From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 00/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:44:29 -0500

Here's Book 2 of 3 Hope this one goes easier.

  Cold World

A CyberFiction
Novel by:  Bob Wilson

CCopyright 1993 by Bob Wilson All Rights Reserved
.
This Book is dedicated to my Uncles Lee Wilson & Bob Daly
Who I don't
think ever believed it was at all possible.

"He who would teach men to
die, would teach them to live."  - Montaigne

"A spoon full of sugar helps
the medicine go down."  - Mary Poppins

"You CAN do whatever you want to do
in life, and not be a slave to money.  It's characteristic of those
courageous enough to follow their Bliss. If you follow your Bliss, you
will always have your Bliss; but if you follow money, you may lose it at
some time."  - Joseph Campbell

"Time is money Jetson. Get on with it."  -
Mr. Spacely

Chance and Roland

	Chance Marchenko rolled over in his warm, comfy, body temperature,
jellybed and opened his eyes to see his husband of ten years, Roland
Caulder getting ready to go to work. Mornings are far too bright. He
thought to himself. Why do they need all of that Sun all at once?
	"Merry Christmas dear." Chance coughed wetly, looking around for
his cigarettes.
	"It's not Christmas quite yet." Roland replied. "But 'tis the
season my love." The bigger man smiled in the reflection of the mirror.
	"Is there coffee?" Chance asked hoarsely, closing his eyes again
wondering if he should even get up or not. Nights were so much more
civilized, it seemed.
	"Yeah." Roland nodded at him in the mirror, though Chance didn't
see him. "Why don't you get up dear, and have a cup with me before I have
to leave?" He suggested as he smoothed down the epaulettes on his shirt,
wanting a little company before he had to leave to go down to the station.
	"Yeah, ok." Chance said sitting up in bed and coughed again,
looking around for his jeans. Flipping the imaginary soft switch in his
mind, to activate the biochip in his head, he was able to access
DataCentral downtown, realizing he only had an hour or so, before he had
to be at his own office as well. It looked like it was going to be another
one of those days.
	"You shouldn't have stayed up so late dear." Roland gently
admonished his husband and he brushed at his uniform, giving himself a
final 'once over' in the mirror.
	"And you're too vain for your own good. I had some ComWeb stuff to
do. No man is an island you know." Chance grumbled at him as he fastened
his jeans. "My little Top Cop." He said in baby talk, kissing the man 5
years his senior as they headed towards the kitchen of their MidTown
condominium.
	"Yuk! You got Moose breath." Roland teased him, making a face.
"Aaww. Is my little Russian bear sleepy this morning?" Roland asked in the
same baby-talk they reserved for speaking affectionately between
themselves, and even then only when alone.
	"Yes he is." Chance pouted, in the same baby talk, sticking out his
bottom lip, sitting down on a stool at the kitchen bar, putting his head
down on his arm. "All last night I was plagued by the faces of those I've
wronged in the past. Why Roland Why?" He whined, lifting his head and
grinned, letting Roland know he was in a good mood this morning, and only
kidding. "I think I should call in today." He said talking normally, but
his voice muffled as he spoke down into his arm on the counter. "I'm so
tired this morning." He yawned.
	"I don't THINK so!" Roland said pouring coffee for them both,
sliding a cup to Chance. "I'm not paying the payments on this fucking
condo Alone you know! You wanted this place. So you can help me pay for
it. Here. This will wake you up dear. Why don't you take a Dex-Ease too?"
He suggested.
	"Piss off my love." Chance said sitting up and blowing on the
coffee before trying to sip it, but burning his lip on the edge of the
cup. "OW! Goddamn you bitch! You ALWAYS make the coffee too hot to drink!"
He grumbled, getting up and getting an ice cube out of the tray in the
freezer and dropping it into his cup. "I know you're trying to kill me,
but you could at least be more humane about it. My life insurance isn't
worth that goddamned much."
	"I think it's fine." Roland grinned sipping carefully at his cup.
"Best coffee in the city, if I do say so myself."
	"I'll bet it's two hundred degrees!" Chance swore as he sat back
down and stirred in the quickly melting cube. "It's practically boiling
right now. Besides, it's probably the only coffee in the city."
	"I think you exaggerate just a bit dear." Roland smiled at him.
"Of course, I was drinking coffee when men were men!" He teased.
	"Yeah, and where you came from, the sheep were nervous. You look
very nice this morning my dear." Chance complimented Roland as he woke up
a little more and lit a cigarette from the pack on the counter. "Some kind
of Inspection or something today?"
	"Yeah. Something like that." Roland growled. "Chairman Lynn Guthrie
is supposed to come by our department today with a team of her own hired
Medias in tow, and we were told to dress up for her."
	"Oh PuhLeeze!" Chance said wiping a hand over his face, checking
his morning beard, deciding if he had to shave or not. "Be sure and tell
the Bitch that I didn't vote or her."
	"I'm sure she'll appreciate that information dear." Roland smirked.
"I think she already knows she just barely made it back in office, and
only THEN because she got out and worked the religious right vote. By the
skin of her tits one might say." He snickered.
	"Fucking conservatives." Chance grumbled.  "What's the bullshit
with her coming into your department?" He asked as he sipped carefully,
deciding the coffee had now cooled to his liking. "Isn't that kinda
dangerous for her to be out in that area? I would think she would prefer
the atmosphere of her high corporate arcology. Running the city from safe
inside her sky domain."
	"Hell yes it is!" Roland said as he towered over Chance, and
wrinkled his brow in concern. "But she'll have her personal body guards
just out of camera range you can bet. This is all just part of her getting
tough on crime crap. It means nothing. It's just good TV for her."
	"Aren't you being tough enough on crime, my love?" Chance grinned.
	"I think the problem is that Crime is getting tougher on us."
Roland chuckled. "Would you believe we had a bomb go off in one of the
paddy wagons yesterday? Blew the back door right off the wagon."
	"No shit?" Chance asked. "How'd something like that manage to get
through the search and seizure procedure? Don't you have CyberForms out
there with you as well?"
	"The kid had all the stuff to make the bomb stuffed in compartments
in his SHOES of all things." Roland shook his head. "Real James Bond type
shit. The guys that were supposed to bring the kid in were mad as hell
when he and his buddies got away. They were only fourteen years old. The
Colonel wasn't any too happy about it either."
	"Christ. When do you get to go back to plainclothes dear?" Chance
asked him seriously. "I don't like the idea of you being so close to the
street. You've already done your time out there." He said angrily. "I'll
bet that whore Captain MacGregor isn't out there sweatin' her tits off,
risking HER worthless life!"
	"Hopefully next week. And Yes, Cap'n MacGregor IS out there with
us, doing her part as well." Roland said checking his personal Auto-Colt
45, making sure the clip was full and the chamber was loaded, sliding it
smoothly back into the holster on his right thigh. "We're supposed to get
in another dozen from the academy next week. You're not the only one who
hates this rookie shortage. A lot of guys in my department are antsy to
get back to cases they've been working on. They're seriously backing up on
Tuck and I. Lately though, all we've seemed to be doing is training
CyberForms."
	"Are you wearing your kevlar body suit?" Chance asked carefully,
not looking at him, trying to be casual about it.
	"Yes dear." Roland smiled lovingly at him, understanding Chance's
concern over his safety. Sometimes to the point of being almost
unreasonable about his armor and guns.
	"Well, at least you still fit your old uniform." Chance said
admiring his husbands build even after the ten years they had been
together. "A lot of them can't say that. They shall never call you a
Doughnut-Cop my love." Chance smiled, leaning over the kitchen counter and
kissing him again. "And if they do, you tell me who they are and I'll beat
'em up for ya."
	"Ok." Roland laughed heartily. "I really gotta go dear." He said
finishing off his coffee, and rinsing the cup in the sink, and setting it
on the drainer to dry, in his daily orderly manner, to Chance's amusement.
Rolands neatness came from his years in the Marines, when he served as
security officer aboard the HMS Inconstant, a private floating nation out
in the international waters of the Atlantic, and gave Chance a lot of
material to use when teasing him.
	"I'll miss you." Roland said, kissing Chance again, this time with
feeling.
	"I'll miss you too." Chance smiled up at him, reaching around
Roland's wide shoulders, laying his head against Roland's big barrel chest
and hugged him tightly a few moments, putting a wet blanket of concern on
the morning that had started so lightly. "Be careful." He said seriously.
	"I will." Roland said tenderly. "I didn't get this far by being
sloppy."
	"I know." Chance said softly, finally releasing him.
	"See ya tonight dear." Roland smiled at him as he left, putting on
his heavy armor Dutch Corps field jacket, checking his pockets for extra
clips, flipping the wide brim of his cowboy hat with his forefinger, and
checking to make sure both the apartment's mechanical and the
electromagnetic locks would secure properly after he left, and even then,
trying the door handle, after he was out in the hall, just to make double
sure.
	One of these days, I'll have to sit here, and have coffee alone.
Chance thought depressingly to himself. His luck will run out, and some
psycho will put a slug through his head. Then I'll be alone. Forever.



















































From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 01/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:46:03 -0500

