killed. I have decided, like you, to accept this employment for my own reasons, but acceptance of a contract does not mean I will fail to show my displeasure when I feel my employer is speaking / acting foolishly. Now let there be peace between us, and we shall return to the room as professional men to do a professional job, eh? Do you agree as well, Johnny my friend?"
	"Look, I don't know what happened before, but so far all I see is a straight meeting. The lady's obviously got some corp background: get them relaxed, get them involved and all that." Korshnoi wipes that away with a swipe of his hand, getting to the heart of the matter. "Point is, if 'your reasons' don't amount to being civil for a couple of hours, I got to question *your* professionalism and *your* commitment to a mission that's going to last a lot longer than that. You got a problem, you take it up with her: she's standing right there. Sniping from the confort of your chair ain't going to solve anything."
	Joseph shakes his head at Korshnoi's statements. "My friend, I do not wish to make of this a disagreement with you. If you do not feel that this woman has been leading us, men of professional standing, around by the nose like little puppies for the past several hours, then that is your right and privilege. I do feel such, and am not pleased by what this says about our employer's competency. I am interested in the nature of the assignment, however, and have chosen not to be confrontational with the young lady at this time. I will tell you now that I personally would not place my life solely in her hands at this point without a good backup plan at every stage, and I recommend you do the same. Allah will watch over his sons in all things, good and bad. Inshallah!"
	"You missed the point entirely, my friend. This is about your behavior, not hers." Koshnoi straightens, feelings firmly locked away. "Some friendly advice:" and he looks at the both of them when he says this, "if you have to bolt on 'I don't want to sound like a whatever, *but*', what follows is sure to be a fine example of 'whatever'." On that note, he turns away with military stiffness and rejoins the others.

	Once everyone's done with the legalities, everyone sits back down and Donnelly starts up the module holos again. She clears her throat. "Okay," she says, looking primarily at Walker, "I know you guys are pretty impatient to get down to it. I do have to note, though, that you guys are pretty well qualified to I.D. this thing."  She points to the module. "I suppose you've got some secrets from each other. That's steel." She again smirks. "Whatever you want's steel for me."
	"Hmm, I guess the first thing you'll want to know is how much this'll net you. I'm going to give you guys $10,000.00 up-front, and $10,000 upon delivery of the module. Plus, if we work well together, I've got a pile of other things I need help with, and the pay's about the same per job." She looks around for reactions, and her mouth displays a slightly hopeful smile.
	Nick's smile and nod are more than slightly hopeful and are promplty joined by Korshnoi's.
	"Is that price 10,000 apiece or to be divided between the four of us, i.e. 2500 apiece?" asks Joseph.
	"That's 10 thou a piece, natch. I wouldn't imagine giving you guys such a feeble amount for such hard work. I should note that any expenses you guys incur for the first mission will have to taken out of that, and that includes equipment, housing and stuff like that, though I got some stuff of my own I could lend you if you needed. Plus, I have some good contacts if you think you'll need specialist stuff.
	"Okay, so what's up with this module, right? Well, you guys got most of the important stuff. It's a biotech module, and it's of human make. The numbers on the front are definitely some kind of biofuel gauge." She looks at Nick at this point. "You were right about that. I mostly asked you guys for a second opinion, like I said. It's also probably sealed from the outside, at least probably.  
	"The interesting bit -- and this, I gotta say, is why I had you guys sign the non-disclosure stuff -- is, this thing is probably holding some alien tech. Tripod tech." At this point, several of the men seated there sit a little further forward in their chairs, listening even more attentively.
	"And what's more, it's probably a Tripod randomization module. You guys know what that is?" She looks around to gauge their comprehension. Nick obviously understands, and the others have at least a general idea, but seeing that more exposition would be useful, she says, "System, random expo."
	The holosystem changes to show a blank white field with several small dots moving around on it. "This things are starships, in standard post-battle repro, right?" The dots do in fact look like common formations used in ship-to-ship battles. 
	"Now, if your ship goes in a straight course, you're a sitting duck, right?"  One of the ships begins sprouting laser beams which reach out towards another ship.  The second ship travels in a straight line, and the lasers from the first soon trace over it, at which point it disappears.
	"So what do you do?  Humans can't control these things -- they go too fast. I heard a buddy from the ICA Navy tell me he was in something like 20 battles in the Tripod war, and all told, he was still only in combat for a little under two Minutes.
	"So, right, what do you do? You gotta get a computer to control 'em, right?  But computers can't generate random numbers all that much better than humans can, and if the enemy taps into your system, they can still hit you where it hurts." The display again shows the two ships. A display states TIME EXPANSION 1:1000 TO FACILITATE HUMAN COMPREHENSION. The target begins moving erratically along its generally straight course, while the firer keeps tracing it with lasers. For a short while, the firer misses wildly as the target jumps around. Then, though, the display reads TARGET SYSTEMS INVADED. The firer achieves a solid hit almost immediately after this.
	"So, then, how are you gonna make a truly random randomizer? Well, you guys know, sometimes it seems like about half of what we do in the espionage biz is try to grab enemy randomization algorithms. Everybody's tryin' to make the best one, all the time.  
	"But this thing," she says, again looking up to the screen, which has turned back into the biotech module, "this thing might be the randomizer to end all randomizers. The Tripods hit us with it a few times in the War, and we got vacced. We always figured they were using some kind of biotech, but until I found out about this thing, I wasn't sure myself.
	"Now, it sounds like some LSN agents found one of these things somewhere close to Tripod space, transferred it into a human-made case, and are trying to get it back to the LSN without letting the ICA know they got it.
	"Well, that's pretty dirty, if you ask me." She laughs ironically. "But what's worse is, the LSN is supposed to have an agreement with the ICA to share any Tripod tech found. That's what this big HSDA conference coming up is about -- that and other stuff. 
	"So, what we gotta do is, we gotta get this thing and deliver it to some people who'll do some good. Not those vaccin' LSN bastards.
	"I guess you're probably wonderin' who the heck I work for at this point.  Obviously not the ICA, 'cause they got their own agents, right?
	"Well, I have to say something first. All this stuff so far has been top-secret. But what I'm gonna say is higher than that. If this gets out, you won't get sued, you'll get dead.
	"I work for the HSDA. I can't tell you who. But if you need, I can get
you some anonymized proof. For what it's worth, I did choose you guys because of your skills, and because I think you can work together. And I hope we can get some other stuff done after this crap's all worked out.
	"I guess I should ask you guys if you have any questions at this point. I got some more answers for ya, but I figure you got questions first." She reaches forward and takes a long, shallow drink of her can of Beflu.
	Nick says, "I've got a few. How'd you guys find out about this randomizer being in that module? And where is it?"
	Korshnoi nods in agreement, "Yes, I'm curious to know where the little clips you showed came from as well."
	"Where the thing is -- yeah, that's the big problem. I'm not sure where it's located right now, but I've got a pretty good idea it's in Keuschburg itself."
	"But you do know where it was when the pictures were taken, right ?"
	"Nope. Unfortunately, I haven't had time to get that checked. You'll hafta do that yourselves. Don't forget, though, that our source says the agent or agents were coming from Tetsuyama. And obviously, the general origin point would have to have been somewhere close to Tripod space, assuming the ped's right about it being Tripod stuff.
	"This leads into how I found out about the thing in the first place. Well, apparently, the LSN bastards who found the module took some little momento pictures -- those holos," she says, pointing to the holoscreen. "The agents came here to Luyten -- probably on their way to Earth -- and one of them got drunk. He got rolled on his way home, and let slip that he had some 'alien random tech', showed these holos to the rollers, and then got away. The gang-bangers who rolled him contacted someone who knows my superior, and they sold the holos and the info to us. Luckily, they didn't seem to know what they'd found. We couldn't get any info on the LSN agent's looks, though, sad to say.
	"We don't know where the LSN agents are right now, but we do know two things: they came from Tetsuyama, and they are still in the city. You guys heard about the supposed fuel shunt problems at the shuttle port, right? That's just a way to keep the LSN agents here while the ICA agents track 'em down, I'm pretty sure.  
	"Of course, you guys are going to find them first. Right?"
	Korshnoi looks up from the pensive contemplation of his half-empty can, smoothing the frown from his features, "This 'rolling' thing. How long ago was that?"
	"Um,"-- she looks pensive for a second -- "four days."
	Joseph addresses their new employer directly. "Miss Donnelly, I have a few inquiries. Firstly, will you be our direct contact, or another? Second, will we run autonomously or under the direction of a mission leader? Third, is deadly force authorized in the course of this retrieval, if necessary? Fourthly, do we require any special gear in the extraction / transport of this module, and if so is that provided?"
	"Any more? Okay, not for now. Well, okay, I guess first questions first." She turns to Joseph. "Yes, I'll be your contact. Here, lemme give you some contact codes..."  She loads contact codes onto each of the men's infosystems, be they rico or otherwise. "That should be able to get you in touch with me any time. Just don't leave the system," she adds with a smile.
	"Next question. You guys are, I guess, autonomous. I won't be physically with you on any of this stuff -- I've got a lot of other things to handle. I'm available for consult, of course, but I think and hope you guys can work pretty well by yourselves.
	"About deadly force -- actually, nothing here is 'authorized'. Don't forget -- we're not officially ICA sanctioned, and though the HSDA is paying for this, they need complete deniability in the event of, ah, unforeseen circumstances. If you gotta kill those LSN bugs, well, be my guest -- they're in Keuschburg under false pretenses anyway. But try to keep the ICA guys clean. Keep it clean in any case, right?
	"I don't think the module will require any special handling. It's normal human make, after all. One person should be able to heft it, maybe two. The stuff inside, well, I don't know. I've got some biodetector equipment for you guys to borrow, though, just to be safe.
	"I think that's about it, for now. I think I've answered the first round of questions. Any more at this point?" She again looks up to make eye contact with the men there. There is hopeful determination in her eyes as she does so.
	"Yes, being a stranger here myself," says Walker, "where do we find leaguers that are trying to hide? What section of the city, and which bar was the one LSN guy rolled in?"
	"Well, actually, I don't know where you'd find them. That's why you guys get the big bucks." She says this with a slight laugh, either out of a desire to defuse a statement which might be taken wrong, or because she thinks it's actually funny. "Oh, and he wasn't taken down in a bar, or at least that's what the source-of-a-source said. It was in an alley somewhere, I'd bet near the starport."
	"An alley somewhere", Walker frowns slightly, "And how many alleys are there in this city? Even if we stay within stumbling distance of the Starport, there have to be hundreds of alleys. Oh, my feet hurt already." Walker stands up and begins pacing, 4 steps, turn, and 4 steps back. "Hmmm, I believe that we should be checking the motels and hotels near the starport, as I doubt they would have gotten too far from their only escape." pace...pace... "Couldn't you get us in touch with the gang that performed the rolling directly, or at least their name?"
	"Ah, nope." She frowns a bit. "They apparently didn't want to get contacted or traced. Remember, this is about fourth-hand information. And I can understand why our superior wouldn't want them contacted -- they've been pretty valuable in the past, so why risk blowing their covers? Yeah, I know this is a big deal, but there'll be other big deals later."
	"I would have liked to discuss with them any details they obviously omitted, such as dress, manner, skin tone, hair color, other contents of his pockets and anything else I can think of at the time." By now, Walker is tapping his finger gently on the plant case. 
	Donnelly, who hadn't visibly taken notice of Norris' hideout till now, looks down toward it bemusedly. "Yep, so would I, but them's the breaks. Actually, I think most of your fees will be detective work, not infiltration. You're capable, though, I know it."
	"Will we have any official presence, or are we considered tourists and will be treated as such by the authorities? Should any acts of unpleasantness occur, do we stick around and file a report, or do we fade away?"
	"Hmm, yeah, well, like I said, this is all strictly below-board. If you guys screw up, our superiors need deniability. You got /no/ official presence. That means you're effectively licensed to do anything you want -- so long as the local yokels don't find out about it. No reports, but no screw-ups, okay?"
	"What is your procedure in case one, or more, of us are badly injured or taken into custody then?"
	"Injury...?" She ponders this for a moment or two. "Well, crap, I hope it doesn't happen, natch, but if it does, I hope you can pay for it yourselves. If need be, yeah, I can bail you out from med-emergencies, but the fees would hafta come out of your second ten thou. And I know a couple underground medtechs if you need 'em, come to think of it."
	"Alright. Last, for now, is there an armorer or blackmarket weapons dealer on planet?" Walker sits back with a soft "Good thinking, Norris."
	"Yeah, like I said, if you need anything, just let me know. I can probably get it for you. 'Course, you gotta pay for it." Her sense of humor displays itself again."