Chance One
	Chance took a big gulp of the coffee, that had now cooled to his
liking, trying not to become depressed or think dark thoughts, but found
it difficult. It was getting more difficult every morning to watch the man
he loved go out and face a cruel world, bent on desperate survival.  It
wasn't RIGHT for people to have to live like this.
	On one side, there was the street, constantly waiting for the
unsuspecting, ready to gobble them up with a single slurp of it's rat
infested starving mouth. And on the other side was the even nastier world
of the MegaCorps, sucking the life out of the people in their own way,
making sure there was nothing left to squeeze.
	Finishing off his first cup of coffee, he poured himself another
black steaming cup and set it on the counter to cool while he showered.
Walking into the bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror as he tossed
the cigarette butt into the toilet. Not bad for Twenty Nine. He decided,
as he scrutinized his face in the mirror. He'd seen worse anyway. He took
a Dex-Ease from the bottle in the bathroom cabinet and dry swallowed it.
That would wake him up. As well as probably keep him up late again
tonight, gnashing his teeth together at midnight, wondering if he should
take a sleeping pill or not, just to get down.
	He decided against shaving. He was just too lazy this morning to
bother with it. He would catch up tomorrow. As he showered, he scanned
through the biochip in his head, checking his personal files, examining
the list of things he had to do today, noticing that his
associate/business partner had added a few things to his appointment
calendar during the night. That was ok though.
	Arnaud Dubois, his business partner at "Full Disclosure" the Data
Haven they ran under the guise of an underground news base, pulled his own
weight and then some. If there were things he felt needed to be done, yet
he wasn't able to do them, then he must have a good reason for it.
Besides, the demands were not unreasonable. Mostly just appointments
during the morning.
	Flipping the comm-link switch in his head, he felt the waves of
ComWeb lapping at his mind as he dove into the pool of simulated reality
and accessed the cellular network of the city, continuing his shower in
the real world.
	"Arnaud?" Chance called out into the blackness of the seeming vast
gray foggy emptiness in his mind. Quickly, a bright green neon lightning
bolt struck from the deep black sky, loudly, directly in front of him, and
he found himself standing on the smooth black limitless plain, a hard wind
blowing from nowhere and everywhere, as a tall lanky man in a disheveled
suit stood in front of him.
	Chance was seated behind his desk at work. Arnaud's dark, boyish,
never combed hair blowing in the wind as he spoke.
	"Talk to me my man!" The man asked grinning, sitting down on the
corner of his desk, pulling a silver cigarette case out of the breast
pocket of his suit and lighting one easily despite the howling wind.
	"A bit dramatic for this hour don't you think?" Chance grinned at
him as he carefully adjusted the water temperature in the real world. He
didn't want to scald himself while in the numb non-place where they were
now speaking with each other. There's no There, there. A voice from his
past reminded him.
	"I wanted to shake you up a bit." The man winked.
	"Why don't I feel shook?" Chance grinned.
	Though Arnaud appeared in his wrinkled suit, he ALWAYS did. It was
his chosen image for cyberspace. His real image. He might be dressed in
anything else and Chance would never have known it. Chance was currently
standing naked in his shower at home, but to Arnaud, he appeared to be
sitting behind a desk dressed in a white shirt and long black tie. Just as
he always appeared to people while in VR comm-link.
	"Well, I thought you'd be more sleepy." The boyishly handsome man
shrugged. "I wanted to see if I could catch you off guard." The Frenchman
smiled his prize-winning smile that came so easily to him. According to
Arnaud, and Chance had no reason to doubt him, they were the mans real
teeth. Not even so much as orthodonture work done on that smile. Reason
enough to be proud in todays world, where very few people hadn't had
something cosmetic done.
	"I was just calling to let you know, barring traffic, I should be
on time this morning." Chance said, getting on with business.
	"That's cool." Arnaud nodded. "Not much is happening right now
anyway. I got a few medias out in the field, but for the most part all
they're looking at is vehicle crashes and such during rush hour traffic.
I figured we'd sell the footage to the networks." The Frenchman shrugged.
	"Might as well." Chance snorted. "It pays the bills."
	"I'll leave the reports for you in the superframe."
	"Gotcha." Chance nodded. "See you in a few."
	"Ok Chance." Arnaud said walking off into the darkness. "Later."
His voice reverberated as he disappeared, sound byte trailers whispering
in the darkness, as he disconnected his link with the ComWeb.
	Chance finished his shower and shut off the water, squeezing the
water out of his long tangle of hair on his head, and slaking most of the
water from his tall hairy body before sliding the door to the shower back
and grabbing a big fluffy towel from the rack. He had no sooner finished
drying his body, and was working on his long shoulder length hair, when
the door bell rang.
	"Show me." He called out to the apartment AI, and immediately felt
the computer reach into his head and touch the biochip, tickling his
visual cortex and showing him the caller from the point of view of the
security camera outside, above the door. It was Tom Drauman.
	"Open." He said to the condo AI, and watched Tom enter his
apartment. Wrapping the big towel around himself he opened the door of the
bathroom and walked out into the hall, with clouds of steam following him.
	"Hey Tom." He said smiling at the man who had worked for him for
several years now. "What's up?" Chance asked. Tom was one of his better
Medias. From some of the stories he managed to come up with, Chance had to
wonder if the man often slept with his camera rig.
	"Not a Goddamed thing." Tom grumbled. "If I'd have known Kansas
City was THIS boring, I'd have gone to Phoenix." He snorted as he sat down
on a kitchen stool. "At least THERE, if you can't find anything really
juicy or scandalous going on in politics, you can always find a good gang
war going down. Too much shit is legal here."
	 "Things that bad huh? Coffee?" Chance offered as he sipped at the
cup he had left standing to cool. "Its fresh."
	"Hell yes!" The man said excitedly. "For something that costs more
than cocaine, do you seriously think I'm going to turn it down?" He asked
excitedly. "You're one of the few people I know that drinks the real
McCoy. The rest of us commoners just get by with SoyKaf."
	"Some people don't even like the TASTE of real coffee, Tom."
Chance grinned. "Here you go."
	"That's beside the point." Tom said taking the offered cup and
holding it like some holy chalice. "I could develop a taste for something
THIS expensive."
	"How long have you been out this morning?" Chance asked him as he
continued drying his long hair with his towel, standing on the other side
of the bar from the man. Tom Drauman was one of his Straight Friends, so
he didn't feel self conscious being naked in front of him, as he would
being naked in front of a Gay man. It was more like high school gym. It
was because he knew Tom wasn't interested in him sexually, that he could
be so easy about it.
	"Not too long. I just got up actually. I thought you might want
some company to the office." Tom suggested, as he held the coffee in his
mouth a while, contemplating it's taste, wondering if it was a pleasant or
bitter experience. "Oh by the way, I shot a few minutes of Spike El Dorado
and his brother, on the way over. They weren't doing anything to get in
trouble over, but they had visitors. At seven A-M. I got close-ups of
everyone I could."
	"Good." Chance nodded. "We'll take a look at your footage when we
get to the office. Maybe we can figure out from who the visitors are, what
the Eldorado brothers are up to." He said, padding into the bathroom to
put his jeans back on, which were still clean, only having been worn one
day, and then going into the bedroom to find something else to wear.
	He found a gray flannel sweat-shirt with the sleeves ripped out
hanging in the closet when he opened the door, and decided it was easiest
to get to. He slipped it over his head as he made his way to his dresser
and got a pair of long white tube socks out of the drawer and sat down on
the bed to put his black leather cowboy boots on.
	"You guys make enough money that you don't have to bother with
reusable clothes." Tom said leaning against the door frame to the bedroom,
watching Chance as he dressed. "Why DO you bother?"
	"I like 'em." Chance shrugged. "I never could understand how anyone
could stand to just wash their clothes down the drain every day.  It seems
so wasteful."
	"Convenient is the term." Tom smiled. "Paper analog clothing is
very Eco-Correct you know." He said brushing at his own paper shirt.
	"Oh please." Chance smirked. "Call me an Eco-Terrorist then. I
prefer natural fibers. I even have favorites among my wardrobe believe it
or not."
	"You're just anal retentive." Tom snickered. "All you Gay guys
are."
	"No, not all of us." Chance smiled. "I think you'd be surprised.
Some of us can be bigger slobs than you straight boys!" He laughed as he
pulled the second boot on and put his foot down on the floor with a heavy
thunk.
	"You ready?" Tom asked, finishing off his cup with reverence, as
Chance put on his shoulder rig, with his Smith & Wesson 45 Auto, quickly
checking the cylinder.
	"Everything is fine, except the part that isn't." Chance said
grabbing his leather flack jacket off the chair in the bedroom and putting
it on. "General Willis?" He called out to the apartment, checking his
pockets for spare clips. One never knew when they would find themselves in
a flash fire-fight these days. 'Cover thy own ass' was always the first
rule of the day.
	"Yes sir." A deep male voice came from everywhere around them.
	"I'm leaving for work now. Lock-down mode." Chance said feeling in
his pockets to make sure he had his manual KeyCard to the apartment, just
in case Breadbasket Fusion decided to shut off the power to the building
while he was away. Depending on who was paying how much for peak load
power, determined who would get how much from the fusion reactors in the
power grid. The Co-Op they were a part of, here in this condo, was usually
low on priority when it came to competeing with the MegaCorps.  "As for my
calls, record don't forward, that is, unless it's Roland."
	"Yes Sir." The apartment acknowledged.
	"Ok." Chance said opening the door looking quickly around the room.
"Let's go!" He said following Tom out the door and into the hall.  As he
palmed the door locked, he noticed Tom had his camera focused on him
taping his every move. "You can quit now." Chance grumbled at him as he
headed for the elevator. "Mr. Doodah man."
	"It's a talent meter." Tom smiled. "It's showing theres not a trace
in sight."
	"Which is why I could never work for Dominoes Pizza." Chance smiled
out of the side of his face as the elevator pinged. "Are you armed by the
way?" He asked before he stepped into the elevator.
	"Yep." Tom said simply.





From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 02/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:47:19 -0500

Roland One
	Roland Caulder opened his bright red ceramic locker, sat his
cowboy hat on the hat hook, started taking off his jewelry, and placing it
on the small top shelf. He didn't want anything getting in his way if he
was to get into a skirmish, and besides, it was standard operating
procedure. Which was the way he liked things. S-O-P. The gold chain he got
as an anniversery present from Chance, the diamond earring, which Chance
had the matching one to it, and his wedding ring, would all be safe enough
in his personal locker, which was supposedly bomb-proof, though he had
never heard of an instance when that was actually tested.
	He glanced at the eight by ten holo of Chance and himself,
Sticky-Stuk on the back of the door of his locker, and felt a little
guilty over his job worrying Chance so much. The holo showed both of them
sitting in the sand, facing the Media girl that roamed the beach,
freelance, his arms around Chance as his shorter, younger lover leaned
back into Rolands arms, both of them laughing happily as the Media girl
had made some stupid joke, he didn't even remember anymore. It was a very
good shot of them together. They had it taken on their last vacation to
Galveston. The same place they went every year on their anniversary. It
was where they had spent their honeymoon. Ten years ago.
	It seemed as if this were a routine he went through every day. He
would make himself depressed over the fact that today may be the day, he
left Chance as a widower, and then he would become angry over that fact.
>From the bitterness and anger he was able to gather strength. A Will to
Survive. It had worked for him so far. That, and skill. Before he went
into the squad room, he looked at the holo one last time, and made a
mental promise to return tonight, when his shift ended.
	"I love you." He said quietly, kissing the end of his finger, and
touching it to the holo where Chances face was, and shut the door, palming
it locked.
	"Well I love you too Caulder." Came a voice behind him. "I never
realized you cared so much." The voice teased.
	"Stone." Roland smiled at the voice. "You're here early this
morning, aren't you?" He asked turning around. "You're usually running
about a half hour late."
	"Yeah well, I figured I had nothing better to do, so I thought I'd
get a jump on the bad guys today."
	"Well good luck." Roland smirked.
	"We'll need it." His friend and partner said ominously as he
clasped Roland on the shoulder and squeezed gently.
	That was as about as much emotion as Tucker Stone had ever shown
anyone. Even his wife complained that he was a cold emotionless fish.
After working with Tucker Stone for the past 6 years on the Kansas City
police force, Roland knew him a little better than that. He found it
strange, that as the mans partner, he knew him better than the man's wife
did. Maybe it was simply because he wanted to know. Roland cared.
	Tucker just wasn't the kind of man who liked to show a whole lot
of emotion was all. It just wasn't his style. But just because he didn't
show it, didn't mean he didn't feel it. Roland knew that. They had become
very close friends in the past six years. Friends that had to depend on
each other, for their very lives at times. Of course, there was a lot of
unspoken emotion that went along with that kind of trust you put in a
person. It went beyond words. And was probably better off left unspoken.
	As they left the locker room and headed towards the squad room,
Roland recalled that Tucker had been in the Navy Seals a long time ago.
That, and luck, was probably a major factor in the mans survival. Just as
his own training in the Marines had been a factor in his own survival,
being so close to the street.
	"I heard they're giving each of us an extra CyberForm today."
Tucker said as they passed through the locks of doors, one sealing behind
them before the next would open in front of them.
	"No kidding." Roland nodded. "Too bad they can't afford to pay for
a few more real cops. They're eventually going to have to increase the
force anyway." He shrugged. "Why not now? When we really need it?"
	"Cap'n MacGregor said not this budget." Stone shrugged. "Maybe next
quarter. These twelve Rookies coming in are going to be IT until January."
	"Yeah. Right." Roland snorted. "Half of them won't live to see
Christmas." He grumbled.
	There was a ruckus on the other side of the room that Roland
couldn't quite identify, in normal mode, so, with a sudden burst of
adrenalin, he accessed the biochip in his head and began his workday by
becoming half machine. Cyborg. Cybernetic Organism. Man becomes machine.
Accessing the chip he tuned out the background noise and focused in on the
shouting and screaming, tracking in the direction of sound and finding the
location where the disruption was taking place, far across the room.
	Warming up his cyber-optic chip he was able to assume manual
control of his cyber-eye and telescope in on the scene that was taking
place 218 feet away according to the optical readout across his lower
vision.
	"Jesus. Looks like PCP." Tucker said, nervously taking the safety
off his automatic shotgun that Roland hadn't realized before he had in his
hands. Of course, Tucker ALWAYS had it in his hands, which was probably
the reason Roland had failed to notice it.
	The man in custody was big, though not quite as big as Roland and
Tucker. He stood about 6 foot, a stocky black man, obviously psychotic,
high on the latest designer drug of the week, which DID in fact exhibit a
lot of the same symptoms as PCP. That meant it was going to be a bastard
to fight on the street.
	Give an average hungry, desperate and angry anyone on the street
with cybernetic modifications, a drug that was guaranteed to get 'em
higher than a kite, on stuff that shut down their pain centers, made 'em
feel like God Almighty, and you got a bit of a problem on your hands. All
that rage managed to find it's way out. One way or another.
	The man in custody had managed to break free of the handcuffs by
pulling so hard, he had pulled the flesh of his hand off, by somehow
managing to drag his hand through the cuffs anyway. The flesh of his hand
lay on the floor in bloody slivers, next to the steel handcuffs that had
secured him to the wall below the bench where he had been sitting. More
than likely, a few bones in his hand were probably broken as well. Blood
spurted from the end of his arm where his bony hand gleamed white through
the torn flesh, as he continued to scream in a blood-curdling rage and
rushed the men behind the counter where he was waiting to be booked.
	Roland and Tucker stood watching far across the room in mild
fascination, as one of the officers seated in a booth high up near the
ceiling, calmly aimed a very big gun that was mounted on the bottom of the
booth and resembled more of a cannon than anything else, and simply blew
the mans head off with a laser, his brain flashboiling from the lasers
heat, causing his skull to explode. All of which took place before he got
more than a couple of steps towards the counter.
	One of the uniformed officers behind the counter threw a stack of
papers he had in his hands, down on the counter and began cussing over the
extra paper work he was now going to have to fill out as a part of the
report. It was all on video though, if anyone decided to question the
facts of the mans death while in custody.
	Roland looked at Tucker, who just shrugged as they headed towards
their desks on the west side of the room. When he got within a couple of
feet of his desk, all the sounds of the huge room around them died down to
nothing as he stepped inside the sound-proof field that surrounded his
desk.
	"Messages." Roland told his terminal that sat on his desk, picking
up a few hand written messages and quickly scanning them for anything he
thought was important.
	"Messages total four. Messages are as follows." The terminal said
clearly in the quiet sound-proof area of his desk. "Mattie Silver, three
fifty seven. Maintenance. Captain Helen MacGregor, seven seventeen. Inter
Office Memo. Miss Kenyada Swift, seven twenty three. Public Standard.
Eddie Bowers, seven thirty eight. Public Standard."
	Only four messages? Perhaps the day wasn't going to go so bad
after all. Roland thought to himself as he sat down in the big leather
chair, grateful for it's comfort after the ride downtown on the hard
ceramic seats of the Light Rail System. He thanked God or whatever that he
only had to take it a few miles from MidTown to DownTown, unlike those
poor unfortunate bastards that had to ride it all the way in from the
suburbs.
	"Play Messages." He told the machine as he looked over at his
partner, who's desk butted up against, facing his own and who was at the
moment going through the same morning routine of answering his overnight
mail.
	"Mistah Cauldah dis be Mattie Silvah. I'd appreciade it if ya'd not
LEAVE no cups with stuff in 'em, sittin around on yo desk. I dun gone an
knocked one of dem off a wol ago and it only makes my job dat much moe.
Also I wuz wonderin if you had talked wit yo boyfrin mistah mashanko yet.
Thank ya."
	The machine made a tone that indicated end of message and then
asked him: "Would you like to reply?" The machine prompted him.
	"Yes." He said simply, flipping through the papers he had in his
hands, discarding that which was not important and those problems that
would go away if ignored long enough. "Dear Mattie." He said to the
machine, continuing to read as he spoke. "Yes, I did talk with Mister
Marchenko and he agreed with me. We CAN in fact use your help cleaning up
around our apartment. He agrees that Tuesday morning would be fine. We're
looking forward to your help. You already have our address. See you then.
Bye."
	He smiled inwardly to himself, knowing he was doing a good thing.
In reality, between Chance and himself, they didn't really make that much
of a mess of their one bedroom apartment, and they had a cleaning 'bot to
take care of most of that. But, it WAS helping the poor old woman out
financially. She didn't make that much money here at the station just
cleaning at nights, and after Roland had Chance run a make on her
personnel file at the station house, he knew that she had four kids at
home to support on only one income. Clearly not the easiest thing to do.
	So, he had talked it over with Chance, who after a lot of
grumbling finally said it would be ok, and that he would beef up the
security on their apartment AI "General Willis" to keep an eye on her.
'Just in case'. Chance didn't trust the old woman in their apartment
alone, though Chance didn't trust many people. But Roland knew her well
enough to know that she was an honest old woman even if she was uneducated
and poor. She couldn't have kept her job here at the station if she had
been pilfering things. The security AI would have caught her a long time
ago.
	It was a human thing to do to help out your fellow man. His
argument didn't carry much weight though, until, during their "Discussion"
(It's NOT an Argument!) of the topic, he finally asked Chance what he
thought happens to people who can't read or write in a world based on
information, and only values those people who have a relationship with
that data.
	From then on, Chance didn't put up so much of a fight against it.
He knew what the score was. Some referred to those who were discarded by
society, simply as "Collateral Damage".
	"Next." He told the machine.
	"This is Captain MacGregor. To all Personnel. Today, Chairman
Guthrie will be here with her Medias. I want everyone looking sharp and on
their best behavior. This is important to our funding next quarter.  I'm
wanting more Cops and more CyberForms, and the only way I'm going to get
her to budget them for us is by giving her what she wants. That means, if
she wants to tape a series of Infomercials making it look like she's
taking a bite out of crime." Roland could hear the amusement in his bosses
voice. "Then she gets to make them. Anyone who shows up today out of
uniform will be given one from central supply and charged for it
accordingly. Give me your best people. We're going to have to work
together on this. MacGregor Out."
	The machine made it's end-of-message tone and said: "Would you
like to reply?"
	"Yes." He said smiling to himself. "Captain, this is Roland.
Chance said to tell Chairman Guthrie that HE didn't vote for her. Since I
didn't think it was my place to do so, I thought I would pass that
privilege on to you. See you at lunch? Later Gater."
	"Next." He told the machine smiling.