	"Ok, what would I do if I was on the run and carrying a potentially valuable object that is difficult to conceal... Donnelly, I know these canisters come in a variety of sizes. Has anyone yet determined which model or what the dimensions are on this can? What are it's power requirements and needs for recharging?"
	"I don't know, but I expect you should be able to figure it out pretty easily." Her rico chimes softly, prompting her to look down at it. As she looks up again, she says "I can only stick around for about five or ten more minutes, guys. I have other pressing business. I've rented this suite for the next hour, though, so you can stay here and discuss it as much as want before the time's up. I recommend getting down to it pretty quick, though, if possible. And anyway, I've got a few more minutes to discuss."
	Walker smiles in a friendly fashion, "So, before our employer actually exits the room, what else do we need to ask her?"
	"What concerns me," says Joseph quietly, "is the quality of our opposition in this matter. I have never known the LSN to employ idiots in its intelligence service, and yet an agent on what would certainly be considered one of their most serious projects manages to go out, get drunk, and allow himself to be rolled and lose mission critical information. This smells to me of the fish that stinks. Logic would dictate one of three things from this: 1) either the LSN has assigned some of its most incompetent agents to this mission, which implies a low priority to them, which doesn't make sense given the nature of the item in question, unless they simply have no clue what it is they have in their hands, or 2) it is a setup of some sort, and the information was leaked purposefully for a reason yet undetermined, which makes this assignment become much more dangerous than previously thought 
	"You're right. It could easily be a trap. But, hey -- hazard pay, right?"
	"or 3) the information Ms. Donnelly has been given is either false, or incomplete, which leads me back to option 2. If any of these alternatives are true this will determine our next course of action after leaving here, I would think. Thoughts anyone?"
	"You're again right. Any of those things could be right. One other possibility, though, is that, say, the LSN has a team here, and some of the team members aren't as well trained as the others. Like, maybe one of the lackeys screwed up, not the superiors... Hmm, can't think of any other possibilities. I wish I could help more." She looks around for further opinions or suggestions.
	Listening to Joseph, Walker starts grinning. "Ok, lets assume that its nothing more than a scam, and that they want to snag some local spy guys. Let's give 'em a couple. If I were to start my line of inquiry, without really trying to be subtle about it, they will either dig deeper or come get me. This might allow us the one of our only chances to draw them into the open. Very similar to spicing a Rotarran Spice Cake, the frosting sugarcoats and disguises the strong spices hidden within the cake itself. Done correctly, only the cook even knows those spices are there."
	"Right, right." says Korshnoi quickly. He's been looking vaguely uncomfortable ever since this line of questioning began. "Since we're on a schedule, could we get a copy of those holos and, eventually, that anonymized proof mentioned before?"
	"Sure. You got a system that can handle holos?"  She loads the holos directly from her own unit, which she takes out of its place on the floor. It's a small, oblong disc, beautifully black and lacquered in finish. Obviously professional. "We don't need those images any more, right?" She puts her infosystem in a pouch on the back of her pants.
	"And the bio-sensors you were talking about would be steel, too." Nick chimes in. "It'd suck to have to walk around scanning, though."
	Donnelly nods her heads appreciatively. "Is the anything else you guys would like me to try to get for you? Oh, and I'll be working on that proof for y'all, but it'll take a while. Maybe a day or two." She moves back in her seat, apparently opting for the wallflower's view of the proceedings.
	Joseph thinks for a minute, then replies, "Weaponry, for one. Does everyone have what they need for personal defense or possible offense? I personally would not mind some non-lethal smoke or gas grenades, and a concussion grenade or two would be helpful."
	"Concu -" Korshnoi swallows, hard. "Very discreet... Don't go into any public building with that stuff unshielded. I know, I know, you know that already, but..." He shrugs.
	Unable to help himself, Walker grins at Korshnoi's reaction. "At least he hasn't asked about blasting gel yet. That stuff is hard to get out of clothing.."
	"So, I guess explosives are part of your thing." says Korshnoi to Joseph, "Mine too though I prefer the inanimate for a target... Less enthusiastic law suits afterwards." He smiles with half his mouth. Old jokes were often the best, just for the nostalgia.
	Joseph nods distractedly and continues, "Communications. We could use  a set of short range, 5-10k or so, closed channel communicators. Something small and concealable. Also a communications scanner to monitor police and local military frequencies. Surveillance gear?  A long range listening device would be excellent. A video / audio device even better.  Bugs? Trace plants?
	"How about tools? Does everyone have what they need for local repair / modification of gear? Speaking of repair, a good set of medi-kits would be good. I have a basic model, myself, but a more advanced version would certainly be fortuitous for all of us.
	"Restraint. We need some way to hold anyone we capture. Any other suggestions?"
	Nick says, "Could we get some decent computing power from you? My previous employers didn't exactly want me taking what I was using with me. Something with some decent infotage capabilities would be good." Nick then starts subvocalizing something. [Composing netsearch parameters related to their quarry, if anyone can hear him.]
	"We got some local power for rent, if you need it in the meantime." informs Korshnoi. "Don't know the address by heart, but search under Data Processing - Rental. Should be there... Hard to say on the equipment front. I have the base in my field - quite a bit more than that actually." From the tone of his voice, you could swear he was boasting about his favorite children. "But I would have to know the specifics to place an order. Can't know until we know the locations to be hit and can't know that until we scrounge up more intel. Pretty clear we have some work to do, more than five minutes worth... Contact you later today with exactly what's been worked out? That OK?"
	Shocked for a moment, Walker has to agree with Korshnoi concerning any further gear orders. "I have what I need to get started, although Joseph did make some good suggestions, the com-gear in particular. So long as we can make a phone call later and make arrangements for more, that is..."
	She looks at her knees, pondering for a second, then says, "Okay, will do. I'll work on that stuff you asked for, Joseph... Oh, by the way, guys, my first name's Terry. Please feel free to call me by it. I'm a first-name kinda person, actually. And you guys can call me anytime you want if there's something you need, but I might not get the message for a while, and I might not be able to get it to you all that quickly. I've got contacts, but they ain't exactly autostores." With this, she looks at her watch, and at the point they have reached in the conversation, seeing that it's about time for her to go. 
	She gathers up what little she had in the room. "So, right, you guys can stay here for about another hour. I got it paid for until 2:00 pm." [It's currently 1:04 pm] She looks at Joseph. "I'll be telling you how to pick up that equipment you asked for. And I'll get that money wired to y'all ASAP." Her face takes on the look of resolution the men have seen several times already. "Good luck, guys. This is important." With that, she exits the room.


03 EYE TO EYE

	The door hisses shut behind the slim figure of their boss, leaving silence in its wake... It doesn't last long. "Here or do we move ?" asks the tech among them.
	"Here's fine, " Walker says as he sits back down.
	"Right, first things first: election of an Amir." Slow and reasonnable, threading most carefully into this potentialy touchy subject. "Not that we need anything rigid - committee's good for most things - but some decisions will have to be made and made quickly... Private ballots?"
	"I don't think we should be wasting our time and energy on elections for anything, especially since we are only four, and mostly strangers at that. Instead, I propose that we figure out, as a "committee", what we should be starting with, and then decide who is best suited for that task afterwards."
	The muslims jaws are working on air, apparently having trouble swallowing the "wasting our time" part. Before he can make up his mind to speak or remain silent on the subject, Joseph nods in agreement with Johny's commentary, "Korshnoi," he says quietly, looking to avoid ruffling feathers, "this is not a military mission and we in this business are not military men. If the woman chose to act as team leader she of course has the right as the provider of payment. But outside of that we are a group of freelancers generally unknown to one another in a business where the establishment of heirarchy is rarely practiced and to place one over another at this time would be inappropriate, I believe. We are capable men and can come to quick decisions if necessary, or we would not have been chosen for employment, not to mention we probably wouldn't have survived long in this business we operate in."
	Every time, sighs Korshnoi inwardly. "Of course we'll come to quick decisions: I'll decide the best thing to do is take cover, while you charge, Nick attempts negotiations and John does something else. That get's us dead. Supposing there's actually time to discuss the matter, what happens when there's a tie or our little committee starts arguing in circles? Other side of the coin: what terrible thing happens if we name an Amir and he isn't needed?" He lets that sink-in for a moment, fist on tight. "Were not handing the key to our souls here, just putting in the wiring so we don't get stuck and we don't scatter in every possible direction."
	Throwing up his hands as if surrendering, Walker says "Fine, fine, if you insist, then I nominate Norris here. He won't be doing much work anyways, being the laze-about that he is." Without stopping for commentary on such an inane statement, Walker continues, "This is the largest group of individuals I have ever worked with. Never before has there been more than 2, and no, I don't mean the fern. Now, as for conflicting actions, we will all follow our training. If my training says to charge into the heart of battle, while yours says to lay low and take cover, well.... I guess we'll find out who had the better teachers afterwards, won't we? So yes, I consider this discussion a waste of time."
	"Then your inexperience is showing. You wouldn't run a kitchen without a chef, would you? All that's at stake there is the height of the soufflé. Even for just that there's a chain of command... I thought you had a military background?"
	Walker just looks at Korshnoi with an annoyed look on his face, "Kitchen? I'll have you know, that when I am in a kitchen, thats it. Me and the fern. Now and again, I might allow a busboy or a dishwasher to assist me, but rarely more. I certainly wouldn't work under a stranger. As for the military, you will surely note that I am no longer a member... If you truly wish to call yourself leader than do so. I am finished speaking of it."
	A long sigh from the muslim technician, "That's what I meant by lack of experience: you haven't delt in any situation that involved more than you and another guy. Well, you're not alone in your kitchen anymore. There are three other chefs and they all think they know what's gotta be done just as much as you do. 
	"You've brought the stanger thing up before. Seems to me the phrase 'we're all professional here' has been floating around quite a bit. This 'professionalism' doesn't extend very far, I take it? You're most likely going to hold the life of each other in your hands at some point, and that alright, part of the job, but none of us is trustworthy enough to break a tie? Certainly, not worth the risk of somebody possibly thinking he's above any other in any way, shape or form is it? What's..." He shuts up suddenly, realizing he's let this conversation flow into the pattern of an old, never settled debate. A debate that doesn't really concern the here and now. In a calmer tone, "The Prophet, peace to his name, says it 'every group must make a leader among them, even if they were only three in number'. I go with the Prophet on this one... Every established group, anywhere, goes with the Prophet on this one."
	Joseph sighs. "The Prophet, blessed be his name, was a flexible man. He knew that where a leader is appropriate, a leader shall indeed arise, even in a group of three. He also knew that different situations sometimes called for different solutions. For instance, it would be all well and good for us to elect an Amir for the reasons you suggest, i.e. taking charge in moments of quick decision.  It would do no good, however, because men in high stress situations will only obey  leaders they have trained with and whose decisions they trust. Those in our fields of expertise rarely tend to train for group activity, and innately distrust the decisionmaking ability of others. Groups must obey a leader without question in a moment of stress and have been trained to do so. Professionalism for many is success in their missions, live or die. Professionalism for us is survival, pure and simple. So I would appreciate it, Korshnoi, if you would in future refrain from espousing your opinions on my professional competence. My being alive to stand in front of you speaks far more of my professionalism than any words I would say to you in my defence. As to trust, I fear I must be blunt. I am paid to work with you. I will assume that you are competent until I see otherwise. I might grow to like you, or dislike you, as we work together more often. It doesn't matter as it will not effect my professional judgement. But in no ways do I trust you or anyone else in this room with my life, ever. That would not be suitable for a professional of my sphere."
	The bearded tech stares long at the man, like he sprouted tentacles and began declaiming exerts from the Bible. "That, that has got to be the biggest amount of nonsense I've had to sit through in one sitting. One, A professional does not put 'showing his displeasure' above good relation with the team's employer... and two, he thinks before he asks question that can't possibly benefit the group. But that's rather minor, the clincher is: a professional actually knows what the job entails. You're going to ride the vehicle I modified, sneak into a building while I shunt its security system, *stand in front of me* while I bear weapons, but at no time will you entrust your life in my hands? Really? You're not showing much knowledge of reality, Ma'siir."
	Joseph rolls his eyes at Korshnoi's words and tone. "Allah save me from the unenlightened!" he mutters, then to Korshnoi, "Korshnoi, your military background shows. I fear it is you who will have to deal with a dose of reality soon, but in such ways does Allah test us in our daily lives. Joseph rubs his eyes for a minute, "So if you wish to be Amir, by all means receive my blessing and good regards for such a position. I and the others here will certainly listen to your good advice, and perhaps even follow it where we feel appropriate."
	He considers that for the tick of two long seconds, "Well, I guess we each know who the *other* idiot is in the group." His smile is wide, showing more and sharper teeth than before, full of some dark enjoyment. "That ok with you, Nick?"
	"Hey, I'm not here to get into political debates. Leader, no leader, whatever."
	Korshnoi carefully avoids commenting on that. He's the Amir now, got to keep up the decorum.

	Joseph leaves a short silence develop, letting any overwrought emotion fade away before he gets down to business, "I would like to propose moving forward with Johnny's ideas for laying bait to flush out an LSN agent or two for purposes of interrogation. Does anyone have any ideas where best to start sending out our less then subtle inquiries?"
	"Um, could we keep that as a backup plan? I think we have less risky options still open. Namely, tracing the module itself and the ship that brought it in. I think Nick and I can manage that part of it..."
	"As I was just tossing out ideas, I don't care if its relegated to a back burner or not. I just feel that we need to be pursueing more than one avenue of research, especially since I, and I believe Joseph as well, to have limited capabilities when it comes to electronic warfare. My abilities lie more in the "hands on" sphere of life." Walker glances towards Joseph, in case he wanted to add anything.
	"I am most curious as to the methods you will use to track the bio-module." says Joseph, "I believe someone else mentioned earlier that the only unique identifying mark on the container was the number, which was not a serial number but an operational indicator of some sort. What clues will you utilize to begin your tracking? Since bio-modules are probably moved in and out of Kerschburg by the dozen on a daily basis, how will you know where to start? What ship? Whose name will it ship under? Was it even shipped by itself, or in a crate that concealed it completely and possibly had a false cargo manifest? Could it possibly even have arrived as an LSN diplomatic shipment, which would make it all but impossible to trace?"
	Korshnoi grabs an imaginary box floating in front of him and tosses it to the side, "If it's impossible, we don't have to worry about it." He leans forward, "Plan to track the thing by seeing where it's been before. Start with a list of all ships in port, cut that down by source, destination and time of arrival. Figure out exactly when and where those holos where taken, that should give us an estimated ETA if its been taken on the other side, maybe a site to go see if its been taken here. See how that narrows down the field. Go from there."
	Joseph ponders Korshnoi's statements concerning tracking the cargo, then replies, "Given the possibilities for piratical interception, it is unlikely that shipping lines publicize their cargo manifests or shipping schedules. Even cracking into them will be a matter of high security hacking, which is as likely to send a flag of notice to those whose attention you say we shouldn't attract as Johnny's original plan. As to the when and where of those holos, just how do you propose to determine that information when the pictures themselves provide few clues that we have been able to discern?"
	"Say, didn't we already discuss how to find where the pictures were taken from?" inquires Walker. "Who has the software to access the astronomy labs or a navigational program? I'd rather not pay anyone to do this.."
	"Didn't actually discuss it, but yeah, that's the general idea. The quality's pretty bad, but I figure we can get magnitude, color and relative position. Couple that with the moon's physical - just by looking, I'd clock it at about 1.5K kliks, pure vacuum and a jolly little white-yellow K or maybe G hovering at say one, one and a half unit... Soft would be public domain, maybe a small rental on the use, no prob there."
	"On the starport side, I have to say you're wrong on that one, Ma'siir. The past is what we want and that doesn't help pirates any. Low lockdown if any. Stating a destination isn't helping pirates any either unless they have a precise departure time to track the bird. That, exact cargo and the planned course *would* be kept in strictest confidence, but as I said, we're not going to be looking that way... Unlikely they would list the thing officialy anyway." Something Joseph said finaly seems to click, "'Shipping lines'? It's your opinion they've shipped the thing on a comercial transport and not gone private or official?"
	Walker comments "If you were undercover and had a limited budget, much like we have, wouldn't you take a commercial liner? Say, that reminds me, the starport has been 'closed' for the past 4 days. Who have been regular inquiries into getting a berth or a ship offplanet? Unfortunately, we cannot discount the thought that they may be accepting working passage, rather than just being passengers. Say, wouldn't it be humorously coincidental if they came off that other liner that was found, you know, the one Korshnoi was talking about?"
	Somber clouds above Korshnoi for a while, but no. "It's a Malaccan ship. They would have jumped directly to Centauri, not here... I don't know about the rest. If the module is as important as advertised, I'd want it back home as soon and as safely as possible. Nobody said anything about a limited budget, just the need to keep it secret so they don't have to share... Speculation at this point anyway. Let's narrow the possibles first and then discuss who'se prime suspect."
	A nod from Joseph, "I am still in favor of Johnny's original plan. If we are going to draw attention to ourselves, I would prefer that we have it planned so as to control the where, when and how of it, rather than cross our fingers and hope you and Nick don't get caught hacking the shipping system and we are forced to react to a security team tracking back to us without our knowledge of their how, when and where.
	"Actually," interjects Walker, the search that will conduct may very well  serve the same purpose. We simply need to plan it out, so that while Nick  and Korshnoi draw them in, you and I can catch them. I am concerned, however, with the level of security the city demonstrates. Will we be able to setup a trap, either physical or electronic with so many eyes on us?"
	"If I may propose a modified idea, Korsnoi and Nick, if the two of you can secure an area from the prying eyes of the government, we can use that as a base.  Joseph and I will do what we do to make it secure physically. Actually, we may want two of these places, just in case. Safe houses, as the saying goes." Walker stands up and begins pacing again, "We also can't really trust the rental computers. If the government has cameras on every corner and in every elevator, why wouldn't they be monitoring the public computers as well?" Walker stops briefly and looks to Nick, "Unless you can modify the systems you need?"
	"In any case, if the inquiries you guys make draw any attention, I'd like to be able to respond accordingly, without the authorities taking my photo."
	"Going a bit paranoid there, I think." cautions Korshnoi. "The goverment simply doesn't have the computing power to look at every transaction at any time and you can pay to have a 'private' room in pretty much every hotel. Without the anti-vandalism slash you're safe in our hands equipment, I mean." He waves it away, "But that's not the point. The point is that the 'get them to attack us' plan has one major flaw: it alerts our targets we're coming (supposing they didn't already know) and leaves them totaly free to do what they want about it. What happens if they don't decide 'Let's kill the blithers' but 'Let's move the operation and burry ourselves deeper this time' instead?"
	"Well, paranoid is what I do. I either create it or live it, so pardon me if I accept it. In any case, they can't go deeper. They are on a deadline, based on the module. They must deliver it soon, or else recharge all of its systems. The little that I know about bio modules," Walker leans over as he paces to tap Norris' case, "is that upkeep isn't always cheap, rarely convenient, and annoying as all get out.  Could we monitor the shops that deal in recharging supplies?"
	"That's part of the plan, yes, once we find out what it needs. You speaking from experience here? Ma'siir said the exact opposite: lots of biomodules everywhere. Which would imply easily available re-fuel."
	"I don't really know. An impression if you will. In any case, they want off planet that's for sure. If we force them to move, we may spot that movement, whether it be deeper into the city, or away."
	"Not exactly practical. The city is big and we can only see what's immediatly around. How are you going to spot anything if it's not aimed specificaly at us? And I wouldn't want to go after possible enemy agents in their place. No point unless we're close to finding them and if we're close to finding them, why risk them knowing about it? Also the small possibility that their move actually succeeds and we never see them again. Wouldn't *that* be delightfull."
	"Let's table that for now and consider another matter then." says Joseph. "We will need to acquire a temporary base of operations. Any suggestions? I would opt for a motel with unmonitored entrance / exit routes, myself."
	A frown, slightly puzzled. "Why do we need a base? We're the small army here. Mobility pretty much our only asset besides surprise. Trade com codes," he tosses out his own "stay seperatly and meet at a different place each time. If we need cargo storage, I can provide." A pause as an idea pops up, "Say, Nick. Could you set-up a scrambled conference channel for us? Rotating coding, tapping detection, the works."
	"I'll look into it, shouldn't be too difficult, especially if I can get some higher tech gear...I'd rather not rent it, but that'll do if nothing better is available."
	"Not a good idea." judges Joseph. "Comm traffic is too detectable if you know what you are looking for, which our targets will once they are aware of us. We must assume for sake of survival that their counterintel ops is superior in skill and equipment to our own and plan things accordingly. I believe your military phrase applies "KISS - Keep It Simple, Soldier." In that frame of mind, constant comm traffic makes our operations more complex in form and is an invitation to tracking and destruction by the enemy. We must physically stay close to one another except when absolutely necessary, communicate in person as much as possible via voice or preplanned non-standard body language code, and only use short range, harder to detect comm gear for very short periods of time when necessary. I believe I asked Ms. Donnelly to supply us with such gear shortly. Given those necessities, a base of operations is critical for mission planning and review."
	"Not true. I can see the need to stay together, if you want to go that way, but there is none to stay in the same place all the time. That's asking for trouble. Stay together, but move from day to day. You won't find the perfect place, not on such short notice. Many average ones will do just fine... Harder to crack as well." 
	"I can agree with this." nods Walker. "The main point is that we have a central gathering place where we can leave stuff, get some sleep, and still feel somewhat safe. The commgear will allow us to function independantly. I can see us breaking up into teams. I suggest that Joseph and I form the ground team, while you and Nick work the 'nets. We can keep several plans in motion that way. You try to find them in the system, and we'll try to find them in the alleys."
	"Works for me. Keep us updated on where you are. Say an alls-well every quarter? By the by, if you're going to track the gang and such, I haven't heard mentioned the likely possibility our boy is a double or triple agent. Would explain his 'incompetence' and his disapearing act in the holos. Something to think about." A short silence while he waits for further input... "Right, let's get to it. Takbeer!"


04 SEPARATE WAYS

	As the other two exit, the bearded ex-soldier peeks at the Rico strapped to his forearm, then turns his attention to his not-so-tall Mediterranean partner, "Still got about a quarter on the room... You got what you need here, Nick, or are we better off strolling to something more high tech? My bit I can do from pretty much anywhere... Though leather seats are always nice." small grin. He seems in as good a mood as can be, considering.
	"Well, until Terry gets us some better machines, we might as well go to Rent-A-Deck. Or whatever the closest equivalent is...it'd be nice if they've got a good holoproj running the game, too."  Nick picks up a couple of the food containers and sticks them under one arm... everything else he needs is in his rico.
	"Well, I can recommend a place just around the corner." begins the other, his tone implying some sort of joke. "Haven't actualy used the facilities, but its endorsed by one out of one fleeing individual." an eyebrow comes up, questioning.
	"Nah, I'm looking for safe, rather than close. Just a second..." He questions the public databases as to the location of a nearby computer time rental place. "...Germaine Infosystems looks likely."
	"That's on Monrovia, right?" He shrugs as he rises, straightenning out his uniform, "Good with me."
	The pair makes their way past the bland Simerian secretary and out into the bustling corridor, heading for the tube. A short walk, but a tense one, at least for Korshnoi. He keeps his head in motion, seemingly expecting the unexpected... nothing. They take their places without incidents, acceleration pushing them back and then just the quiet rumble of the tube all around.
	Korshnoi looks to the seat next to him, thoughtful for a moment. "You seem the quiet type, Nick... Think I am too - when there isn't an argument involved." He flashes a quick, quiet grin. "So what do you think of things so far?" A roundabout motion of the hand, friendly reminder to keep it non-specific with the various humanity surrounding them.
	"Not bad... seems nice and soft so far, no bullets flying around." He knocks on the nearest synthowood surface. "I _really_ hope we get a chance to take a look at that gadget, though -- I knew a few guys who would still be here if we'd had stuff as good as theirs."
	A somber nod at that, though the tech decides to comment solely on the first part. "No bullets, but some bumps there at the start. What happened while I was gone anyway? Ticked off Joseph, whatever it was."
	"Huh? I'm not sure what you mean... He seemed a little upset, but I don't remember him saying anything about her."
	"Doing the legal thing at the time, I think." He grins out of one corner of his mouth, apparently finding something darkly humorous in the retelling of it. "Took me aside and made it clear she deserved to be shown 'his displeasure' since she's quite, quite untrustworthy... Hehe Rather funny now that I think about it: didn't he say just about exactly the same thing about the rest of us?" Rhetorical question, obviously. "...So, while I was gone?"
	"Not much. Got food, got drinks... She said the runaround was the only way she knew to check if we had what it took for the job. We weren't there too long without you."
	"Uh... Shrewd man our Joseph." grumbles Korshnoi rather unhappily. "Ah well... You play chess, Nick?"
	"A little... I've got the latest ChessMonstah! on here." He taps his Rico.  "It's cool, you can put your own image on the chess pieces, then they battle to the death."
	"Nice..." says Korshnoi in his most doubtful voice. A look at the tube diagram, "Got just about time for opening moves if you want. Should warn you though: was captain of the club back in college... More to do with build then talent, I admit. We were a combative lot back then; broke our share of furniture." He rubs tiny scars on the back of his knuckles, smiling. "How'd you pick it up?"
	"Oh, a few old guys used to play out front of my dad's restaurant when we lived on Earth. Never got too violent, though... just loud." He checks the tube, too, then says, "I just wanted to check the kite results before we get there." He turns to his rico.
	Korshnoi seems mildly surprised, "Exhibition or off system, maybe? Were just after end season around here you know. Local championship's next sunday." He pauses while Nick peruses the information presented by his Rico, waiting... but Nick doesn't surface again. He's seen this before: virtual addicts. Plug them in and they loose themselves in their own little worlds. A smile, 'Guess that's a good thing, considering what he does for a living.'
	He taps Nick on the shoulder when they get to their stop, "Time to go, friend." and points them out the door. "Germaine and then a discreet little place where we can go about our business in confort, right? Right."