From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 03/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:48:48 -0500

Chance Two
	The trip to work wasn't too bad for a Friday. Usually on Friday,
it seemed as if there were forty three billion people that just HAD to get
out on the streets, at the very moment that Chance had to get to the
office. Today however the traffic seemed light as the two of them walked
from the condo to the LRS stop on Main Street, a couple of blocks away,
just up the hill.
	Chance glanced over at Tom, his friend and employee of 5 years,
who had suddenly grown quiet, to see him aiming his camera rig at a
sliding glass door several stories up on an apartment building that was
several blocks away.
	"Is there no limit to your depravity?" Chance teased him as the
walked down the sidewalk heading towards Main Street to catch the LRS
DownTown.
	"She's naked man." Tom grinned as he squinted into the viewfinder.
"Wanna peek? I got her zoomed in at thirty times."
	"That's ok." Chance laughed. "Really Drauman, one of these days
you're going to get caught, and then I don't want to hear you calling me
to bail you out 'cause I won't."
	"Yeah you would. I'm the best you got for a Media." He smiled not
taking his eye away from the camera. "You're no fun today."
	"I didn't get much sleep last night." Chance said casually.  "Don't
you ever come out from behind that thing?" He asked curiously.
	"Only when I'm indoors." Tom answered as-a-matter-of-fact. "And
THEN only if there's nothing going on... Even then, I've got micro-video
kinked in to my cyber-optics." He winked. "It comes in handy when my rig
gets confiscated."
	"I wondered how you came up with some of the footage you did."
Chance grinned at him. "You're evil Drauman." He teased. "The spawn of
Satan!"
	"I was always taught it was called being clever." Tom smiled
scanning his camera up the street ahead of them. "Be prepared and all that
shit. Weren't you ever a Boy Scout?"
	"Yeah. As a matter of fact I was!" Chance laughed. "But I certainly
didn't take it THAT seriously." He said as they continued walking down the
sidewalk. "We just did shit like go camping out in the woods and stuff. As
a matter of fact, it was at Boy Scout Camp where I lost my virginity." He
chuckled.
	As they headed up the small hill towards Main Street, Chance
noticed a man in a bright blue sports car pull over to the side of the
street and get out, throwing a bundled heavy armor jacket into the
dumpster. Not bothering to look around to see if he was spotted, he
quickly got back into the car and sped off, obviously in one hell of a
hurry.
	"Did you see that?" Chance asked his friend unbelievingly.
	"See what?" Tom spun around, lowering the camera rig, to see what
it was Chance was talking about.
	"Come here a second." Chance said hurrying over to the dumpster.
	Lifting the lid again, he saw the jacket, reached in and pulled it
out. It seemed in good condition, though it was tied up in two places with
a nylon cord.
	"Are you getting this?" Chance asked his friend behind the mini
camera rig that stored it's digital images to a series of flashchip packs,
each able to contain seven hours of video, up to a total of eight packs,
or, a total of 56 hours of continuous video. Though most news people never
recorded more than two or three hours per pack, and even that was edited
down to thirty second blips for the news base. Anything longer, and people
lost interest.
	Chance pulled an old pocket knife out that was attached to his
key-ring and cut the nylon cords tying the jacket together into a bundle.
Inside, they found billfolds, credit cards, ID-cards, PIN numbers, and
information on about 20 different people.
	"Jesus." Tom breathed as he zoomed in on the cache. "Is there any
cash? Any gold jewelry?"
	"No." He said shortly. "Damn." Chance cursed, looking down the
street in the direction the car had driven off. "I wish to hell you'd have
got a few of his license numbers."
	"Sorry man." Tom shrugged.
	"Doesn't matter." Chance shrugged, and started shoving the cards
and billfolds into the pockets of the jacket. After he was done, he picked
it up and put it on over the top of the flack jacket he already had on,
giving him a bulky look.
	"You're not really going to WEAR that thing are you?" Tom asked
disgustedly.
	"Sure." Chance smiled. "Why not? It's about an eight hundred dollar
heavy armor jacket. I'm not a fool, man."
	"What if some kind of murder or something was committed with it?"
Tom asked screwing up his face. "What if it's got lice or bugs or
something in it?"
	"Do you see any blood? Besides, people who can afford threads like
these, don't usually have lice." Chance asked holding out the sleeves.
"Come on. We're going to miss the M-L." He laughed, walking up to the
corner where the Mag-Lev train would stop and pick them up for the trip
downtown. "Jesus." Chance grinned. "And I thought I was the Nellie one."
He giggled, gently elbowing his friend in the ribs.
	They didn't have to wait long as the train pulled up just as they
arrived. Dropping their tokens in the box, the interlocking bars turned
and permitted them through, where they quickly found a seat not far from
the front. The train took off quickly, and was soon up to top speed for
the inner city, gliding smoothly past the traffic on a rail of it's own.
	"I wonder who it was that threw it away?" Tom asked now curious
about the jacket. "Or why?"
	"I don't know." Chance said quietly, thinking to himself, as they
rode the Light Rail System deeper into the city. "I'm going to find out
though, when we get to the office."
	Chance flipped down a little eight inch TV screen on the back of
the seat in front of him and tried to occupy his mind with the morning
news along their way. Up and down the aisle of the little car they
traveled in, that rode atop a magnetic levitation line, there were those
who had already begun their work day by plugging in fiberoptic cables into
jacks designed for that purpose, on the backs of the seats in front of
them, giving them access to the city's DataNet and ComWeb. Others accessed
the same cyberspace grids through the cellular circuits they carried
inside their Laptop systems. Neither a fiberoptic line on the move or a
cellular connection was as good as a dedicated land line, designed
specifically for data transfer, but it WAS convenient.
	It's the Information Age. Chance reminded himself as the train
whooshed through traffic, gliding smoothly and silently on it's thin
buffer of electromagnetism that constantly tried to push the train up off
of the magnets they rode along.
	Not far from them, sat a man with a steel container about a foot
tall in his lap, no one wanting to sit beside him for some reason, until
Chance noticed that on the side of the steel container was the red triple
horned circles on a yellow background that was the universal symbol for
BioHazard. Chance gulped once and felt beads of sweat jump out on his
forehead.
	"Gettin' hot with two jackets on?" Tom smiled at him.
	"No." Chance grumbled, trying not to look at the man across the
aisle, nor wonder what might be in the container that the man seemed
unconcerned with. Inside, Chance tried to rationalize that the container
was probably empty, and he worked in some lab downtown. Or something.
	Trying to get his mind off what horrors may live inside the
canister that might be hazardous to his life, Chance looked the other way,
out the window on their side of the car, and noticed up in the sky, a
single manned copter flying over the city with what looked to be about a
half a dozen mini-copters flying some sort of complex formation behind it.
Roland had flown similar units during his tour.
	All of the smaller "Heel-Dog" units were slaved by remote and
autopilot to the master craft. A single pilot could keep track of several
screens of information from the multiple cameras they each contained,
especially if the pilot was hardwired for multiple video inputs, for only
a tiny fraction of the price of sending up the same number of full sized
copters with live pilots in them. Another benefit was that by remote, the
smaller "Dogs" could reach places where the full sized chopper couldn't.
Though they had proved their worth at catching criminals on the run, they
didn't do shit to prevent it.
	"I wish they'd pad these seats." Chance grumbled shifting
uncomfortably.
	"It's the age of Ceramics my friend. Everything is made of the
stuff." Tom laughed. "Besides, you know as well as I do that if they put
padding on them, the kids would just tear it up." He said shaking his
head.
	"Yeah." Chance agreed begrudgingly.
	"We'll be there soon enough." Tom said looking down the track to
mentally measure their distance to their stop. "Besides, it's not as if
Arnaud can exactly dock your pay."
	"I just like to be on time." Chance shrugged. "I'm turning into an
old man Tom. Getting responsible."
	"Bullshit." Tom snorted. "Otherwise you wouldn't be in the business
you are. WE are!" He laughed.
	"Hell! I'm half a respectable." Chance defended himself. "I've got
a lease, employees I'm responsible for, a couple of lawyers on retainer,
and several banks where I'm known on a first name basis with the
presidents of same." He grinned.
	"Yeah, and if even ONE of those Respectables knew what you were
REALLY doing with that News Base, they shut off all lines to you and call
in as many authorities as they could lay their hands on."
	"I simply offer a service." Chance said mocking indignant. "An
Information Exchange. A News Base is protected by the first amendment."
	"That crap wouldn't hold up in Ronald McDonalds court." Tom
laughed. "You run a Pirate Data Fortress and you know it."
	"I prefer to think of it as a media base." Chance smiled.
	"And married to a cop of all things!" Tom laughed again. "How do
you manage to get that past Roland?"
	"He just thinks I run an underground newspaper." Chance shrugged.
"That's all he needs to know. Freedom of speech and all that. He doesn't
ask very many questions and I don't encourage it. He doesn't understand
half the stuff I talk about anyway." He shrugged.
	"You really get into the machines huh?" Tom asked eyeballing Chance
with a sideways grin.
	"Sure!" Chance nodded. "Don't you?"
	"Yeah, THESE, but to me Computers are just so BORING." Tom said
holding up his mini-cam. "Now THIS is fun."
	"You're just rationalizing that because you're a voyeur." Chance
teased him. "But yeah, it's the same thing for me with the machines. When
I was a kid in high school, I used to think life was going to be
inevitable boredom. THEN I got into my first computer class. All of a
sudden, life became an exciting learning experience. My life went from
'Life is not worth bothering with' to 'Life is worth fighting for.'"
	"Quite a change." Tom said arching an eyebrow.
	"Oh don't try and bullshit me buddy-boy." Chance teased "I happen
to remember when you were a regular Cecil B. De Mille when we were just
kids. Remember all those movies you made with your parents old CamCorder?"
	"Yeah well... Heads up. Here we go." Tom said standing up.
	The train headed underground at that point and they found
themselves watching the strobe of the lights that lined the tube.
Quickly, the train silently glided to a stop and the doors all whisked
open at the same time, allowing the passengers who chose to depart to pour
out the exits in waves.
	The underground mall was bustling with activity even in the
morning hours. Kiosks, coffee shops and donut shops already bringing in
the days profits. Chance preferred doing his shopping at The Virtual Mall,
but sometimes it was fun just to get out of the condo and enjoy the town.
For the most part though, it was getting way too dangerous to go anywhere
outside the home, and at one time, Chance had seriously considered working
from home, but then Roland helped him decided that by making a move like
that was giving in to the hoodlums. It was better to arm yourself to the
teeth, get the best armor you can afford, and go on business as usual.
	They made their way up to the ground level through the hundreds of
shuffling bodies, by using the escalators, expertly weaving in and out of
the crowded shop lined corridors bustling with morning activity.
	"So what do you think it is about technology that is so sexy?"  Tom
asked seriously as they climbed the steps to the glass skywalk, his camera
tuned on Chance as if he were doing an interview. "You know what I mean?
What makes that sense of EDGE so attractive? The sweaty urgency of hard
tech so desirable?" He queried as they walked across the skywalk above
Grand Avenue heading north-east to the old IBM building.
	"I don't know..." Chance pondered for a moment. "I once heard that
it's the sense of power, the technical mastery, and effective anonymity
that acts like cat-nip on teenage boys. That's when we're all first
seduced by tech. Big boys are just Teenagers a little older. Not
necessarily grown up, just older."
	"Why then don't we use what we do for more conventional ends?"
Tom asked sincerely