	Korshnoi and Kazantz eventually find a hotel which appears to foot the bill.  It's located near the Starport section of the city, near Honigeis, between Starport and Biko. The room contract specifies that the management only maintains cameras and other monitors in the hall, and that in the event of an emergency, the management takes limited responsibility for guests who stay in their rooms.
	"Right, suggest you start the search with the Keuschburg starport and hope they're there: orbit's big, crouded big I mean. I'll do the holo analysis and get you something to work with, Insh'Allah. Good with you?"
	Nick nods and they both get to work, Korshnoi jumping from one astronomical site to another, seeking something that will fit the bill. Several agents and programs turn up, but none are free, and most appear to reserve the right to notify authorities is something suspicious is being queried. Not that that's too much of a problem, as far as Korshnoi can see. That they even included the warning is rather strange actualy. What possible illegal activity could a star identification program serve? Closed systems, maybe.
	No matter. He was kind of relieved actualy. He'd feared he'd have to input the stars location and physical specs by hand, but it looks like most of the agents will do all the grunt work from a source picture. Bit pricier, but hey. Korshnoi ran the first holo though an editing program, turning it into a long visual strip of sky, cropped just above the module itself. Off it goes... and back it comes, green characters above a simplified system map. That easy. Bit disappointing too, no field trip in the immediate future. "BerberaIIa."
	Kazantz looks up from his own computing, "Uh... What?" 
	Korshnoi leans back in his chair and cranes his neck to face Nick, "BerberaIIa in the Tetsuyama system, that's where they took the holos. Near where they found it, I'd guess, since there's no reason for a stopover there that I can see: nothing but rocks and vacuum. No mining, no settlements..." He shrugs.
	Nick says nothing about BerberaII, (mostly because he's never heard of it before), so the bearded tech elaborates somewhat, "Makes some sense: plenty of battles around there during the war... None right *there* that I can remember, but who knows what the Tripes were doing during their occupation, right? Could have planted an entire sub-base in those two years, and then some."
	"Wouldn't know about that, but I do have the list of what ships came in to the orbital port in the last few days, and where they're registered. We've got a few Sol ships, a self-registered... oh heck, here's the list." He squirts it over to Korshnoi's message system.

	 Name                Registered          Arrived
	 --------------------------------------------------------------
	 Nebuchadnezzar      Luyten              March 23
	 Red Hat             Fuxing              March 24
	 Cixi Huanghou       Self                Unavailable
	 Lyonesse            Malacca             March 23
	 Matsushima Maru     Sol (Mercury)       March 18
	 Potsdamer Platz     Wolf                March 20
	 Regalia             Sol (Earth)         March 21
	 Zapruder            Babylon             March 22

	"Now if we just knew where these had come from..." He points out the Malacca registered ship and says, "Heh, that's not how you spell Lioness."
	Korshnoi puzzles that one for a second, then it dawns on him, "Nah, nah, It's 'lee-on-eez'." He says, amusement bubbling under his words. "Big station back home. Decent food as well.... Nevermind. Can you tell if any of those have been modified? I mean if the info got leaked four days ago, we're left with the three LSN ships (Who in Gehenna is Potzdamer Platz?) and that mystery one. First thing I would change though."
	"Not without getting down to the system entries. That would be tricky. I'll try and search for flight plans, and also for whether any of these ships have been known to be involved in covert ops type stuff." 
	"Back to the grindstone then." Korshnoi considers his next move, 'Now if I can figure out exactly *where* on BerberaIIa... Map those mountains on the horizon to a topo-survey maybe.' But no maps to be found. Some interresting search program errors, sure, but no maps. 'Time for the software expert to step in.' Korshnoi leans towards Nick, pauses... and settles back in his seat. 'Why do we need this exactly? If it'd been in-system...' A few moments spent racking his brains and smoothing his beard turns up no immediate uses whatsoever. 'ats what happens when you stretch yourself out of your field. I'm the tech guy,' He brings up both views of the module, leaving them on top for easy reference. 'Stick to it.'
	Nothing much about the thing in the old rico databases, but plenty on the net. There! "The Edmund-Hitachi M231, M241 or M251, ideal for the secure transport of your drug manufacturing enzymes, DNA samples, frozen sperm, bovine embryos, etc. etc." Allah have mercy, 50cm for the biggest ones. Could carry two under your arm, easy.
	"Say, Nick? Sorry to bother you again, but I need to make a call... You figure you can set me up a non-traceable?"
	Nick pushes a few keys, frowns then says "I'll try and reroute it through a couple of bounceservers, shouldn't be too hard -- Done. You're now a pub term."
	"Thanks." Korshnoi punches the numbers from the top of the screen... "Bourgeoine's Electronics? Yes, I'm in the market for a biomodule. I see you're having a sale on the <reading> Edmund-Hitachi M241?"
	"Why yes we are! We have a limited number in stock, and we're always happy to order for you."
	"Uhu. I'm not real familiar with the M241. Could you run me through the features ?"
	"Um, well..." the man says while obviously checking a database of some sort, "It's quite state of the art. There are no known non-targetted membrane contaminants, and it can keep the average neutral-thermal bioware active and fueled for up to a week, depending upon metabolism. And of course it has the standard low-fuel indicators, as well as a readout which can be programmed to show either time remaining or amount of fuel remaining. Plus, it has very sturdy carrying runners, and it's made out of very strong stuff. It'd take an elephant to crush one -- ha ha!"
	"Right, right, seems fine. Still shopping though. The sale, it's on till...? End of march. Uhu, Could I get a copy of the manual sent over? See if it fits my needs."
	"I'll send one to you right away," says the man, who appears to be Mr. Bourgeoine himself. "Please just give me your contact code and I'll send it right over..."
	Nick starts working, shifting symbols around in a frantic high-tech dance.
	"Uh..." 'Allah damn him, what's the point of faking an address if' <a tap on his side> "One minute, please." Korshnoi jerk his head up, eyebrows raised in question. A raised hand answers him, pulsing its signal, wait, wait. Then Nick points to the screen, dragging a finger under a brand new contact address. Korshnoi nods once. "Right, send it to <he reads it as naturally as he can>. Sorry for the delay, just changed and I drew a blank there for a second. Uhu. Oh, last thing. I'm planning on taking this module off-planet. You wouldn't happen to know a site where I can get the regs for that sort of stuff, would you? Save me the look-see." Unbeknowst to the store-keeper, Korshnoi gives an understated thumbs up to his partner.
	Nick nods back, idly giving his creation a little "fake history" -- some postings on public boards and messages with that address on instead of the original posters, that sort of thing. Worth doing well if at all. 
	In the background, the conversation is coming to a close, "Oh, gosh, sir, I don't know about that kind of thing." He seems genuinely embarrassed that he doesn't know. "But I could look the regs up for you, if you'd like. Although I think the Sphere government usually cares more about what's inside the module, rather than the module itself. But anyway, I can check if you'd like me to."
	"'ats alright, really my job you know. I'll just go to customs and ask someone there. Nice of you to offer though. Right. Right. I should decide in the next few days. Yes. Good bye. <click> Nice guy... And now: the manual." He shifts the contact address over to his station and opens up the file with an anticipatory smile, like he would a present. Without the smell of new stuff in the background, but still...
	Korshnoi pages through the manual, Nick looking over his shoulder (the room they are in, their room at the Sol, has no large projection screens). First to catch his attention is the section about indicator lights: "Your new M241 is quite a capable machine. It can, in addition to storing a large amount of biofuel, display the amount remaining in terms of time remaining, time left until some point is reached, or simply display absolute volume of fuel remaining. To change the display, simply tap the display window (Part 23 in picture 2). If you'd like to see a time referent, the display will be as follows: XX:YY:ZZ:AAA. In which XX is hours, YY is minutes, ZZ is seconds and AAA is thousandths of a second. If you'd like to see absolute amount of fuel remaining, the display will read: AA:BB In which AA is mL and BB is hundredths of mL. Don't forget, your new M241 holds up to 500 mL of fuel."
	"Uh..." The muslim squints at the front holo, "58 237 342. No, wait. That's 1237, I think." He tries to get a high-res shot of the display but ends up with a mat of large, ungainly pixels. "Bloody... The kafir used non-fractal resolution!" Korshnoi throws himself back into his seat and grumbles something unkind about photographers. "What do you think of this, Kazantz? Low res, low detail, fixed to the nine hells. Why?"
	"Huh, not sure. Maybe it had to be some kind of a superquick squirt transmission? Or maybe they just didn't want anybody doing what we're trying to do..."
	Korshnoi looks intringed, if a bit doubtful. "So you're disconting the entire 'rolling' story? Something else went on, I got that part, but I figured the drop was at least physical; a disguised meeting, you know."
	"Don't know. But maybe this isn't an original -- that story did seem a little unstable to me."
	His companion makes a face, "Wellll, may be silly of me, but I like to avoid thinking management ever goes out of its way to screw their own people. It's a trust thing. You don't give it, none comes back." He shrugs and smiles, lightly mocking his own silly beliefs. "Anyway, double agent story still sticks now that I think about it. Nobody said the guy worked for free. Maybe he's selling the info in pieces; location of the find not covered in this transaction." A pause. "How did your version go?"
	"Didn't have one all worked out -- I'm just not sure that this pic is one  that the guy it was taken from actually took. Maybe he just intercepted it, not unlike us, only earlier. Get it?"
	A shrug, "Possible, I suppose. Let me know if you weld that into a whole. In the meantime, I'll stick with double-agent man... So, 58 hours and change on the display... Not much use at all, right? Back to the manual."
	Korshnoi pages down to the section describing indicator lights. "Your new M241 is fully able to display its current status to you, in terms of the integrity of the module itself, the health of your bioproduct, and the amount of fuel remaining. Above the fuel/time indicator is a row of three lights. From left to right, they are the module integrity indicator (MII), sample health indicator (SHI) and fuel value indicator (FVI). The lights are normally blue, indicating everything is okay. They may turn green, yellow or red, indicating that the situation is worsening. If your MII, SHI or FVI ever turn yellow, you should immediately contact a licensed repairperson. If any indicator turns red, the situation is critical. In this event, please see our helpful section about liability."
	Further along, a short paragraph on Care and Feeding, "Your new M241 biomodule is one of the best of its type in Known Space. In addition to being light and portable, it is also highly fuel efficient. The M241 usually requires no more than 10 mL per hour, although of course this amount varies widely by the type of bio being carried.* Instructions on fueling your module begin on page 72, under the heading FUELING." A quick peek at p.72 nets them the info that biofuel is basically a very high-calorie syrup, like maple, but even more concentrated.
	"<sigh> No tracking them that way then. This stuff's available all over the place... Alright, so I'll read this in detail" flipping to the last page and looking at the page number (in the low two-hundreds) "...in my spare time." he finishes smoothly. "Plan to drop by customs first and see what our 'friends' had to contend with, if anything. Suggestions?"
	Nick just shakes his head. "I haven't seen that kind of a biomodule before, though -- don't think they're too common in the ICA."
	"Right, right. I see what you're saying, track - the - module, supposing they pulled a trojan on customs." Excited, he swivels to his screen and quickly accesses the custom's site. "If regs are tight enough. We get the advantange on the ICA people. They don't know *which* model they're looking for. Here we are." 
	A quick scan through reveals that bringing biomodules into Keuschburg Port is pretty heavily regulated. ("Good.") All biomaterials must be declared, and any of the following are subject to confiscation and/or quarantine: Blablabla. Um. Actually, it seems like most materials which come into the city are probably impounded for at least a while, unless the person declares the contents as simple yeast or something. Generally, though, an importer must give some kind of sample, or allow the contents to be opened. Of course, some kinds of biomaterial cannot be allowed to have contact with the outside, so there are ways of getting samples without interfering with the material's integrity, like getting a guaranteed sample sealed at the source.
	"That's probably it." says Korshnoi, pointing at that last passage. "Faked a guaranteed sample. No way they'd let anybody take a look at their Tripe tech. So now all we got to do -- All YOU have to do, is sneak into customs and get us a list of people who imported an Edmund-Hitachi M231, M241 or M251 in the last few days. And DONE... Insh'allah." With a small grin, he raises himself up, giving Nick just enough time to rejoin his own chair before following.
	"Okay, we'll give that a shot." says Nick, already plugged in and making some exploratory probes, "Hopefully it'll cut stuff down." Couple of manipulations later, "Alright. General idea is to go in with multiple little agent programs, set them up to make fairly professional looking but actually kind of obvious intrusions into customs' network. That should give us plenty of opportunities to quietly sneak in a back door or equivalent... Now we take this quick or slow, but to do it quick, we'll need to buy some decent software. Something that could crack customs probably won't be on the rack at the local bit-shop... do you have any local contacts that could help out?"
	After a thoughtful scratch at his beard, the tech nods doubtfully, "Know were to get bargains for comp parts - the optical bits at least - but that's about it. Though, thinking about it... that guy always was a bit shady. Wouldn't surprise me if the parts 'fell off the shuttle'. *Might* have some deeper contacts of his own." He gives the patented Korshnoi shrug, "or he might not. Look, I don't know much about it, but looks like we're going for a frontal assault here. Couldn't we... sneak in under cover of night?"
	"Well, my original plan was to do both -- frontal assault as a diversion and sneak in under that cover. If you want to just be sneaky, I can do that too -- I just think we might get caught." Nick gazes into his virtual system for a few seconds. "I'm also going to check to see if anyone's found any backdoors into the customs system that might help us... don't wanna re-invent the worm." Nick zones out again then pops back up, "Ah, the net's dead in that department. Maybe we could go walkabout, find some people to talk to and see if they can help us."
	"Bigger deal than I thought... Damn, and it looks so easy and straight-forward in the flicks." A wry smile creases his lips, then fades as he gets serious. "About time to hook-up with Walker and Mr Personality anyway... Rico, dial John Walker."


05 TRACER ROUND

	Routers connect, virtual gateways open, the call goes through. "Jon here." says a quiet voice on the other end.
	"Korshnoi. Tech team's run into a little bump, we'll need to discuss things with your half." He distractedly cranks up the volume on his rico so Nick doesn't have to lean over, "What's been happening on your end?"
	An imperceptible pause. "We, we ran into some trouble. Joseph is dead. I do not think it can be traced back, left things looking like a street robbery. We did not even find anything out and-"
	"Did you say 'dead'?" interrupts Korshnoi. All traces of good humor have suddenly evaporated from the room, leaving chilled air in their wake.
	"Yes. Ambushed in an alley by a pack of thugs. There wasn't, there wasn't anything..." He trails off.
	"Well, ah..." Korshnoi and Nick share a silent, wide-eyed look. 
	Nobody talks. Nobody seems to know what to say. Somebody needs to say something though, anything. "You alright?" 
	"Yes... yes."
	"How... How in Gehenna did this happen?" Color is returning to the tech's complexion and with it a wash of emotion. "No, don't tell me. We'll come get you and *then* we can discuss it... Where are you?"
	"Nothing I could do. Nothing..." Jon seems to shake away that train of thought, "Where are *you*? I shall come... This location may be compromised, I had better leave."
	"Um... Take the tube to Honigeis and Starport." orders Korshnoi. "We'll be waiting at the station." Then, belatedly, "Watch yourself." 
	"Very well. I shall see you shortly." The link goes off. 
	There is heavy silence for a while, then the muslim tech is on his feet, folding his comp and unplugging cables. "You coming, Kazantz? People team stepped in it and we got to pull them out." 
	Nick nods and follows suit. "How bad?"
	"You heard him as well as I did," snaps the tech, "don't know any more than that." Tension is evidently running fairly high and silence return, but it is a silence less heavy with shock. This silence buzzes with unvoiced thoughts and half-formed plans. The comps go into their sleaves and those are in turn clipped to their belts. One last look on the way out reveals only discarded food wrappers and empty drink cans. 
	The door closes behind them and they briskly rush into a waiting elevator. Korshnoi taps his feet impatiently while Nick looks at the slowly dropping numbers. In their wired state, the usualy lightning-quick trip down to street level seems to last forever, but at last there is a musical ding and a breath of cooler air. The two would-be operatives are free to step across the patterned tiles of the lobby and then into the fluid humanity of the main boulevard.
	All this is done without any unecessery verbiage, nothing much besides the occasional "This way" and "Excuse me, coming through". Each man is busy mulling his own thoughts in the privacy of his own skull. Each is also scanning his side of the street, Nick with seeming ease, Korshnoi with rising tension stiffening his movements. "You know anything about surveillance, Nick?"
	"You mean like packet sniffing and transaction clone dissection?" Seeing Korshnoi gesturing to the actual people around, he shifts gears. "No, not really."
	"Allah! ...We could really use Selaam right about now, couldn't we? This is his area of expertise." He chews the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with something. "Alright, I stand out like last year's model so I'll be the one to greet Walker. You sit by and see if anybody follows us... Suggestions?" Nick just shakes his head. "OK then... Seperate entrances is what I'm thinking. Let's give ourselves some space." 
	Korshnoi lengthens his steps, slowly parting from the shorter man. He arrives at the elevators a good 30 meters in front of Nick and then impatiently waits to be dropped off. A few dozen steps forwards, another couple to the side and he is there.

	Booted feet firmly planted on the white tiles of the station, Korshnoi waits. He's gotten his tension under control, the only outward signs of it resting in his hands. Apparently on their own, they repeatedly drift into a military 'at ease' pose whenever he's not looking and have to be brought back. Some habits die hard.
	On a seat some distance away, Nick waits as well. His rented computer rests in his lap, busy fingers gliding things around. Just a late night worker wringing the last minutes of the day into his work, occasionaly looking up to grace the rest of the sphere with a look that manages to be both bored and vaguely impatient.
	The two man pointedly ignore each other, though a careful observer would note the sudden glint of interrest in both their eyes as a slender man steps out of the tube. 
	Jon appears somewhat battered but without serious injury, though the look he casts about does appear rather blank and may be a cause for worry... That look does manage to spot the ex-soldier though and he begins moving in his direction. Slowly. He's struggling with a backpack as well as his own bag and Noris' biocontainer. 
	"Assalamu 'alaykum, Walker." Korshnoi's eyes are behind the cook, searching the croud. "I'll take you to the hotel." He reaches over with a semi-annoyed grunt and commandeers Jon's bagages, though the man refuses to let go of Noris' cage. Korshnoi doesn't insist.
	Jon smiles weakly, otherwise grateful for the assistance. "It's... it's good to see you," he finally says, his voice flat and distant. 
	"Same here." Korshnoi leads the way up the stairs and into the street, Jonny following behind, seemingly barely aware of his surroundings. 'The man's more damaged than I thought.' thinks Korshnoi as he backpeddles to accomodate Jon's shorter legs. "We'll be there soon, don't worry. A nice walk will do you good. Good for the system I always say..." He keeps it up, a meaningless but hopefully conforting background drone.
	That only takes part of his attention though. The muslim tech remains alert -- splitting his attention between Johnny and his surroundings. A good thing too. As they come down Richards, past Kirkus, he gives a casual glance back towards the area they've just left, back towards the skyway they've just crossed, and the cafe just beyond it. There is a man there, sitting at an outdoor table. The man sees him as well -- apparently, he has been studying Korshnoi or his companion quite intently. The man immediately looks off at something else, but both of them know there is some sort of interest -- hostile or not is hard to tell... 
	Just then, his rico buzzes. "Rico, low volume. Korshnoi here."
	"Nick. Haven't we seen that guy before? The one in the sunglasses just going past the corner behind you? I think he was watching us down by the station, too..."
	The bearded man turns to say something to John, his eyes taking advantage of the motion to flick backwards. That could be him, a short guy with curly hair, trying not to seem obvious. "Swell, we're really popular tonight. Have you gone past the Kirkus skyway? There's a guy in the pub there with a bit too much time on his hands. Seems to be spending all of it looking our way... We're going right on the next intersection, see who follows." and hope they aren't a team.
	They are less than 300 meters out of the station, coincidence is still a factor where Curly is concerned. The Pub-man - the Pub-man could be just a bored tourist or an off-duty soldier who recognized the uniform. All very innocent and reasonable... Korshnoi's heart doesn't seem to agree and speeds up its thumping against his ribs.
	Korshnoi and Johnny continue on ahead, passing Kirkus, then turning on Tynedale. Jon barely seems to notice Korshnoi's movements or conversation, just following blindly along. No help there. Both conscious participants try their best to keep track of the mysterious person who appeared interested in them, but no luck -- the jostling crowds make surety impossible. Of course, this in itself is telling -- the person may in fact *want* to avoid detection, otherwise why would he become lost in the crowd so easily? 
	A quick comm check shows that Nick is having no better luck. He has brought up the rear but come up empty handed. The two men are starting to get nervous -- losing one's quarry is never a good thing in their business. 
	"We're moving." decides Korshnoi, addressing both his companions. "Enemy's  got the advantage of terrain, so let's change it. Nick, you form up on us. I'll call a cab. John," A look to the unresponsive cook, still very much the walking wounded "...keep doing what you're doing." Spotting the nearest green on white symbol, he steers all of them down the shallow permcrete steps leading to groundcar parking. "Should thin out the herd a bit as well, so keep your eyes peeled."
	Johnny and Korshnoi move towards the stairs. 'It's only a couple flights, and the walk would do John some good anyway.' thinks Korshnoi to himself. The noisy nighttime chaos of the main boulevard silences itself as they descend the first few steps of the stairs. The two men cautiously walk down, their eyes constantly flicking back up the stairs in the way they've been trained. However, no one enters the stairs behind them, at least not visibly. As Korshnoi and Johnny come out into the downstairs garage, they note no sign of their pursuers. The door closes with a subtle "whoosh," but no other sounds come from the stairway. 
	A sharp gaze to the left where the elevator banks reside... nothing of note there. Breathing a sigh of relief, the muslim tech thumbs another line (keeping open the one with Nick) and calls a cab from one of the ads plastered on the courtesy wall screens for just such a purpose. 'Wether we take it or not, that's another question...' His blue eyes travel through the parking's cavernous interior, searching... and there it is, right next to him. A connection from this passenger area to another garage, this one further north. 
	"Nick? Join us. We're leaving by cab." He doesn't really believe their commline has been breached, but directional mikes can get pretty damn small. Better to lay a bit of mis-direction just in case.
	Nick answers "Be there in a sec, looks clear."
	Jon looks down at Norris, but doesn't say anything.
	Pretending to wait impatiently for a cab is actually pretty easy when you're alsready nervous. Korshnoi walks to and fro, occasionaly whipping his gaze over the outside windows. That last actually allows him to keep a watch on his surroundings.
	A fair number of people are here as well, but not as many as above. Two of them are busily using the pubterms under the tree, while someone else seems engrossed in something at the pubterms by the adwall. Although the one by the adwall seems to be enjoying a porn flick, none of the pubterm users seem to be of any major note. A couple (two women) are lying in each others' arms on one of the benches close to the stairs. One of them seems half-asleep. A small family of East Asian extraction is waiting patiently for their car at the benches closest to the adwall. The mother and father are talking quietly about something, and the kids are playing with pinwheels they apparently got on their travels. 
	Nick arrives shortly thereafter. The three are united. Nothing seems out of place, save the lost pursuers. 
	"Let's go."	They head off down the corridor. Fortunetly or unfortunetly, it's scantily populated; two couples walk well behind the trio. Both couples seem to be genuine, and neither includes either of the men noticed earlier. 
	The trio has walked about 50m when a quick check back shows them a short man with curly brown hair -- the same man Nick noticed. The man is trying to seem nonchalant, but with the sparse number of people in the corridor, he's having a rather hard time of it. His presence is quite clear. He actually seems to be making use of some kind of electronic device as they notice him -- probably a communicator, by the way he's holding it.
	"Well there you have it." murmurs Korshnoi unhappily. After a moment of frantic thinking (punctuated about halfway through with a frowned look Jon's way), he adds "Alright, follow my lead." and briskly proceeds down the 300 meters to the northern parking.
	Jon is just following the other two, stumbling slightly and looking straight ahead (if he can be said to be looking anywhere!).
	The man behind them appears to be discussing something as hurriedly and nervously as he can while still trying to seem nonchalant. What he's saying is unclear, as he's still about 40 m. behind the men. Indeed, he is trying to close the distance, but having little luck trying to use his communicator, look nonchalant and walk faster all at the same time, so he slows down a bit.