From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 04/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:50:14 -0500

Roland Two
	"Ok look guys." Captain Helen MacGregor said taking off her glasses
a moment rubbing at the bridge of her nose, and then on second thought,
sliding them back on. "Part of the reason Chairman Guthrie is doing this
is image. Another part of it is, she's sincere in wanting to clean up the
city."
	"Bull. The voters come down on her and she comes down on us."
Tucker Stone smirked. "Shit rolls down hill." He nodded to himself.
	"Something like that." The woman behind the desk nodded. "It's
complicated. It has to do with unfair representation, the new economy,
previous non-voters finally registering and casting a vote against the
status quo, and the fact that most people are getting tired of
professional politicians taking their tax dollars and not getting anything
in return."
	"So what are you getting at Cap'n?" Roland asked cutting to the
core of the matter.
	"I hate this, but, we're bringing in some corporates." She said
straightforward. "Nakashima Rent-a-cops. Just for a little while." She
added quickly. "But we're keeping it quiet. So keep your mouths shut about
it."
	"I'll quit first before I'll work with a bunch of Nips!" Stone said
crossing his thick sturdy arms across his broad muscular chest.  "I'll
take this to the Union! Or to the Medias."
	"Oh? Do you dare?" The woman of about 40 asked, standing nose to
nose with a man who could crush her jaw with a single swipe. "You know
Nakashima Corporation is run by the Yakuza same as everyone else. If you
start causing problems for THEM, I'm sure they'll take care of you without
using the kid gloves."
	"That's not fair!" Tucker Stone protested, almost whining. "The
Yakuza are some of the worst crooks in the country!"
	"Sure it is Stone." She said sitting down again behind her desk.
"It's fair because I said it is. Cops often hire armies so they don't
appear to have their own. The corporate armies are better than
Breadbaskets Feds any day of the week. And we both know they're better
than us dumb city cops. Besides, it's not like all Yakuza are crooks. At
least not the ones in Kansas City. Most of the Yakuza in North America are
only here to try and begin new lives after their shadowy lives in the
Japanese Mafia."
	"What crap." Tucker Stone growled.
	"The way things are out there, this city could go up like a
nuke-mushroom at any second." She went on. "And I'm not having it." She
said simply.
	"Nor is the Queen Bitch I'll bet." Stone snorted. "Can't she afford
any more of her wind-up boys to keep law and order?"
	Roland sat in Captain MacGregor's office listening to his lecture
for the morning, wishing it was over and he could get back to his work
that was doubling that long the older woman talked.
	"Stone, I don't want any heroics out of you today. You just do your
job and let the CyberForms do theirs. It's what they were designed for."
	"Actually Cap'n they were originally designed as slaves and as sex
toys." Roland smiled devilishly, trying to lighten the mood the day had
started out on. "I can't believe how REAL they look!" Roland remarked,
teasing the captain over her original reaction to CyberForms on the force.
"The whites have the flat face, the blacks have the protruding brow, and
the orientals have the 'U' shaped palate. It's pretty amazing the work
that goes into detailing them so well." He mocked playfully.
	"Caulder, I haven't got time for this. Just watch him and make sure
he doesn't get out of line. You and I both know he Grandstands at every
opportunity." She said looking heavy lidded over the tops of her glasses.
"What ever he does, I'm holding you responsible for. Get the picture? Now.
How's that for Fair?"
	"Sounds fair to me." Roland smiled. "You just can't trust him after
dark Cap'n." He said in a confidential tone, giving her an exaggerated
wink. "He likes to bet on the dogs. And he summers in the mountains."
	"How charming." She said uncaring, looking back down at the paper
she held in her hands. "Also, we'll be having 'Surprise' locker searches
when the Bitch gets here so I want you both to get all the dope out of
your lockers before you leave. Even Over-The-Counter stuff. So, Surprise."
She said sternly. "I mean it Stone. Not so much as an aspirin or a roach.
That includes steroids."
	"Oh MAN!" Stone whined in an exasperated tone.
	"Evil! She's EVIL!" Roland continued his good natured teasing.
	"You can go back to business as usual next week, I just don't want
anything questionable around while she's here." The woman said
conspiratorially. "And when you two are out on foot patrol, TALK to the
CyberForms. Get to know them. Their not bad as far as people go once you
get to know them. It looks like you'll be working with them for a while
anyway. Maybe from now on."
	"So Cap'n?"
	"Yeah Caulder?"
	"If she approves the new personnel, when should we expect them?"
Roland asked calmly, from the chair he was seated in, with his feet up on
her desk. "The wetware business on the street is really getting out of
hand. Black Market Tech is getting hard to tell from the legit stuff.
It's getting harder every day to even keep track of the geneticists, much
less track down their labs."
	"Don't DO that!" She said pushing his feet off her desk. "I know
it's rough. We've been dragging in a lot of weirdos that have been turned
into their own bacterial drug factories. Their bodies can produce
Boosterware drug compounds from enzymes introduced into the body. Some can
utilize the enzymes in yogurt, some beer, others bread." She sighed
sitting back in her chair and rubbing her eyes beneath her glasses. "It's
a fucking nightmare. Just do your best for now."
	"Do you SWEAR to...." Tucker started and was quickly cut off.
	"I never swear to anything Stone." She said facing him directly.
"The best I can do is: I promise not to lie any more than I absolutely
have to."
	"Oh fuck it." He said sitting down and crossing his arms.
	"Gimme three rules guys." She said stacking papers on her desk.
	"Huh?" Roland said, somewhat amazed she had taken him off guard.
	"Gimme three rules."
	"Oh! Uh, respect other peoples rules, but don't try to live by
them. Take courage and responsibility for what you are doing." Roland said
trying to remember what he was taught in his first six months at the
academy.
	"That's one." She said shortly. "Gimme two more Stone."
	"There is no such thing as proof." He said angrily.
	"And?"
	"People drift to where the money is. Money means drugs." He said
grinding his teeth together. "God. What a dink."
	"That's good." She nodded. "You can go now. I just wanted you to
know that when she gets here, she may pull the same shit on you. So be
ready or be gone."
	"Got it Cap'n!" Roland smiled, standing up and following an angry
Stone out of the office.
	"Caulder!" She barked at him.
	"Yeah Cap'n?"
	"Come back in here and shut the goddamed door." She said tossing a
stack of papers on the desk and leaning back in her big leather chair.
"Is he going to be ok?" She asked in a quieter, more gentle voice after
Roland closed the office door.
	"Oh yeah." Roland nodded smiling. "He's just frustrated like
everyone else. He'll whine a while and then he'll be fine in about ten
minutes."
	"Good. Glad to know you can handle him. No one else will work with
him because he's such a hot head." She said staring him in the eye.  "It's
not turning into anything 'Close' is it?" She asked seriously.  "That's
all I'd need to finish up a good team."
	"No!" Roland laughed. "Nothing like that at all Helen." He smiled.
"He's really just a big kid is all. He's getting better though."
	"Say, speaking of kids, When you're out on foot patrol work on our
image. Make friends with the public. Especially the kids and the business
owners." She said pouring them both a cup of thick black coffee from an
expresso machine. "The Spin Doctors in Spin Control are saying our image
is improving. I want that to continue. Happy taxpayers are generous
taxpayers. And DAMN do we need funding."
	"Sure thing." Roland nodded, accepting the cup. "What's with the
kids though? I mean, they're our biggest problem right now."
	"The biggest problem is that their parents don't pay any attention
to them. They turn them out into the streets, just like a farmer turns his
cattle out to pasture. To fend for themselves." She explained. "We're
going to try to switch adolescents from dependents on society to
responsible citizens."
	"You're kidding." Roland looked at her pessimistically, sipping the
heavy black brew.
	"The first requirement of society HAS to be to show adults that
THEY compromise it's life. The first rites of puberty SHOULD establish in
the individual a system of sentiments that are appropriate to that
society. Things like Integrity, trust, honesty, and patriotism. Those
troublemaker kids out there aren't getting it from home, so we're going to
have to instill it in them. The CyberForms you'll be working with already
have these ideas programmed in to them."
	"So don't be surprised when they start buddying up to the kids?"
	"Exactly." She nodded. "Race, Age, Gender, we're all VERY different
people genetically Roland. Though we all have needs of achievement,
affiliation, and power. We're going to start using these things to our
advantage and see if we can't clean up this town."
	"Kansas City isn't THAT bad." Roland countered. "But yeah, I get
the gist of what you're saying. Create situations that are friendly.
That's not easy in the 'I'll-get-you-before-you-get-me' atmosphere of the
street. It's unusual anyway. And as for teaching them something along the
way, THAT'S going to be a challenge."
	"Fine. See you at lunch. Bring your big baby friend out there if
you want." She nodded, half smiling. "Now. Get the hell out of my office."
	"Bye!" He said gently closing the door and smiling to himself. He
walked across the squad room nodding to friends and acquaintances he had
known over the years past, making his way to the little area where he and
Tucker Stone kept their desks face to face. Once he stepped into the
privacy field, Tucker was ready for him.
	"How do you get along with her so easily?" Stone asked still fuming
over his confrontation with their captain. "It's this SAME THING every
morning!"
	"She just does it because she knows it gets to you Stone." Roland
explained smiling. "She's not really trying to piss you off, she's just
teasing around with you, pushing at your buttons. It's her way of letting
you know she's in control here. She's actually a very nice woman, once you
get to know her." He said putting on his bullet-proof vest, and securing
the velcro straps around his chest, arms and waist. "She's doing her part
out there too you know."
	"She's a Bitch as far as I'm concerned." Tucker snarled, curling a
lip in disgust as he looked over at her talking on the phone, and
continued getting dressed for the street, so he and Roland could walk
their beat. "A DYKE Bitch."
	"Well, that Dyke Bitch is buying us lunch today." Roland smiled.
"She owes me for a bet. Come on. Let's go." He said strapping a heavy auto
pistol to his other leg, and sliding his arm through the sling that held
an automatic shotgun and tossing a box of clips in the air and catching
them behind his back.
	"You ain't the boss of me." Stone said peevishly, teasing him. "I
thought we were taking a foot beat today. From city office to city office
compound."
	"We will after lunch." Roland explained. "First thing we have to
take the new CyberForms out and program them for DownTown." He nodded at
the four huge men standing in black pants and orange T-shirts pulled
tightly over their massive chests.
	"I don't want to walk in back." Stone said finishing snapping on
his holster. "I always have to walk in back."
	"Ok Tucker." Roland said rolling his eyes. "You can walk up front
with me." He smiled. "But you'll have to get one of the CyberForms to
carry the cellular computer and the med-kit."
	"Fine with me." Stone said following his friend through the crowded
room with what appeared to be four huge steroid produced muscle men in
tow.
	As they walked through the room, the butt of Stone's Auto-shotgun
bumped against someone's desk and knocked a stack of files off. Out of the
corner of his eye, Roland saw the heavy stack start to tumble into the
floor and then suddenly, within a split second, the CyberForm that was
directly behind Stone grabbed the stacked and steadied them, gently
pushing them back further from the edge. As quickly as it all happened, it
was over.
	"Wouldn't want the same thing to happen again." The CyberForm
called Nash said smiling, pushing them back out of the way. "It would be a
hell of a mess."
	"Yeah." Roland said stunned at the speed at which the CyberForm
reacted. "Thanks Nash." He said slowly as he looked at Tucker.
	"I'm just glad they don't let the bastards carry guns." Stone
shuddered, speaking in a low voice.
	"Yeah." Roland breathed staring at the CyberForm cautiously.