< i am here >


	Without pausing, the little group makes its way to the stair entrance and steps through... only to stop abruptly just outside the range of the door sensors. Jon's bags drop to the ground. The other two look at the bearded ex-soldier, puzzled by this sudden stop, but that is nothing compared to their reaction to what follows.
	Korshnoi whips around and slams Jon against the wall. His fore-arm is pressing against the alleged cook's throat, cutting off his air and almost lifting him off the ground.
	"Urghhhhh!!!" Jon is taken totally aback by this and fails to react until Korshnoi has completed his move. Too late he begins to struggle, trying to free himself from Korshnoi's grip, barely even retaining a grasp on Norris's biocontainer, gasping for breath, vision beginning to blur into a red haze going greyish-black around the edges... and just like that the pressure is gone, the heavy-set muslim having taken a step back and dropped his arms.  
	Jon staggers and drops to his knees, coughing. He looks up with a rather glazed look, "Wha... <<cough>> why?"
	"Um..." Korshnoi eyes his victim critically. "Not quite there yet." He steps forward once more and kicks out Jon's supporting hand, following that with a two-handed hammer strike to the back. Jon is sent sprawling by the latest onslaught. Gasping, he tries to huddle away from any further attack.
	Korshnoi's hands close over the slender man's shoulders and slap him back on the wall, "Your hand to hand instructor needs to be shot." he declares, frustration chasing puzzlement across his face, with just a hint of mounting desesperation. Whatever the state of his face, anger is clearly the dominant factor in his voice, "By the 99 names of Allah, a four year-old with terminal euthrops could've dodged that last combo! and not a single attack with me standing wide open all the time! That's... disgusting. Snap out of it - you hear me?" then with calm menace, "Snap out of it or I'll hit you again."
	Jon looks blankly at Korshnoi, then blinks rapidly. He shakes his head, then straightens up away from the wall. "J.. just leave me alone... I.. I couldn't... I... I failed him..."
	"Um - and how do you feel about doing it again?"
	Jon stares blankly at Korshnoi, as if the words didn't make any sense. He looks down for a moment, then his eyes search out Norris. He moves over to retrieve the biocontainer... 
	Korshnoi slams him back against the wall, "You're not hearing me, Walker. We have a bunch of people on our tail and they're not likely to be user-friendly. You're Failing Your Partners, Right Now." he says, hammering each word home. "Now, if we're very lucky, Mr Curly is just reaching the elevators. We're going to surround him (Nick left, you in back) and kindly escort him down the corridor north for a little chat. He resists, we resist back and if I catch you drifting off to self-pity land, Walker, so help me I'll get killed right before your eyes just to spite you! Are we clear?"
	Jon reaches up and gently pushes Korshnoi back. His eyes clear somewhat, although he still looks a bit dazed. "Y.. yes. I hear you..." He looks around. "Where are we?" He rubs his eyes, and when he removes his hands Nick and Korshnoi can see that he's tracking again. "Okay... Um... Give me a sitrep." Suddenly he straightens up. It's almost as if a switch had been thrown. "Right, where's this target and what's the plan?" He hasn't moved, or so you would have sworn, but a knife appears in his left hand. A big one.
	"Put that away. We're going for quiet on this one." He straightens his uniform, smoothes his beard and heads out, firing snippets of last minute instructions, "Feel free to poke him in the back a bit though, let him know we mean business. Nobody see him as an individual till we're right on top. Nick, you grab his com, might be useful... and Allah be with us."
	Jon listens to Korshnoi's instructions, and nods once. The knife disappears. He retrieves Norris, and tucks the biocontainer into his pack, whispering "Just for a few minutes, promise." Then he takes up position, and follows out into the main concourse, ready to step in behind the target. He's quiet and subdued, but does at least seem to be paying attention now.
	"Oh, and John? you'll get your chance at payback, promise." The tech's expression suggests he'll have some of that as well.
	Just then, the doors open. The curly-haired man steps through, still nervously reporting to someone on his communication device. "I tell you, I don't know where--" 
	Jon steps quickly, quietly round to place himself behind the curly-haired man. He smiles as he says, "Maybe you will find out, neighbour."
	Korshnoi too is all smiles. It seems Allah favors those who wait. "Excuse me." One hand closes on a wrist while the other takes advantage of the man's surprise to reach in and casualy press the orange pad on his com, terminating any link to the outside. An increase of pressure on the nerves and Mr Curly's grip goes limp long enough to relieve him of his com unit, which is tosses over to Nick's waiting hands, "See what you can do with that."
	Back to their guest, "Now then, thank you for allowing us just enough time to re-wire the security cams, it makes your death all the easier. (I trust you are aware of my friend's love of sharp objects?)" 
	Jon places his right hand gently on their "guest's" shoulder. That big knife, in his other hand, rests tip-first just above the fellow's left kidney. No pressure... as yet. 
	Korshnoi let's that dreadful statement worm its way to full awareness before continuying. "Of course, if you'd care to talk to us instead..."
	The man looks clearly nervous, though it is also equally clear he is trying to hide it.  His eyes skim over his handcomm -- he clearly wishes it was still in his possession. "Fuck," he says, trying to sound cool, but belied by the tremors in his voice, "Who are you people? They aren't paying me enough for this. Whaddya wanna know?"
	"Start from where you first heard of us and go from there." instructs Korshnoi matter of factly. He almost adds another threat at that point, but closes his mouth in time. More menacing to leave the first one undiluted by repetition.
	"Hey, ped, I don't /know/ you guys. My boss," and here he briefly avoids mentioning a name, "says we got to follow you. Says some guy wit no eyes, weird ped, give 'im lotsa bucks to follow you. But my boss, see, he ain't dumb, he shops it out to the street, and the street says back, 'You work wit us, we give a lot more.' So now we workin' for some Feds, names I don't know." 

>[Korshnoi assumably asks a probing question to find out the man's boss'
>name at this point, with physical reinforcement from Jon.]

	"Vacc! Okay, shit, you got the comm right there, call 'im! My boss is code 1A-gamma. He's a reasonable ped, if you got bucks, he sells you right back in, tight."
	"May just do that... later. Continue the story, please. What specifics did your boss give when he sent you out?"
	"Boss says we sposed to check out a group like you. One tall guy wit a heavy Islamic beard," he says, looking at Korshnoi, "a guy looks like he's from Cyprus," looking at Nick, "a guy with white skin, blue eyes and carrying a plant," looking at Johnny, "and another guy looks like a Imam. Where'd that guy go?" This last question seems honest -- perhaps this man truly had nothing to do with Joseph's death? The three men look sternly at him as he asks the question. Regardless of whether he was responsible for Joseph's death or not, they did not plan to give away any information. 
	"Anyway," he says, exasperated on top of his nervousness, "boss man says some guy with no eyes, just a big old mirror on his head, hired him to check you guys out. Wanted to find out where you were and what you were doin'. Now, peds with that kind of 'ware ain't common, so my boss checks around. Seems like some other guy, I think the boss said he has a British accent, hires him for twice the price. That guy says to find you and to follow you. Wanted to know something about a biosomething. Wanted to know what you know, and to find out who you were. I wasn't sure how boss man knew where to find ya," he says. "But boss' got contacts I ain't never heard of. And, ped," he says, exasperated, "that's it. All I know." 
	"I think we need to know how to find this 'boss' fellow, neh?" says Jon. "Not just his comm-code but a physical location..."
	Korshnoi looks the question over to Mr Curly. In his fore he can't see this bit of information as being very useful (the man is an independant contractor, not one of the main players), but this is no time for discusion... and this isn't really his area of expertise to begin with.
	"Um, I think he's holed up somewhere in Starport. But he don't tell me all his haunts, y'know." 
	"A name then." prompts Korshnoi.
	"Oh, okay. It's Roberto. We don't use last names in our line." As he says this, he briefly glances up the stairwell as does Jon, following his gaze.
	"Roberto." echoes Korshnoi in his most doubting voice. He casualy circles round to where Jon's baguages lie, leaving the way to the stairs unblocked. "Well, thank you 'ped', you've been most helpful. Deal with him, Chuck."
	For one split second Jon stands nonplussed, then his knife disappears as he gives the fellow a violent shove between the shoulder blades. "Get out of here... and if you ever see my face again it will be the last thing you ever see."
	The man, now thought of as "Mr. Curly" in the three men's minds, looks slightly astonished -- either at having lived, or at something else. He understands soon enough, though, and runs off.
	"Bit on the dramatic side, John." remarks Korshnoi, though his lips do seem to curl upwards ever so slightly.
	Jon merely shrugs. 
	"All well and good," continues the tech with hardly a pause, "but it wouldn't do to linger too long. Curly may be an amateur, but he isn't working alone." Scooping up the baguages, he let's the other two precede him  before following in their tracks. Back through the parking door they go, retracing their steps southwards. 
	"With considerable luck, the taxi we called fifteen minutes ago just arrived," explains Korshnoi, eating the distance with energic strides. "Find anything on the com, Nick?"
	Nick looks up from the commo. A slight smile lays on his face. "Yep, got it working. What do you want to do with it? He's got quite a few codes here, but no names -- just 'boss', 'snakeboy,' 'glass,' 'Delilah', stuff like that." 
	As he says this, Korshnoi is listening with his ears but looking out into the corridor with his eyes. He sees nothing unusual -- no people in fact. This has all happened so fast, no one has yet come to the stairwell. Either that, or they've been scared away. Regardless, nothing appears to Korshnoi's waiting eyes. 
	
	Korshnoi moves ever onwards, "No data storage at all? Figured he'd at least have an answering client in there... No crypto keys either, I take it?"
	"It doesn't seem to be encrypted. Pretty shoddy little model, actually. The guy didn't know his gear." notes Nick.
	"Uh. Transfer his call history, calling list and anything else you find in there, please. Might be useful." Korshnoi turns away, snaps his fingers and turns back just as quickly, "Last number, either outgoing or incoming. From the sound of it, that was either Roberto or Curly's tailing partner..." 
	"If we assume 'Boss' here is Roberto... It /is/ the last number called. 'Course, maybe he was making all that stuff up." 
	"Did get that impression at the end there," agrees Korshnoi "but the begining sounded fairly trustworthy, I think."

BREAK

	Seemingly out of empty space, Jon decides to address his biocontainer, "Told you, Norris - just a moment."
	That earns the cook a short, frowned stare. Moving on. "Walker! You seemed interrested in this Roberto fellow."
	Jon looks up from Norris. "Um. Yes. Follow the links... Roberto hired Curly, who hired Roberto? Either follow the chain back, or get noticed so doing and bring 'them' out into the open. As you wanted Curly to go free, Nick had better call him - ask." 
	"Interrogation isn't my area." grumbles Korshnoi on the defensive. "Already a certified miracle Curly bought my -- Call him *what*?"
	Jon gazes at Norris as he replies, "Ask him who hired him to look for us, of course. Easier done face-to-face... with a call he can always just terminate the connection on you. Do you want me to do it?" He looks up from the plant, and moves over to Nick, reaching out for the communicator.
	Nick looks down at it, makes a sort of "Oh, okey-dokey" look, and passes the unit to Johnny.
	"Moving a bit fast for me, Jon." The ex-soldier slows his pace, scanning through the transparent partitions of the nearing southern waiting area, hoping for the green and red shape of their taxi. "Alright, I'm Roberto and you've just phoned... Supposing you haven't called me an 'ask' yet, why should I do anything for you?"
	Jon looks slightly puzzled. "Simple. Make like you know something... this 'Roberto' is in the business of finding things out for people, so act like you have some information to offer... draw him in, neh? Listen to what is said, and what is not said. It's all in the pattern."
	"Ah, yes... of course." Korshnoi comes to a slow stop in the middle of the waiting area, one quite devoid of any taxi-like protrusions. "Should that fail to bear fruits, you might want to offer him a side-deal. Off the top, I'd say something along the lines of 'he keeps drawing pay from British and Mirror but sells us info on them on the sly'. Not likely we can beat those two on the bidding floor." A quick look at his rico brings some unexpected news: only ten minutes have passed since the original taxi call. My how time drags on when you wish to be somewhere else.
	Jon nods. "You are learning... Right. This place is a little, open. Perhaps if you wait here, and I shall go into that stairwell over there, a little more secluded for delicate negotiation. Hold the taxi if it turns up..." Jon turns and walks off. 
	Watching him go, Korshnoi lays a hand on Nick's shoulder and leans close, "Why don't you join him, Nick? Seems fine now, but not too long ago..."
	"Yeah, what was up with that, anyway? Good job snapping him out of it. You'd think he'd never had anything like that happen to him before." Nick trails after Jon, idly doodling with the captured comm unit. 
	"Rarely the same twice." confides Korshnoi to empty air.

	"Oh, Nick," says Jon. "Didn't realise you were coming too... but it could be helpful at that. Is there any way to conceal where - or from which instrument - a call is coming? Ideally I'd prefer Roberto not to know it's Curly's commlink I'm using; still better that than using mine!" 
	Nick says, "Should be good" and gives Jon a thumbs-up sign. 
	Leaning himself comfortably against a wall, placing Norris on the floor at his feet, Jon keys in the correct sequence... A half-second later, the person who is presumably called Roberto answers. 
	"Yeah, who are you? Whaddya want?" 
 	Leaving the video pickup off, Jon still smiles as he says, "It is not so much what I want as what you want. I believe you seek information on certain people, neh?" 
	"Yeah, maybe. Identify yourself, dammit. If you are who you think, I don't know if I wanna talk to ya in the first place, and I ain't got time ta bullshit is for sure. If you ain't, well, identify yourself, dammit!" 
	Jon says, "You may call me Mr McKay. And you do want to talk to me, I can assure you of that. So perhaps you'd like to tell me what you need to know, then we'll see if I can help you... and at what price, neh?"
	"What do you know about some biomodule? And you better not be vaccin' me. I can arrange to have your body parts disarranged."
	Jon is still grinning to himself, and propping up the wall. "I know many things about the biomodule..." For a moment he looks down at Norris. "Perhaps I even have it here... But no matter. What is it that you wish to know, and what are you prepared to pay?" 
	"Tell me where it is. Tell me who... has it." he says, still annoyed. He pauses for a moment. "I can pay you $1000." 
	You can almost hear the grin in Jon's voice, "Insufficient. Maybe I'll do better going direct.... perhaps you might even make an introducer's fee if you get it right, neh? Interested?"
	"No," he says, tartly, and hangs up. The line goes dead. 
	Jon's grin remains broad. He tosses the comlink back to Nick. "See what else you can get out of it... dear Roberto is not much of a businessman, neh? Perhaps some of young Curly's other acquaintances may be more forthcoming, but I think it's time for a change of scene." He picks Norris up, and heads for the exit.

	Outside, he looks around for Korshnoi and makes his way over. "Roberto is primarily after the biocontainer rather than us. He may think that we know something, or he may just be so lazy that he'd prefer someone else find it for him. Sounds like he has no clue where it is, though." 
	"Too bad. Was sort of hoping we *had* stirred the LSN like you originaly wanted, but they'd already know where the module is, wouldn't they? So British is probably the ICA or even our own HSDA getting its brushes mixed up. That leaves Mirror boy..."
	Jon smiles again. It's a cold smile. "I don't think Roberto is a total loss yet. I'll call him again in a few minutes, tell him I will consider his offer and suggest we meet, see who turns up... So, where now?"
	"Um? Oh right. Company's site says our taxi should be here any second." He looks the cook up and down, eyes narrowed, "You alright?"
	Jon stares out, looking for the taxi and letting silence be his answer. That's far from satisfying as far as Korshnoi is concerned, but the tech appears unwilling to push the matter. He's already stepped well beyond his pushing quota for today...
	The taxi comes in a few seconds later, as advertised. It's a simple model, a Tarsus Levital T16, with no aerodyne capabilities. There's no driver -- just a large cabin with four seats, all facing each other (the people in front face backwards). It's comfortable but not luxurious. "Hello, sir or madam," says the taxi. "Where would you like to go? This taxi is currently scheduled to join a seven-minute convoy in two minutes."
	Jon moves towards the taxi. "Guess we'd better get in, then." He opens the door and lifts his pack in, scrambling in behind clutching Norris and settling down on one of the backwards facing seats. 
	Nick hops in too, still seeing if he can get anything out of the comm unit -- call history, see if he can somehow get into the comm provider's network and check recent calls by location, that kind of thing.
	Korshnoi enters last, closing the door before addressing the system, "Drop us off on South Mandela and Tezuka." To Nick and Jon, "Got plenty of things to discuss, but I'd prefer we wait till we get someplace safer." He gratefully sinks his heavy frame next to Nick's slighter one.
	Jon looks up from settling Norris on his lap. "Seems reasonable." He then sits gazing out of the rear window of the taxi. 
	Nick's eyebrows raise as he looks at something on the comm unit. "This could help." He looks around the cab, worried about security. Putting a finger to his lips in case of bugging, he tilts the screen towards his companions. They see:
 
	Personal Diary of Justin Greenfelt 
	March 24 
	   get laundry -- done 
	   find out where Roberto hid it -- not done yet 
	   call Roberto about jobs -- done 
	March 25 
	   go to Strauss' Bar, meet Roberto -- done 
	   check ICAID? peds for module -- know what? -- not done 
	   check near Starport for big ped named "Jay" or "Ray" or something -- not done yet 

	"I'd say that's a three-pointer."
	"Could even be a four-pointer." agrees Korshnoi, unwitingly displaying his lack of sport's savy; or maybe he's just tired. His rejoiced expression is rather weak... "Anybody want to follow up on that right now?"
	"Hmm. Some of that may be of help." says Jon to Nick. "Still need to have another try at Roberto. Perhaps say we have the thing, and ask to meet... you two wait in ambush and see who turns up, neh?" 
	Stubborn fellow this Jon. "Back burner?"
	Jon smiles, a rather thin smile. "As you wish... but not for too long, neh?" 
	"Good. Let's gather our thoughts and have a global sitrep when we get to where we're going. Then.... then I'd vote for the counsels given by a solid 4 hours of sleep. At least."
	Nick nods. *click*. The stolen comm shuts off.


06 BRANCHING TREE

	Korshnoi turns down the lights and flicks the room displays to an outside view of the city, filling them with gray dust below the stygian darkness of space, bright pinpoints of lights peppering both. Always had a calming effect on him... Turning back, he begins, "I know it's late, but I'm thinking it's important we pull our knowledge together and get a sense of what's going on. Don't want to do any sensorless drone impersonation if we can avoid it."
	He gestures, placing imaginary playing pieces on a chessboard the size of a city, "We have Mirror on one side, Roberto plus British over here, the ICA, the LSN, the LSN *agents* and us somewhere in the middle. Timed game - what was it? 48 hours till the dreaded starport deadline rolls our way." He steps back and considers... then reaches in and lays one of his knights on its side, "First up, Jon. I don't think we need a full account right now, but what happened? Is it linked with the rest?" 
	Jon sits quietly for a long time... "Well?" Unknown dangers dangling above his head are obviously not the tech's forte.
	Jon finaly begins, his voice flat an emotionless, almost like he's addressing the floor. "I told him, warned him... back up, start at the beginning. We went out, Joseph said he had a lead, fellow he thought might have something... but he was pushing, pushing too hard, further than the guy wanted to go. Tried to get him to back down, ease off a bit, but he was having none of it. Thought they'd patched it up eventually, all false smiles and backslaps. But it didn't feel right." 
	Jon falls silent again, giving time for the others to shift their weights uncomfortably, then the flat monologue resumes. "We went on... back into the alleys. Stayed out of sight, too much surveillance down there. Got jumped. It was obvious Joseph was the target, they almost ignored me, went straight for him. I don't know, four of them I think. Tried... couldn't... Joseph laid about him with that big stick... I used my knives... we took one out but, but the others... Joseph went down and... and... I couldn't save him... too slow... two held me back while the other killed Joseph... then I took them out... but... but it was too late. Joseph was gone."
	"Amantu bil lahi wa mala-ikatihi wa kutubihi wa rasulihi wal yowm ul akhiri wal qadri, khayrihi wa sharihi min Allahi ta'ala wal ba'ith ba'ed al mowt." murmurs Korshnoi and seems to take some confort from it, whatever its meaning. "Did he have family?"
	"H.. He never spoke of one... but I th... think he had a s... sister."
	The tech's large frame settles next to Jon, callused hand tapping his thigh (he doesn't say 'there, there' but he just as well might have). "...We'll get a hafiz to recite the whole Qur'an on his grave. Give his ten kay to a charity maybe? Which one would he have liked?" (Korshnoi fires a look at Nick who's apparently decided this is a mildly entertaining holodrama. The look says, 'Help me here, damn it. This isn't my field!')
	Nick shrugs, kind of raising an eyebrow to indicate: Pretty unprofessional to get so broken up about one guy -- were they lovers or something?
	Korsnoi blinks, his pose somewhat stiffer... He looks down at his hand.
	Jon smiles somewhat wanly. "I am sure he would appreciate such a... a consideration. As for the money, perhaps to enable someone to make a pilgrimage... he would speak often of one he had made, it is important to your faith, neh?"
	"Oh... yeah... A, a very good idea, Jon, it's the perfect thing." Silence descent. After a few heartbeats the tech carefully slides his hand away from its resting place and hides it in the fold of his arm. His fingers find his armband and start stretching its black fabric to near breaking point, over and over... 
	"This is ridiculous!" Korshnoi is suddenly on his feet, pacing back and forth, boiling over in an orgy of sharp gestures. "I'm sorry, but I'm no good at sympathy! What we're going to do - What we're going to do is make sure this never happens again! Tomorrow we're begining some serious training, people! We're going to find the best and sweat and train till each of us can take down three *dozen* thugs by himself!"
	Jon nods, somewhat taken aback. "Indeed." but Korshnoi isn't finished.
	"And no more wandering alone! We're a team and we're going to stand together, form up, close rank, link arms... All of that! Nick goes to the bathroom, he's got two shadows behind him. Am I clear? Till this is finished we're a six-armed, one man team!" He drops into another seat, eyes fierce, his breathing hard.
	"So..." he says after a while. "Let's take it from the begining. We have some infos to share and some planning to do. The rest... well the rest will follow eventually. Uhum." Korshnoi gets back to his imaginary chessboard, "Me and Nick examined the sky above our holos and the sky said it looked down on BerberaIIa, a vacuum moon in the Tesuyama system." he places a round 'something' in the air above the chessboard and on that something, he plunks the opposition's king. "We're pretty sure that's where they found it. Nothing much on BerberaIIa besides hard vacuum and small mining concerns, plus the entire system *was* under Tripe domination for a good two years. Plenty of opportunities to leave things behind.
	"From there, they either travelled straight to Luyten or bounced off FreeHaven." The tech carries the king to the board, tracing two lines with his other hand, one with a sharp angle to it. "Could have gone via Chihai, I suppose, but that'd require leaving the sphere, they'd want to avoid borders as much as possible... Anybody have anything to say so far?"
	Jon watches Korshnoi's bizarre gestures with an imaginary chess set. He seems to be struggling with some of the imagery, among other things. "Just how is this supposed to help us find the biocontainer?"
	Korshnoi frowns, slightly puzzled himself, "We're assembling the past, Jon, see if the pieces click together at all. Then we step back and look for a clue-shaped hole in the assembly. Framework's everything, you know. Without it, you're just building jelly... Why? How do you propose we go about it?"
	Jon nods. "Yes, I see... but that's the background. Time is short. Time to go poke a bit more. Where's that comlink? It may be worth another attempt at that Roberto fellow. Claim we have the thing and are ready to deal. Ask to meet. Draw him out... Find out more actively." 
	"I'd think you had quite enough ambushes for one day, Jon. Besides, I think your reasoning's a bit muddled: what are we going to learn from Roberto? You said he had, and I quote, 'no clue' on the subject... Changed your mind?"
	Jon contemplates his shoes for a moment. "Perhaps you're right, Korshnoi. Knowing who is after the thing might provide some information, though."
	"Could be, but let's stick to background assembly for now. Strategy decisions come afterwards... Where was I? Right. So we can pretty much assumed the module came from BerberaIIa, bounced off FreeHaven and then came here. Direct to Luyten's also possible, but not that likely: eleven LY's a bit above the limit for your average ship. 
	"Now Nick did some digging and came up with an arrival list for the local orbital port (Here, Jon, this is it)." Korshnoi pop open the screen on his rented comp, punches up the relevant data and turns it around. "If you're thinking something along the lines of 'Who cares how they rode into town', two reasons. First off, there's the data trail from ship to customs to passengers. Something to be learned there I'm pretty sure. Second -- well, this came to me in the taxi so it's not all thought out, but bare bones it's this: Why bring the module down to Keunschburg?"
	Jon examines the list. Now that he's thinking about the case, he seems to be tracking OK again. "You have the planets of registry, but is there any way of finding out where they'd been just prior to coming here?"

BREAK

	"As for why Keunschburg... well, I would have thought, either because someone involved hails from here so is happy to use the place to lay low, or whoever wants it asked them to bring it here. Which leads me back to trying to find out who wants it, I suppose."
	"Not what I meant, Jon, although that last one is a possibility. I meant: why bring it down from orbit, to keunschburg? Taking it back out means passing through customs *twice*, *And* there's been no shuttles either up or down since the fuel shunt went, so..." He takes the imaginary king and places it a hand above its previous position.
	Jon looks somewhat bemused at all the imaginary placements. "Perhaps the biocontainer needed some attention that they could not give to it elsewhere." He glances over at Norris. "Even a simple small one needs to be looked after properly to ensure the well-being of the contents." 
	"Could be," agrees Korshnoi, his index tapping the dance of anoyance, "but that's still not what I meant. Why bring it down when you'll need to bring it back up again? There's customs - once each way - and non-secured locations and untrustworthy people by the dozen... So, what if they *didn't* bring it down from orbit?"
	Jon strikes his palm against his forehead. "Bog take it, I am being dense today! Of course... is it even here at all? And if not, where might it be? And how do we get there - I'm reasonably happy in micro-g environments, how about you two?"
	"Passable. But you're right, getting to orbit's not that easy nowadays and all this is just theory so far. If they got word of the shut-down beforehand... *snap* Got to remember checking shuttle schedules, Nick. If we can get passenger lists on those, all the better.
	"So what's the other option?" he continues, getting back to his board. "They brought the module down to Keunschburg, either in extremis or for reasons Jon outlined before: repair and/or local contacts. We IDed the case, by the way, it's a standard model from our friends at Edmund-Hitachi. Exact model we don't know for sure, but it's either a M231, 241 or 251, depending on the size. Was a little surprised there, we're talking 50cm long at the most. But, *but*, that's still too big to sneak past customs and there's no way they'd let anybody take samples of their Tripe tech. What we think they did is fake a sample certified at the source. Module stays sealed and they sail past, leaving a trace in the customs database. If that trace is there, the orbit run's a nogo, but we'd probably get some interesting info on our guys in the bargain. If it's not there..."
	Jon listens to all that Korshnoi has to say, nodding as he makes his points. "I see. So the best move is, I think, for you two to check movement logs and customs records, neh? Anything remotely biological in nature may conceal that which we seek. I had better get back onto the Roberto angle, and continue asking around..."
	Korshnoi sighs and rubs his eyes, "Customs' not a small job, Jon, that's why I called us together originaly: it's going to require all our efforts and then some... but alright, run 'the Roberto angle' for me again, please: what do you hope to gain and how do you hope to gain it?"
	Jon sighs as well, "How many times, Korshnoi? Roberto seeks what we seek. But why? On whose behalf? This may lead us to understand what is within the biocontainer and to whom it may be valuable. And to whom we, once we find it, should contemplate giving it. By questioning we come to perceive the truth, neh?"
	The muslim man is suddenly wide awake, "Whoa there! First off, that's the first I've heard of this and second... are you out of your mind? Tripe randomizer or not (and ignoring the fact that sizing up the competition's rather far down the list of priorities compared to actually finding the thing), we sure as heck WON'T be turning around and betraying our employer!"
	Jon just smiles. "Probably not... but due consideration must always be made... No matter. It is unlikely that such will be necessary, neh?" 
	"Glad to see you're taking this seriously." Korshnoi's teeth are tight. "Do I have to remind you we're on a schedule here, Walker? Outside pressures are mounting, money's being lost, starport could re-open within the day... Do you or do you not have any hope, at all, of finding the module through Roberto?"
	Jon sighs yet again. "It's an option. Perhaps a long shot... so, what do YOU suggest?"
	"Customs, Jon, customs... I see three ways in right now. One is the purely virtual, but Nick tells me he needs specialised agents for the job and lots of them. Don't know if we can get our hands on some in our timeframe (and our budget). Plus it's pretty much hit them hard and crack their shell, as I understand it. Not very discreet. Two, we gain access to a customs terminal and break-in from the inside, as it were. Means physicaly getting into secured offices though. Three, we gain access to a terminal, same as two, but this one belongs to an official with a work-from-home set-up. Less physical security I'd think. Probably two sets of virtual sec though, one on the comp itself, another on the remote log-in. Should be fairly light." He blinks wearily, "I think." The earlier burst of excitement seems to have loosened the day's accumulated energy debts.
	Jon nods at this. "That sounds good. I have, erm, some measure of talent in the breaking and entering department - can you two supply the location of suitable premises... the concept of making an attempt from the home of a customs official with online access seems like a good one. Pick someone fairly senior, they tend to get lazy and set up all the access codes in the system so they don't have to bother typing them in every time they use it." 
	"Now we're rolling." nods the tech. He shifts in his seat, giving their third member his full attention, "Nick?"
	Nick zones back in. "Oh, yeah, if we could get physical access, I don't think we'd have a problem -- it's going in through unsecured public nets that's tough." 
	Jon grins. "Right - Nick, do you think those unsecured public nets might be persuaded to disgorge the name and address of a suitable target? Then I can see about getting in there... um, Nick - would you feel confident of accompanying me, or would you prefer me to set up some kinda, I don't know, relay that will let you get into the system without having to do the sneaking around in the dark bit?"