From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 05/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:51:49 -0500

Chance Three
	The security guards high above them had already Id'ed the two of
them and ok'ed their entrance, long before either of them had even spotted
the guards in their booths high above, linked by thin catwalks which
stretched across the expanse of the second level of the room, up near the
ceiling.  Without looking, Chance knew the Security guards well, most by
their first names, and knew they each had 10mm Uzi automatics trained on
Tom and himself, and would have cut them down had they not been authorized
access to the center.
	Inside, past the air-locks of glass doors, was bustling with
activity. The room was cavernous. It was two levels, though the upper
level was only a very wide balcony level of offices that extended around
the room. In the center of the room was a glassed-in room on a platform
that was raised to the second level, with only a single staircase leading
up to it. From that platform, which was the office where Chance & Arnaud
had their desks, you could see absolutely everything going on in both
levels of offices surrounding it.
	Chance and Tom stood for a second trying to get their bearings in
the commotion of screens blaring all around the room, desks with multiple
terminals on them demanding attention, and people hurrying around the room
some with papers in hand, some with clipboards, and all with a sense of
urgent intensity in their faces.
	"Home sweet home." Chance smiled at Tom.
	"See ya later?" Tom asked rhetorically, flipping his ID up at the
guard who scanned it quicker than a human could read it, without
cybernetic modifications, and heading off for his department which was on
the lower level of the east side of the room.
	"Not if I see you first." Chance smiled at him, taking Tom off
guard a moment, until he realized Chance was just teasing.
	"Good morning Kyle." Chance nodded to a big man with a clipboard
who sat at a podium on a stool beside the door entrance, looking very
sharp in his uniform, and menacing with the Uzi clipped to the podium,
beside his leg, within quick reach.
	"Mr. Marchenko." The huge man nodded seriously.
	Chance walked to the middle of the busy room, nodding hellos to
most everyone, since he knew them all by first name, and most, he knew
even more details about them than they chose to reveal to him. As Owner
and operator of Full Disclosure, it was his JOB to know as much about them
as possible. After all, some of the things they were working on went way
beyond top secret. And he needed people he knew he could trust.
	Walking up the stairs that led to the center platform, he found
the thin man in the wrinkled suit and slender tie, whom he had spoken to
earlier this morning in ComWeb, with the prize-winning smile, and the hair
that he never combed with anything more than the fingers of his hand.
	"Good Morning Arnaud." Chance said smiling as he sat down, his own
desk butted up against and facing his friends. They had much more room in
the central office than the two of them needed, or could possibly use, but
to Chance, their arrangement just felt more comfortable this way.
	"Good morning Chance." The thin dark haired man answered, lighting
an unfiltered Galoises.
	"Where do you get those around here?" Chance asked curiously.
	"At the Tobacconist over at Crown Center. He has a supplier in
Toronto." He explained holding out the pack. "Want one?"
	"No thanks. I tried 'em." Chance said screwing up his face. "I
think they make them out of the garbage tobacco. I'll stick to Davidoff's
Magnums." He smiled, lighting one of his own as he logged on to his
personal terminal.
	"Still nothing happening." The thin man said sitting down on the
corner of Chance's desk. I got about a dozen new applications though this
morning just since six o'clock." He said with a serious look on his face.
"A few of them have appointments with you."
	"No shit?" Chance sighed, sitting back in his office chair. "Damn."
	"Why do you think you're personally responsible to see to the
employment of every kid with a computer and a little talent in this city?"
Arnaud asked, letting his annoyance in Chance show through.
	"Just because." Chance said low. "In adolescence, the individual
has a sense of potentiality within himself, that has to throw off that
primary mask that society has put on them and find the Antithetical mask,
the mask contrary to society." He tried explaining himself. "They're not
allowed to follow the antithetical; the primary is like a cookie mold on
them." He said, trying to get his point across to his friend. "But this is
the struggle." He continued. "If the family, or society opposes it, it
becomes fierce, but with gradual yielding and attention the young person
can learn his own possibilities and what they can do for him. It's the
proper way Arnaud."
	"You're just wanting to tame the genius in them." Arnaud smiled.
"Don't bullshit me Chance."
	"You gotta admit it's better to have them on your side than against
you." Chance smiled. "And what better target for some young hacker than a
Data Haven? I'd rather have them fighting for ME."
	"True, True." Arnaud nodded bleary eyed. "Well, I'm gone." He
yawned. "I'll see you tonight."
	"Ok Arnaud." Chance smiled. "I'll see you tonight." He said as the
man left him alone in the glass box suspended in the middle of the room.
	"Mr. Marchenko?" Came the voice of one of his security officers
over the speakers in the room.
	"Yeah Kyle?" He said looking in the direction of the entrance he
had just come in a few moments ago, taking off both jackets he had on, and
separating the outer one to examine it's contents.
	"There's a Mr. Gillette Kamekona here to see you. He says he has an
appointment. I'm not showing him as being added to the list." The big man
said in a voice that betrayed his disappointment, which translated as
anger, at not having the man on his list.
	Chance glanced down, and saw Arnaud looking up at him nodding his
head and pointing at the stranger, as he turned again and walked on out
the glass doors, past the scene.
	"It's ok Kyle." Chance nodded down at him. "Arnaud just forgot to
put him on the list."
	"Yes sir." The man said quietly, nodding at the stranger to pass.
	Chance looked up, as did the stranger, at the many faces scanning
him from the ceiling. High up, from their excellent vantage point, several
security officers had their weapons drawn on him, their red laser dots
tracking his chest and head, as another had come up from seemingly nowhere
close behind him.
	If the man had made so much as a slight move towards a weapon, or
tried to stray from the path clearly marked out for him, far from the
offices around the room, he would have died. Everyone in the room knew
that. So, tense and sweating, he climbed the few stairs to open the door
and trembling, shook hands with Chance. "Thanks Teresa." He told the guard
that had quietly followed the man in his trek across the room.
	"Gillette Kamekona?" Chance smiled, offering the man a seat.
	"Yes." He nodded.
	"I'm sorry I wasn't prepared for you Mr.Kamekona, I just got here
myself. Could you fill me in on why you needed to see me?" Chance asked,
quickly accessing the file left for him by Arnaud.
	"I just go by Gillette." He said simply. "I'm here to work for you.
If there are any openings."
	"I see." Chance nodded looking he man over. The man who was
obviously of Hawaiian descent, couldn't have been over nineteen, and
probably closer to sixteen, but that meant nothing except that he was
probably up on a lot more of the newer tek out there than most of the
older people Chance had working for him. Still, age had nothing to do with
need, skill, or ability.
	"Do you pack a piece Gillette?" Chance asked curiously, noticing
that the man was slightly uncomfortable.
	"Yes." He said looking down at Kyle at the door. "It was taken away
from me though."
	"What kind?" Chance asked making small talk.
	"A Tech-9." Gillette said confused. "What does that have to do with
working in a DataHaven?"
	"So you DO understand what this place is then?" Chance asked him
squarely. "That this isn't just another shop?"
	"Yes." Gillette nodded seriously.
	"Good." Chance nodded. "Cause the rules here are a bit different as
you'll find out, if I hire you on. First of all, what can you show me that
can convince me that you're not a Fed?" Chance asked, staring him down.
	The young man thought for a moment, began to speak a couple of
different times, and then simply said: "Nothing." Looking like he was
defeated.
	"Don't worry about it." Chance smiled at him. "It's the right
answer. I have only your word. So. Are you a Fed?"
	"No." He shook his head seriously.
	"Do you now or have you ever worked for the Nation of Breadbasket
or the city of Kansas City?" Chance continued as he accessed his terminal
in front of him.
	"No, not exactly." The young man balked.
	"What EXACTLY?" Chance asked sitting back in his chair. "Why don't
you tell me about it."
	"I worked for Equifax for a while." He explained. "Kansas City was
one of our major clients. I handled the account."
	"I see." Chance nodded. "Are you a loner Gillette?"
	"Yes." He nodded seriously.
	"You kind of give off that impression." Chance smiled warmly.  "You
have nothing to fear here you know. We're the good guys."
	"So I've been told." He said warily. "It's not what I was taught
though."
	"Who told you about us?" Chance asked curiously.
	"A guy that goes by the name of 'Silver Spoon'." He explained. "I
ran a few makes on different people for him for a few extra bucks to get
by on, until I could find work, and he said that you'd probably be
interested in some of my talents as a Netrunner. I couldn't find out much
about you, so naturally I was curious to meet you."
	"His real name by the way is Silas Ferris." Chance smiled. "And
yes, I'm always looking for more people. If they're the right type."
	"Well, " Gillette began uneasily. "I don't really know what to tell
you about myself...I've been miserable most of my life because I always
thought that intelligence should win out over good looks. Now, at 25, I've
adjusted to the truth and see that in the end, I actually HAVE won in the
sense that, like my peers, I could be 25 and stupid."
	Chance laughed out loud and smiled at him. "That's good. I like
that." He said looking the man over once again. "Well Gillette, you see,
there is no employment form we fill out here. We both know how pointless
those are." He said glancing at the stranger. "We'll end up finding out
everything there is to know about you anyway." Chance smiled. "The way
this works is, You and I sit and talk for a while, and then we decided
together if we're right for each other. So, what else can you tell me
about what you know, or how you work? Tell me things about yourself that I
wouldn't find in documentation somewhere."
	"Actually Mr.Marchenko, the best thing I can think of to tell you
about myself is that I'm a smart man, with integrity, and little or no
sense of humor." Gillette said with a straight face.
	Chance laughed out loud again, more at his own embarrassment, than
the humor in the mans statement. "Ok guy. I won't tease you then.  What do
you know of the Computer intrusion act?"
	"Next to nothing." The man said seriously. "It's old, it was
outdated when they wrote it. Untouched for about sixty years now, I
think."
	"Good." Chance nodded. "Because it's the first rule we throw out
here. What was it exactly that Silas thought I might be interested in
about you? Evidently you've done something that you've told him about, or
he wouldn't have referred you to me."
	"Well, " Gillette said shifting uncomfortably in the chair. "When I
was let go from Equifax, I kind of left a logic bomb behind. One that will
go off in about three months, on the date of my birthday."
	"Really?" Chance asked as his eyes began to brighten. "Tell me
about it."
	"Well, " The Hawaiian man began, shifting again.
	"Don't worry about it. I'm not going to betray your secret."
Chance smiled. "I just want to know how your mind works."
	"On my birthday, their system will check for my account. If it's
still there, it will ask a question that only I know the answer to. Since
I'm fired of course, there will be no one there to answer it, which will
start a long virus that will begin erasing blocks of data from the
system."
	"How?" Chance asked sitting forward with his elbows on his knees.
	"After the first couple of blocks of data go, they'll start looking
for a virus. So, they'll switch to the next substation grid to look for
it. When they type in the command "Check for deleted matrices."  the word
'DELETE' will key the main virus." He explained. "It leads to shutting the
entire system down and deleting all data. If after the virus has begun
they access the personnel file, it will wipe itself."
	"So explain this viral chain to me." Chance encouraged him.
	"It's put into the printers as a series of logic bombs." Gillette
explained.