	"Take it you know a lot about security systems, Jon?" He pats his thigh, and tiny tools jingle softly in their casings.
	Jon grins. "I can often find a way around them, yes."
	"I see... So we have cooking, electronics - Oh, and knife fighting... anything else?"
	Jon sits back in his chair. "Well, it is more of a talent at - how can one say it - intrusion, than in electronics, neh? My true love is cooking and collecting or creating recipes; the rest merely serves to facilite it."
	Korshnoi nods his understanding, "So many good millet recipes languishing behind scramble safes, so many gellatine masterpieces under the jealous guard of sous-chefs armed to the teeth, so little time?"
	*Splort!* When Jon recovers his composure he says, "Still, perhaps we should turn our minds to the matter in hand, neh? Have you a name and location for me yet, Nick? And do you want to come in, or have a link provided so that you may hack from somewhere... safer?"
	"Yes," agrees Korshnoi, "Once that's settled, I think we should retire for the night. A good four hours at the least, if the present conversation is any indication." A small smile floats to his lips, and just sort of hovers there.
	Jon nods. "Indeed. But first, perhaps, the mission in hand? A location please... the thought of making infiltration to the Customs system via some home-worker is a good one, and perhaps the night time is when it should be considered. Or else, in the morning, once the selected individual has gone to work, an inflitration based on posing as maintentance men rather than burglary?"
	"Uh, Jon? We are talking about someone with a work-at-home setup; that would seem to imply he Works at Home."
	Jon sighs, "Look, I think you will find that many, particularly at senior levels, will have the facility to access the Customs system from home although they normally attend the office during the day. To cope with out of hours emergencies and the like, neh? This is what I had in mind." 
	"Sorry, guess the day's finaly getting to me... Yes, that would make sense, though I'd suggest we get a true Work at Home if we can. Little things like ubiquity tend to set most systems on edge. Irreverent fools."
	"Right," said Jon. "You find me one... and wake me up when you do so." He looks round for somewhere to curl up and goes to sleep. 
	Nick says, "I'll check if I can find any likely candidates -- don't know if I can find someone in specific who works at home, but I might be able to get some names, maybe check net traffic?" He sits still, checking the nets.
	"Don't overdo it, Nick, tomorrow's already here." Leaving Kazantz to his task, Korshnoi crashes down on the remaining bed, arms behind his head, eyes drifting to the stars on the walls. 
	An exciting first day, if that's the word. He slowly drifts off, reviewing the events that lead him here. The waiting room, pawn bait with bishop support, Donoly, the parking garage... He's missing something... a nagging little something... but he's too tired... It will come to him... or it won't, insha'llah.

<Fred> Wake me up in four hours please Rachel.

	Small contractions. Tighten, loosen, tighten. A hand reaches out, squeezing till quiet oozes out of the strangled rico. Too tired to even yawn, but not too tired to curse. A long silent litany that is somehow conforting. What is it now?!
	Fajr probably, the prayer before dawn. Somewhere it was dawn, he was pretty sure, not remembering if he'd set the thing for earth or Malacca at the moment. Miracles of modern Islam. 
	Bones creaking like an old man's, Korshnoi slowly pushes himself out of bed and crawls toward the facilities.


	Johnny, Nick and Korshnoi all wake up in the morning. Nothing seems to be out of order. Everyone's respiration is okay. Korshnoi is chanting his morning prayers as the other two wake up (or perhaps waking the other two up?). Perhaps the people following them weren't so clever after all?
	Jon sits up, looks around blearily then gets up to wash, dress and find breakfast. (He doesn't function too well until he's got a hot drink and some food inside him!) 
	Korshnoi emerges from their bathroom, crossing John as he goes in. "Peace of the Prophet to you, Walker." The tech looks in remarquably better shape than when he went in, beard trimmed, eyes open and prayers done. 
	As the water turns on inside, he leans against the thin door and speaks through it, "Probably shouldn't tell you this, but something came to me while I was praying. Had this feeling I was missing a peice of the puzzle yesterday -- you know, that nagging feeling that it's staring you right in the face? And then I got it: it's Mr Curly, his diary. It lists us as 'ICAID agents?', meaning he didn't work for the ICA since they would know and since it's unlikely the local boys need to hire a third party, that leaves..."
	There's a splutter from somewhere under the shower, "Bog take it! Why didn't I spot that?"
	Korshnoi smiles at the reaction, unseen. "Benefits of mulling things over. 'Course," he continues thoughfully, "it could simply mean Roberto's keeping his employer's ID to himself OR that we got a third big fish besides the ICA and the LSN (Mirrorman is definetly on the small side in my book). Speaking of which, it wouldn't be that bad an idea to ask Donelly about him- <snap> We were supposed to contact her yesterday, weren't we? Supplies and such? Completly slipped my mind." Not the best start to his Amir functions.
	Jon emerges, blinking and towelling himself. "I think my brain, she has turned to mush, neh?" he asks of the room at general. "Time now to think things through. Today, to prepare and find someone with the correct home access to the importation system. Tonight, to get you in there to delve. Intrusion is not a difficulty once I know where to intrude... Now, for some breakfast. Then maybe my brain, she will work!"
	'A frenco accent?' puzzles the tech. 'Where did that come from?' Though all that comes out of his own mouth is, "Food's a good idea, think there's a cafe or something near here. Give us a chance to get our act together before I make that call as well." He looks accross the room to Nick's still sleeping form, "First though, we'll have to wake *him* up."

<Tried in turn until something work:>
	"Oh Nick, time to rise."
	"I said UP, soldier!"

With lots of coffee (or equivalent) for Nick.

<Fred> Settle in a cafe and order breakfast (23 SS on the awareness roll if that's needed). While eating, korshnoi will grab a self-updating hard copy of the news and scan through it. "Hope we're not in there somewhere. Let's see: Wednesday, March 26, 2221..."
	The news. Always a complex mishmash of reality, ignorance and outright misdirection. No, Korshnoi's never been one for the news. Today though, they take on a new depth. Take this bit here for example "Saito announces new generation of drive randomizers; analysts doubtful". Might be nothing, but what if Saito is a subsidiary of Mitsubishi? Then "LSN agent accuses ICA Mitsubishi of espionage" takes on a whole new meaning...
	"Say Nick, could you check and see who owns Saito? They've announced a new randomizer for market. How did the search for-" A look at the other patrons. "ouruh interview go, by the way? Found anyone who would be interrested?"

<Response Nick?>

	"Oh, listen to this one: ICA Intelligence Division operative resigns in disgrace [Keuschburg, Luyten:: March 26, 2221] ICA Intelligence Division field officer Sally DuQuesne has resigned from ICAID service, surrounded by rumors of improper allocation of funds. DuQuesne was the highest ranking officer in the Keuschburg branch of the ICAID, and her resignation has come as something of a shock. Endquote. Things are heating up if they're firing people over it..."

<Response?>

	Korshnoi perks up all of a sudden. Finger on the hard copy, he reads in an excited voice: "Starwhale store's merchandise reported malfunctioning! [Keuschburg, Luyten:: March 26, 2221] A biotech store on the western Major ring has closed up shop for several days now, reporting that some of its more sensitive merchandise has suddenly *ceased functioning*! The store sells a variety of goods, but the majority are Starwhale-produced. The store is also a joint human/Starwhale venture." He looks to his two comrades, expectant.
	They don't seem to share his enthusiasm. "Don't you see? Maybe John was right, maybe our king... broke his crown. That would force him down from orbit for some specialized attention. You know, the 'whales never did enter the Tripe conflict... Combine it with these 'dog sneezes near Keunshburg starport' (That's west, people!) and what do you get?"
	"Could be worth investigation." admits Jon, looking up from his drink. "Perhaps a wander in that direction once we have finished here. Or at least, some of us. There are still other things to find out... like which house for our, ah, nocturnal intrusions."
	The tech arches both eyebrows, amused despite himself. "Very obtuse reference, Jon. Let's stick to the 'interview' metaphor, shall we?"
	Jon grins. "I don't intend the inhabitants to know I'm there. Bit difficult to 'interview' someone you don't meet!" 
	"Not all interviewee are people, Jon... But that's hardly the point, is it?" An open hand signals to three men an a woman sitting not two tables over, then to a solitary woman in a white suit strolling past on the street.

	Upon finishing breakfast, Jon offers to go for a wander, scout out this starwhale biotech store and listen for sneezes. Something to pass the time until his colleagues give him a target for the infiltration.
	Korshnoi slowly lets out a long, long sigh. "Right, guess I can't put it off any longer. Going to have to call our employer and tell her the bad knews. Be back shortly." The tech rises and travels a meandering path through the artisticaly scattered tables, heading for a faux-wood and glass pub-term. Inside its confines - made smaller still when he engages privacy and the windows darken - he smoothes his beard one last time, checks the creases in his uniform and makes a conscious effort NOT to snap to attention when Donnelly's image flashes on screen.
	"Assalamu 'alaykum, Ms Donnelly. My apologies for not calling sooner, it's been a busy 16 hours..."

<Response Donnelly?>


	Jon gives a wry grin. "H'okay. I'll meander on then... catch up with me later, neh?" He too rises and makes his way out of the cafe. 


	After his talk, Korshnoi returns to the breakfast table and looks around. He can't spot the man's greenish jumpsuit anywhere. "Uh, where's John?" 

<Response Chuck?>

FINAL BREAK

---------------------------------------------------------------------
CHARACTERS

GM, "Rachel Kronick" <rachelkr@ms35.hinet.net>

Asgar Korshnoi, Hardware - "Frederic Fleury" <fred.fleury@mailcity.com>
	Twilight on the frozen plain. Korshnoi kneels on dirty ice, his upper body encased in the belly of the transmitter. Inside, lightning from the welder is the only light, strobing accross his wide features and casting distorted shadows over the surounding casing. The lighning stops as the man taps his upper arm, shutting off the contractions of the rico strapped there. "Time for morning prayer."
	Korshnoi stands and stretches, nose twitching a bit from the acrid gases coming off the nearby lake. "'ats the problem with bio-resps, you can still *smell*." He flips up his goggles, blue eyes idly travelling over the glacier plain. Grayish mist spewed by the brothers of his boiling lake drape here and there, alternatively covering and uncovering the scene, faint rays from far-away Babylon shining down on it all. In the light, the man's slavic ancestry is more plain, showing through mostly in the nose and forehead. Perhaps in the chin as well, but that is hidden below a thick beard, brown like his hair, the cut reminisant of the thing in front of old earth trains (a cowcatcher, they called it).
	<shaclck> the prayer mat unfolds, pointing at Mecca. The man kneels, scratches his full beard, flicks the gold tack on his left ear... then he is gone, lost in the worship of Allah.

Joseph Ma'siir, Facilitator - "Wayne Bruursema" <wanderingwayne@hotmail.com>
	Joseph Ma'siir stands around six-one (1,82), but appears squat when you look at him because his frame is so wide in the shoulders and torso. His traveling robe is quite loose fitting, making sizing a bit deceptive, but the fluidity of his movements do not reflect a man carrying more weight than his frame can handle naturally. If one was paying attention, however, one would notice that when seated in the inexpensive terminal chairs said chairs appeared to creak quite a bit when he seated himself or shifted around for comfort.

Nick Kazantz, Software - "Chuk Goodin" <cgoodin@sfu.ca>
	A Caucasian male. He is not very tall and looks vaguely like someone from the Mediterranean area of Earth... dark hair and eyes, with olive skin. He is intently watching something on a rico, with occasional exclamations of alternating joy and despair.

Jon Walker, Cook - "Megan Robertson" <mcrobertson@cix.compulink.co.uk>
                   Chap 1-3, "Scott" <scottb@macatawa.org>
	A slender man, unremarkable looking with his close-cropped brown hair and grayish-green jumpsuit. Always near is a large carry-all and a small glass case. He talks to himself and Norris, his plant (which resides in the glass case).