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 06/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:53:25 -0500

Roland Three
	Roland eyed the DownTown crowd with growing suspicion and watched
the readout on the laser scanner as he shot beams into the distance at
different people, turning up his collar against the wind as they walked
the streets of the Executive Center.
	The slick wet streets were lined in dirty slush, reflecting neon
dreams from the shops, bright sparkling islands beneath the dark ominous
shadows of the towering super-structures surrounding them in the icy
morning. Neon promises of joys that would never be delivered to the
satisfaction of the buyer, but still within the limitations of the
honesty-in-advertising laws. Hardware that would make you a 'better' human
being, software that would make you think you are better, and wetware that
promised both but delivered neither.
	The streetek shops along Tenth & Baltimore were bustling with
activity despite the rain mixed with snow that seemed to have been going
on for three days straight, and never quite washing the grit and greasy
grime from the city.
	The group of officers human and CyberForm both, walked through the
crowds, past the shops of Body Invasion techniques and hardware of
prosthetic limbs, designed for the disabled or the desiring, where there
was always something newer available and more 'advanced' than last years
tek.
	Implanted Circuitry that would hardwire a person as his own
personal computer or let him interface with any of a million devices out
in the world. Cosmetic surgery shops where anything could be fixed, or
broken, depending on the style and fashion this month. Last month bruises
were big, and Revlon stock soared. Genetic Alteration shops were there as
well, for those who preferred a more organic look to their modifications.
	Along they went, eyeing suspicious persons, running scans on the
public's bar-code PINS that were supposed to be stuck on their upper right
chests, according to form, but which so many seemed to 'forget'.
Especially if they had a record of something they didn't want the cops to
know about.
	Providing that the public were in a cooperative mood, it was a
simple matter of shooting a laser scanner gun at the PIN bar-code sticker
on the persons chest, and reading out on the hand terminal who they were
and usually gave a good guess as to what they were doing there, if they
were wanted or should be stopped for questioning.
	It was when people weren't feeling so cooperative, refusing to
wear the PIN bar-code sticker in a prominent area, or at all, when the
group had to resort to stopping people and questioning them. This was what
was popularly known as "harassment". Roland tried to avoid it as much as
possible.
	Behind Roland and Stone, the CyberForms smiled cheerfully as rain
and snow poured down them, nodding neighborly at faces that did not appear
happy at all with those around them, or the weather, or the Christmas
season, or the presence of the Cops. Cops meant harassment.
	"What are you up to Willy?" Roland asked a skinny man in a
trench-coat who was looking the other direction and hadn't noticed them
walking up to him.
	"Nothing! I swear it!" Willy said pulling his hands out of his
pockets and holding them up as if that were proof enough. "Oh man.
Roland." He gulped.
	"Now Willy, you know what I've told you about selling downtown."
Roland said disappointed.  "Hand it over." He sighed.
	"Huh?" Willy said wide-eyed and innocent looking.
	"Frisk him Nash." Stone snapped, standing back and aiming his
automatic shotgun at the skinny man, eyeing him evilly from behind the
glowing red targeting sight that suddenly appeared in his left eye.
	"Oh man." Willy whined. "I do NOT need this shit right now."
	The CyberForm did as he was told, producing several tiny various
colored bags of powder from the pockets of the long coat.
	"Is that all of it, or am I going to have to take you in?" Roland
asked calmly. "You're just selling cut Ice today?" Roland asked
suspiciously, arching an eyebrow with a smile.
	"Here." The dealer said disgustedly, producing an envelope from an
inside pocket.  "You're robbing me you know."
	Roland was mildly surprised that the CyberForm Nash had missed it
during his search.
	"Why don't you do as you're told Willy and we wouldn't have to take
it away?" Roland asked him as if speaking to a child, putting his hand on
Tuckers gun, stressing for him to lower the shotgun. "Just stay out in the
suburbs or the outer moderate zone, off our beat, and we'll leave you
alone." He explained simply. "I can't make it any simpler than that."
	"You know I can't make no money out there Roland." Willy whined, as
if it might change Rolands mind. "DownTown it's happenin'."
	"Sorry, but there are a lot of legit dealers with very expensive
licenses, paying sixty percent taxes that are coming down on US Willy."
Roland said taking the dope from the CyberForm and dropping it into the
gutter. "You're cutting into their profits, so we gotta come down on you."
He explained easily. They all stood watching it as several hundred dollars
in assorted drugs floated down stream in the dirty slush and into the
storm drain.
	"Damn. There goes my rent." Willy hissed through his teeth. "Can I
GO?" He asked angrily.
	"Yeah." Roland sighed, knowing the man would head straight for his
distributor. "You can go. Keep it out of my beat though." He warned.
	"Sure Willy!" Stone smiled at him. "We don't want to detain you, in
this, our Holiday Season."
	"You're an asshole Stone. You know that?" Willy spat. "Roland I
forgive because he's just some poor dumb stiff trying to make a living and
survive. But you Stone, are a true asshole." He grumbled as he walked off,
shrugging the coat up on his shoulders, and ducking into the wind that was
blowing icy knifes into their faces. "So much for the golden land of
opportunity." He growled.
	"Merry Christmas Willy!" Stone called, as the man disappeared in to
the bustling crowd. "Sorry we didn't get to go in and do the glove thing.
Maybe next time."
	"Ok, ok, Stone." Roland winced.
	"I swear, that guy is as hard to figure as a Chinese speed freak."
Stone just grinned a moment and then shrugged down deeper into his coat as
dirty and probably toxic snow landed on his eyelashes, making him blink.
"Doesn't this weather bother you guys at all?" He asked the CyberForms who
stood calmly by in their orange T-shirts, their big arms crossed over
their massive chests, oblivious to the weather, and still smiling as if
they were having a great time.
	"No." Nash shook his head. "Should it?" He asked smiling.
	"You could at least LOOK miserable." Stone grumbled.
	They continued down the sidewalk of hundreds of faces, some angry
at their presence, while others actually looked relieved to see them there
in uniform. Very strange. There must be a gang in the are. Roland thought
to himself, looking around at the faces of the crowd, reading it like a
barometer, and scanning for any of the two dozen distinct gangs that ran
through and fought over this area. Most of the gangs live in The Core, a
deliberately unsupervised are up next to The Wall, where humanity was at
it's lowest point on the planet.
	The Mind Invasion shops seemed equally as busy during the
Christmas shopping season as any of the other stores and shops. The
underground mall must be packed. Roland thought to himself. Or else there
would be this many people on the streets. Of course, with a growing world
population of 13 Billion, there wasn't much room for anyone these days.
	Brain-Computer Interface shops offered cut rate (Actually hiked up
their prices just before Halloween) prices on their wares. Artificial
Intelligence shops offered newer and better programs available for the
home. Programs that Chance often referred to as 'User-Hateful'.
Neurochemistry shops offering the absolute latest in brain chemical
realities, all absolutely proven and tested.
	Yeah, Roland smirked, on poor people who had no way of making any
money except by selling themselves as guinea pigs. And THAT was just the
legit way of doing it. Other companies had been found to infect whole
populations just to watch the reaction and of course, clean up on profits
by offering the antidote to whatever horror they had introduced into the
minds of the populace. We're redefining humanity. Roland thought drearily
as they continued walking around the blocks that were their beat for the
morning.
	All around them was technology at the touch. People so packed with
Hardware, Software and Wetware that they vaguely resembled that which they
came into the world as. Personal computers slung over the shoulder or hung
around the neck, Sony Walk-2000 personal Mainframe systems, Flashchip
units in neon colors, strung on black plastic neck-straps, or stuck in the
shirt pockets for those too queasy about getting hardwired themselves. The
Flashchip units enabled the user with Zeiss contacts, clarity in vision,
magnification, and speed reading. Ear plugs, as well as contact leads
wired to taste and olfactory centers, from the units memory, for touch
taste and smell. Enhancement or deletion. Basically, they were the most
popular cybernetic modifications crammed into a box the size of a pack of
cigarettes. So the user "could maintain their humanity."
	The popular little boxes even had parameter sensors that would
notify the user of impending collision or if someone was rushing up behind
them. It would also accurately judge distance for them if they were blind.
	They provided music, video, books, computing, memory, peripheral
access, news updates from the media of your choice (Radio, Newspaper, TV,
VR) as well as offering library cellular access, interface through the
Zeiss lenses, buffer processing for greater access and later processing,
and Person-to-Person interface if the owner of the unit was so brave.
They had recording ability, playback of flashchip programs (Only 3 at a
time though, unlike 10 in a Chip Interface unit that was installed in the
chest) which included of course, the ever-popular Personality Flashchips.
Become anyone you want to be. Also available were Modifiers or assumption
chips, Cellular access to satellites through Uplink towers, sharing of
group minds if the user was so stupid, notebook chips that would take
notes automatically, therapy chips, and electronic telepathy through
add-on Sony-Crosslinks. Price: $194.00 Cheap! Needless to say, the public
of course was saturated with personal technology. This made Rolands job
all that much tougher. He paused a moment.
	"We better enter an update." He told Stone, who typed in for an
update back at the station on the cellular system he had over his
shoulder, and then entered the encounter they had just had with "Willy",
and that currently, all was well.
	"Everything was fine back at the station." Tucker commented.
	"Great." Roland said, rubbing lightly at his own soft contact
lenses.
	"Headache?" Stone asked as he pulled out a pain-killer drug patch
from the med-kit he carried and handed it to Roland.
	"Thanks." Roland smiled as he peeled the back off of it and stuck
it to his own throat. "I think it's just the weather. Sinuses or
something." He shrugged as they continued walking.
	"With the shit we're breathing out here, who knows?" Stone
commented.
	"Yeah." Roland agreed squinting up at the greasy and gritty film
covering the buildings towering above them and clung to every exposed
surface around them, making even the halogen street lights that weren't
broken appear dimmer than they should have been.
	They stopped at a street vendor and bought "coffee" or what was
passing for such these days, and tried to find a small corner of shelter
against the elements standing up close to the wall of the old Merchants
Bank, now a VR theater, after years of being an adult bookstore, which was
actually just the facade of the original building, only a corner of the
Conrad Tower which rose over 300 stories into the sky and took up the
whole block.
	Most of the older buildings of DownTown were now only facades to
the larger super structures behind them. Pretty fronts and corners to
super towers that now contained contemporary interiors. For the first few
stories the city appeared "quaint" with that old world charm of antiquity,
but looking up above them, one could see the true city, the new city, that
soared in executive towers hundreds of stories in the sky.
	Roland curled a lip in disgust, but enjoyed the buzz the simulated
coffee of caffeine and artificial flavorings would eventually give him
anyway.
	"You guys go walk around a while." Roland instructed the
CyberForms. "We're on our break for a couple of minutes."
	"Yes sir." Nash nodded and instructed his three friends using the
police hand/sign language they had been taught, to each take a separate
street to walk up and down on the immediate block.
	"Were they giving you the creeps or something?" Stone smiled
sipping the strange brew that steamed up in his face in a thick cloud.
	"Nah."




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 07-a/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:55:12 -0500

Chance Four
	Chance eyed the new man Gillette across the room and thought to
himself. I wonder how much the guy actually DOES know about the privacy
game? Does he know just how much of a persons 'assumed privacy' there is
for sale out there for the right price? Does he realize just how much of
his soul is bared out there in the ethereal interface of The Net? Does he
know that the cost of ComWeb Shadow, to find REAL privacy, is far higher
today than it's ever been?
	As if he had heard him, Gillette looked up and into the eyes of
Chance. Taking advantage of the situation, Chance crooked his index finger
up and sighting along it, called the man over with a motion.
	Selling the media footage of this morning's transportation crashes
was out of the way, along with the appointments, (he ended up hiring only
two of twelve) and so he didn't have much to do in the afternoon except
check on everyone else and make sure they were doing ok, or if they needed
anything.
	Chance watched Gillette curiously, as the man walked down the
stairs from the balcony offices and crossed the room filled with hundreds
of the fat squat DataCores that were the extra, liquid crystal storage
they used on-site.
	The actual main system storage itself was in an underground
limestone cavern several miles out in the suburb of Independence, under
the 291 Light Rail System. That was "just in case" someone was to think
Full Disclosure would be so stupid as to keep the actual data on-site and
want to take them out with a bomb. It wasn't unheard of these days.
	Especially a very hated company with a reputation like they had at
Full Disclosure. People didn't always appreciate the real facts. Truth was
something relative, and sometimes was best left undisturbed amid the dusty
and crumbling hard copy paper records of the last century, and the laser
etched disks of the current one.
	He looked across the vast expanse of the quietly humming room and
thought back to when it was just himself and Arnaud, working together as
friends, just larking around the data nets, hustling talent where they
could to others who had the idea but not the skill, using little PC
mainframes they kept at Arnaud's apartment, the constant unspoken thought
that they would someday run across some fat chunk of virgin credit out
there on the fringes, just begging to be dropped into their own accounts,
like apples waiting patiently to be picked.
	That was a long time ago.
	"Hey Tony, can you come in here a second?" Chance called out the
door of his office to a man who was standing down on the floor, examining
the face of one of the DataCores near the foot of the stairs that led up
to Chance's office.
	"Sure Chance." Tony nodded, politely motioning for Gillette to take
the lead, and following him up the stairs.
	As they entered, Chance waved them to seats.
	"So how's it's going?" Chance asked Gillette curiously.
	"Fine." Gillette nodded. "I finished taking out the virus as you
requested, and I'm working on putting together a make on the Id's. So far,
it's telling an interesting story." He smiled. "Where did you get all of
that stuff?"
	"Great." Chance smiled, waving Gillettes question safely away.
"Tony, this is Gillette, I want you to show him some of your stuff.
Gillette, this is our own Michaelangelo."
	"Sure Chance." Tony Michaelangelo smiled. "Like, what EXACTLY do
you want me to show him?"
	"Show him the in's and out's of a home's dedicated lines" Chance
said thoughtful. "You know, your fourteen ways you can get into someone's
home after you know where they live."
	"Fourteen?" Gillette asked incredulous. "I knew of three, the Fax,
the Computer line and the VR-computer line, but FOURTEEN?"
	"Sure." Tony nodded smiling brightly as he explained to Gillette.
"There's also the audio only phone, the VR phone line, Newspaper line,
audio/video cable Tv line, Library Reference line, audio/video Video
library line, the Government access line, audio/video 911-emergency line,
Music library line, VR entertainment line and the utilities billing line."
	"Tony can show you how to get in to their home systems if they're
still in an area that uses fiberoptics or, if, like DownTown in the
executive center, they're using cellular Local Area Networks." Chance
commented proudly.
	"I would never have thought that some of those were two-way data
lines." Gillette said amazed. "I'd be glad to learn how you work that."
He said appreciatively.
	"Sure." Tony nodded smiling. "Anything else Chance?"
	"Nah, that ought to keep you guys busy for the rest of the day."
Chance said as they got up to leave. "Is there anything you're working on
you can't put aside for a little training class? Or anything I could
handle for you?"
	"Nope." Tony shook his head. "I was just bullshitting around. I was
fixing to go home myself, but since you've got a reason for me to stick
around, I will."
	"If you got time, before you guys get tired and decide to go home,
go over some of the newer VR techniques with him." Chance said on second
thought not for sure how fast the new man could learn. "Show him how the
Feds are wanting to start controlling criminal behavior by slipping
subliminals into the VR stream."
	"You mean that thing with stopping shoplifting through the use of
subliminals?" Tony asked furrowing his brow.
	"Yeah." Chance nodded solemnly. "It's better than propaganda if the
controllers use the right neural cut-outs." He explained. "That's when
they'll start using it against the rest of us. Like NOT seeing Toxic
waste, or Poverty, or Dilapidation?" He almost said in a snarl. "I don't
care if people buy chips that will give that sort of fantasy to them,
hell, there's nothing better than a stiff drink to help you forget your
troubles." He shrugged. "That's VOLUNTARY though. I just don't want the
government shoving pretty little fantasy worlds into everyone's heads."
He said vehemently. "I want to be ready for them."
	"Right." Tony said in serious agreement. "I'll also show him some
of the personalized Icons we use in our VR systems, and our VR keyboard."
He paused.  "We have a system of visual typing without the user having to
have biochip inserts." Tony explained to Gillette who stood fascinated.
	"Also, you could help in teaching him how to visualize and
comprehend multidimensional worlds in VR, first through using spread
sheets, then move him on into physics theory." Chance said thoughtfully.
"So he'll at least be able to recognize their patterns once he's in the
system.
	"Ok." Tony nodded.
	"I guess you'll also have to show him our version of the VISOR that
uses multiple inputs and how we simulate VR signals we pick up from
satellite transmissions. You can use the simulated telescope's microwave
link to Hubble." Chance added. "I think Becky's done with it by now. She
might be playing around with it. If she's just screwing around watching
stars, make her give up the line."
	"I knew Virtual Reality had gone more visual/mental, for the self,
as opposed to visual/remote operations of robotics, but some of the stuff
you just described sounds incredible!" Gillette said amazed.
	"Oh yeah." Tony said as the began to leave Chance's office. "I'll
show you what I'm currently working on too. I'm trying to show that by
using a Free-Jack soul bank, The Breadbasket Rand Shop wouldn't constantly
be losing it's best agents." He explained as they descended the stairs
together. "Constant re-saves to laserdisk or flashchip, then dumping the
store into a clone, would create a unit or an army of ultimate warriors
that would effectively be immortal." He said as they began crossing the
room. "Of course the same would be true for several castes as long as they
had access to the tek. Also, I've shown how AI's can go in and slip
programs into say, the Presidents store and insure it's own mortality that
way. You know, slip the old man a hint that he NEEDS the AI for some
reason, by writing it into the storage medium, so the next time he's
revived, bingo!"
	Chance smiled, glad to know that the two were going to get along
so well, when suddenly his personal phone rang inside his head.
	"Yeah?" He answered, sliding his awareness into the cellular
datastream of the network, feeling it tug at his mind, demanding more and
more of his attention as he continued typing a memo to the marketing
department.
	"Chance?" Came the image of the Fixer, Jerry Bones, all dressed up
in his urban flash outfit, that Chance actually DID see him wear one time.
	"Yeah Jerry." Chance said in the Virtual Reality link that had him
sitting behind his desk in the blackness of the cellular network.  Even
though the image showed him as busy as he really was, it was at least more
polite than showing no image at all. That was simply rude.
	"I got a flash for you. It's worth a bundle." Jerry Bones said
nervously looking around, as if someone might see them. For a moment,
Chance thought that perhaps, Jerry might REALLY be concerned from the tone
in his voice.
	"So how much do you want?" Chance asked, knowing that Jerry would
ask for twice as much as he really expected, and Chance would offer him
only half of what he was really going to pay.
	"You know how much information costs these days." Jerry hinted.  "I
have to re-coup my investment. And this is BIG man." He emphasized.
"That's why I always bring my stuff to you instead of that cheap bastard
Arnaud."
	Chance usually didn't like doing business with Jerry Bones when he
was strung out on speed, but he did seem sincere.
	"So how's a thousand sound?" Chance began the bidding at the level
of the quality of information he usually got from Jerry Bones.  Chance had
found over the years that he was a VERY reliable source on a wide variety
of subjects. Most of Chance's informants got only a tenth of that amount.
	"No no no man." Jerry threw up his hands seriously. "I mean REALLY
BIG!" He tried explaining. "We're talking a Million NuYen in Cash."
	"Oh please!" Chance laughed out loud, truly amused. "Jerry, you're
high man. Call me back when you come down. I don't pay that kind of money
to ANYONE for ANYTHING even if I COULD get a hold of that much free cash.
I don't give a shit if you got first hand, the Second Coming of Christ."
	"Ok look." Jerry said nervously. "I'll go ahead and give it to you
this time, and then you can just pay me what you think it's worth."
	Chance immediately stopped typing at his terminal and looked
directly at Jerry Bones. This WAS serious. The Fixer had NEVER done
business with him like THIS before. He just wasn't the trusting type.
	"What are you talking about Jerry?" Chance said seriously, kicking
shut the door to his office, shutting himself off in a sound proof booth
where even his security guards couldn't hear him, with even THEIR hyped up
senses. "What's going on? Are you in some kind of trouble?"
	"No no man. It's nothing like that." Jerry said shaking his head
firmly.
	"Then what's with you man?" Chance asked frowning. "You know that
you and I have NEVER done business like this before. Now what's the shit?"
	"Look. Ok, Let's say twenty grand?" Jerry said impatiently.  "How's
that?"
	"Five." Chance said flatly.
	"Ok. Ten. Great." Jerry nodded to himself, unable to contain the
information.
	"First of all, where are you?" Chance asked calling up a map of the
city.
	"Would you believe The Republic of Texas?" Jerry laughed nervously.
"I'm in fucking Austin of all places. Can you believe it?"
	"Hang on a second." Chance said nervously putting Jerry on hold in
the VR realm and quickly picking up an Audio-only phone on his desk.
"Carla?" He said into it, turning in his chair and looking over at her
seated in her office. "I'm talking with someone in the Republic of Texas.
Austin specifically. I'm not sure of the address but he's on-line right
now."
	"Yes?" The woman asked coolly from the other end.
	"I need an absolutely secure line. Ok?" Chance asked clearly and
patiently, taking all precautions. "However, I want you to watch the line,
but DON'T listen in and I want it all dumped to a flashchip store."
	"Sure Chance." She said as he heard the sound of keys on her
keyboard clacking in the background. "Your down-link chip number still the
same?" She asked casually.
	"Yeah."
	"Ok. I got you." She said as Jerry Bones's image flickered for a
moment. "Go ahead Chance."
	"Thanks." He said to her.
	"Jerry?" He asked the man who had been impatiently waiting.
	"Where the fuck WERE you man?" Jerry demanded. "I could be bugged."
	"I've got us on a secure line now. It's scrambled." Chance assured
him. "It's cool now."
	"No. It's not. Nothing is going to be cool for a long time."
Jerry shook his head.  "Ok, listen to this. The government of the
Republic of Texas is getting ready to announce that they're going to
change the color of their cash from red to blue. Right? They're afraid
too much is floating around in their black market right now." He quickly
explained. "Meanwhile, behind the scenes, they're making out like bandits.'




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 07-b/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:56:14 -0500

"Listen man." Jerry nervously explained. "Their Texas Rangers, well a
branch of them, that functions kinda like the CIA, is going to be in
control when this shit goes down and they are planning to buy up companies
for pennies on the dollar when the market crashes. I'm not sure though, if
they have contingency plans laid out as well, or not. That's why I called
you."
	"Those sons-of-Bitches!" Chance cursed, clenching his jaws tightly.
	"Listen man I gotta get out of here before it all comes down around
my ears, and right now, I'm kinda tapped for funds." Jerry explained
nervously. "Can you help me out at all? I was going to take out a loan
down here, and re-nig on it later, but it doesn't look very inviting at
the moment." He explained. "I don't want to be trapped down HERE of all
places."
	"Yeah Jerry. I got you." Chance said seriously, now taking action
"Do you want me to wire you cash for this?"
	"No, just put it in my account up there like you always do and I
can get the next shuttle back home." Jerry said clearly relieved. "The
airlines are still running, at least until they drop their bomb Monday."
	"Consider it done." Chance nodded to him. "When do you say this
supposed to go down? And just exactly how well do you trust YOUR source?"
	"I think Monday or Tuesday, reliability 9.5. This is NO BULLSHIT
Chance. But GodDAMN if it gets out, or back to them that I..."
	"Don't worry about it Jerry, no one will ever find out." Chance
assured him. "I PERSONALLY guarantee it."
	"That's good enough for me." Jerry nodded. "I'm gone then. See ya
when I get back home."
	"Ok Jerry." Chance nodded at him. "And THANKS."
	"Yeah." Jerry said nervously, as he disconnected.
	Immediately, Chance pulled his keyboard out from under the
terminal, and transferred three times the agreed upon price to Jerry's
account, knowing the information was worth a thousand times that, but at
the same time, sticking to tradition between them. It WAS worth the bonus,
but he didn't want Jerry to get the idea that all his Hot information
would be treated like this. He then picked up the phone and called Carla
back.
	"Did you get it?" He looked over at her trying to remain calm, even
though he wanted to scream in terror.
	"Sure Chance." She said confidently nodding with the mastoid in
front of her face, her hands still typing at her keyboard.
	"Great. Can you bring it to me?" He asked politely. I need the
physical Flashchip itself.
	"On my way." She said hanging up and pulling the mastoid off her
head..
	Chance watched her carefully as she went from her office out into
the great central room and opened on of the fat DataCores. Looking inside
and running her hand along a chart on the back of the door to the unit,
she figured out which chip is was, slid the tray out, and extracted the
single chip, slightly tossing it up in the air with one hand and catching
it quickly. He watched her kick the tray back in, and shut the door to the
unit quickly with her ankle, waving to a friend of hers across the room as
she walked towards Chance's stairs. She opened his door and handed the
chip to him with smile.
	"You've worked here, how long Carla?" Chance asked, waving her to a
seat and closing the door to his office.
	"Almost five years Chance." She said worriedly, thinking she may be
about to be terminated. "Is there something wrong?"
	"No. You understand that when I say something is Very Important,
I'm not just fucking around." Chance said slowly, cautiously picking his
words, as he dropped the little Flashchip to the floor and stomped it
quickly, crushing it completely with the heel of his boot. "You're my best
communications officer." He explained, not taking his boot up off the
chip. "I need you to absolutely FORGET about that call I just had.  This
is Very Important."
	"Sure Chance." She nodded solemnly.
	"I now need you to do a couple of things for me." Chance explained
slowly. "There's a bonus in it for you, because I want you to do this
without ANYONE except me and you to know anything about this."
	"I understand." She said low, stiffening her back quickly.
	"That means your husband as well. No friends, no co-workers, NO ONE
must know about this." Chance said clearly. "Do you understand how
important this is?"
	"I understand how important it is for YOU." She said cautiously.
"But I didn't hear the conversation, just as you asked of me."
	"Good girl." Chance smiled. "I need you to remove everything from
the system about the call. Ok? Then, you'll have to go into the City's
cellular network and remove THAT entry. Right?"
	"I understand." She nodded. "You don't want any existence of the
call ever having been made. Not a single trace, however minute."
	"Right." He sighed. "After you finish that, I've got something else
I need you to do." He began carefully. "Under a random circuit, and I mean
make absolutely SURE no one can trace it back to us, I need you to send
out a message. No record of it again. Preferably teletype, but you can do
it however you think is best."
	"Ok." She nodded following along with him, and at the same time
thinking ahead to the steps she would be making, to preform the required
task, as he requested.
	"This will go out ONLY to Friends and Family of THIS company."
Chance explained. "ONLY. If you have any problems or conflicts with the
database of those people, let me know ahead of time." He explained.
	Friends and Family meant just that. Sometimes though, it also
meant anyone whom they thought it was necessary to inform. Sometimes that
involved an anonymous tip to the authorities, a leak to the press, or a
leak to one of their many Media friends who did not work directly for the
company, but were informants. This, however, was too big to include THOSE
friends, THIS time.
	"I want the message to say the following..." Chance said, again,
carefully choosing his words. "Sell ALL Republic of Texas interests before
Friday at 6pm. Confidence is HIGH. Repeat, Confidence IS HIGH.  Market
trouble can be expected as well. Cut ALL ties with Republic of Texas for
the duration. Get everyone out of any importance. Borders may be closed
for quite some time. FRIDAY 6PM is the ABSOLUTE deadline.  Signed, A
Concerned Friend. End-of-message."
	"I got it." She said nodding.
	"Ok." He nodded as well. "After you send it, can you erase it from
YOUR chips? You've got Biosoft don't you?"
	"No, I've got a standard DownLink with peripheral Ramchips, which I
store to archive at home daily." She explained the hardware she had in her
head. "But yeah, I can erase everything from the time you called me.
Chronologically."
	"Great. I really appreciate this Carla." Chance smiled at her.  "Be
sure and fill in SOMETHING for that time frame though, otherwise, after
you forget it, you'll start asking questions about what actually DID
happen, that you don't remember."
	"Sure Chance." She nodded smiling. "Anything else?"
	"Nope. You're a good girl." He smiled at her. "You know your job."
	"Ok." She said standing. "Later. You'll known when I'm done."
	"Great." He sighed.




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 08/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:57:46 -0500

Roland Four
	Roland and Stone walked unhurriedly as they headed from the City
Offices on the basement-2 level of the City Hall building, to the City
Office Compound that lay about 14 blocks south of the Police Station. A
little over a mile on foot. Those who had to go from City Hall to the City
Office Compound always took the underground Light Rail System that ran in
a loop between the two, but it was required of the two officers to walk
the ground level of the same trip, keeping an eye out for terrorists or
disgruntled citizens who might want to trash the LRS.
	They were supposed to put this trip off until after lunch, after
they had finished "Programming" the CyberForms for their individual beats
around DownTown. Roland however, became increasingly irritated by the
waste of time and man power, sending the CyberForms n their individual
ways, with instructions that should they run into trouble, give a call
over the com-link that all the officers shared, or call in to the station
for instructions. They were big boys Roland decided. Cybernetic life forms
or not, they were eventually going to have to be turned loose. And
besides, there had been no trouble with the previous CyberForms that had
been released to their own devices. So after a brief lecture, he took off
in a rush, with Tucker struggling to keep up, with their portable terminal
and med kit in tow.
	Roland always had bleak flashes of Things-to-Come when they walked
this beat, along the mound of soil that covered the roof of the LRS
tunnel-system. It was natural that the very thing they were watching out
for, was merely effect, from the bigger cause, of the failing economy of
the New World Order, and how it had brought about changing the old USA,
(and now the current collection of North American Nations), bringing them
down to Third World status. People in North America today were angry. VERY
angry.
	The world today, unlike when he was a child, (and at least things
SEEMED better then), was now a complex synthesis of modern pop culture,
Hytek, and advanced living techniques, that no one was able to adjust to.
Everyone seemed to walk around in a bitter mood of hard edged gloomy
passion, coupled with, and perhaps irritated by, intensely realized
detail. Thanks again to the Darwinistic Pop-Hytek of the current age.
	Today it seemed, people didn't think twice about betrayal for
personal gain, or betrayal to get out of an oppressive situation.
	Of course, Roland didn't blame them for the latter. It was human
nature. The first however, wasn't.
	Bringing his mind back to the task at hand, he and Stone walked
along the roof of the tunnel with their guns in their hands, inspecting
the little mound of soil for signs of tampering, watching the crowds just
outside the fence, trying to stay constantly ready for anything. Though
the LRS was underground, and even then, the mound they walked along was
behind a twelve foot high fence, complete with hurricane wire along the
top, people had been known to break in and try to bomb the LRS.
	"What do you think?" Stone asked him, nodding and pointing with his
automatic shotgun, towards a group of about eight, identically dressed
kids, looking like WW I ace pilots, dressed in knee high lace up boots,
dark brown leather bomber jackets and white silk scarves around their
necks, with quite modern black matte Videoshades on, about eighteen years
old, that were staring at Roland and Stone as they walked, standing about
twenty feet away. The clean white silk scarves and cold staring black
matte Videoshades, were what brought the eye to them, making them stand
out from the crowd, and from the dirty snow that blew around them.
	"Call for an update and see if they're wanted for anything."
Roland shrugged, zooming in on the group with his cyber-eye. "They're
outside the fence, so there's not much else we can do about them." He
explained. "They haven't done anything wrong yet."
	Stone entered the request about the group on the portable terminal
on his hip, holding his gun in one hand, not taking his eyes off them as
he typed quickly with one hand down at his side, the black plastic strap
of the portable terminal long enough from his shoulder that he didn't have
to bend his arm to type.
	"No data available." The box told them both in their heads, on the
microwave frequency that kept the three of them linked as one unit.
"Gather data if possible for DataCentral." It told them.
	"You think we should?" Stone asked Roland, trusting his partners
judgment of the gangs more than his own. Roland had a way with people that
he didn't.
	"Might as well. They're not acting crazy or anything." Roland
shrugged, walking over closer towards the fence, and closer to the group
of kids who were starting to make him feel creepy. He was about to say
'Cover me' but knew Tucker would have that in mind anyway, and he didn't
exactly want to encourage any undue violence out of him at this point.
	The group didn't say a word, nor did they take their eyes off
Roland as he neared them.
	"How's it going?" Roland asked rhetorically, to which he received
no response, but his question was supposed to make them feel more at ease
with HIM, and not the other way around.
	"What's the name of your group?" He asked, knowing they couldn't
resist identifying themselves which was the reason gang members went to
such lengths to look as much alike as possible.
	"Flying Dragons." One boy spoke as he took off his Videoshades, who
appeared to have quickly taken over as spokesman for the group, revealing
deep black, vat grown Kodak eyes, probably last years models, that
revealed the fact the kid was still kinked for video recording, despite
removing the glasses.
	"What do you, as a group, stand for?" Roland asked casually,
getting straight to the heart of the matter.
	"Survival." The boy said simply.
	"Of course." Roland nodded, not betraying that the kid was
answering with the lowest common denominator of all gangs. "Everyone is
looking out for their own survival." He told them. "I meant, what is it
that The Flying Dragons themselves represent to the community."
	"We can give them freedom from the enforced poverty of the New
World Order." The boy explained, staring intently at Roland, as Roland
looked in turn into each of their unblinking stares, hidden behind black
matte glasses that turned his very real self image into nothing more than
data pixels, to be transmitted through the glasses, and stored to memories
for future reference.
	The one time that Roland had tried a pair on, the visual
distortion of depth perception was so bad he had the constant urge to
throw up as his stomach was rolling over, and the lenses threatened to
overwhelm him with data streaming through the scene in bright green
day-glow characters. He didn't like it.
	"Are you on the side of the law?" Roland asked, knowing they would
of course answer affirmative.
	"Sometimes." The boy said surprising him. "It depends on the
situation, as do all things in life. We have a code of situational ethics
we live by." He explained patiently, giving Roland more information than
he was expecting to get out of him.
	"I can certainly understand that." Roland smiled, giving them the
disarming impression that he was on their side. "I myself have to work
under such circumstances." He explained.
	The boy stood looking from him to Stone, Rolands vision zoomed in,
studying his face intently, noticing minute details about the face that
said the boy was wanting to ask a question, but didn't dare for some
reason. He's holding back to keep face. Roland decided.
	"We aren't here to hurt anyone." Roland explained to him, testing
the kids thoughts. "We're just walking our beat."
	"Nor are we." The kid said seriously. "Except our enemies."
	"Is there something you'd like to ask me?" Roland asked, cutting to
the point of the matter, perhaps taking the kid off balance, but getting
tired of the game they insisted on playing in the cold blowing rain and
snow.
	"Aren't you two detectives normally?" The boy asked.
	"Yes!" Roland said, sincerely surprised. "How did you know?"
	"We might have some information that would be helpful to a case you
are working on." The boy explained, as Roland quickly ran through his
personal case-load files he kept stored in his head, none of which he
could find that contained anything about kids that matched these
descriptions.
	"Yes?"Roland asked now curious.
	"There was a woman killed outside the door to her apartment. In the
Corporate Zone. On the Kansas Side. The door to her apartment was locked.
Nothing was taken." The boy said in short bursts, as if he were reading
from some file just behind his eyes, getting to the matter quickly.
	"Yes!" Roland said remembering just such a case that was still
open.
	"She was killed by Jolly Rogers." The boy said and turned to leave.
	"Wait a second!" Roland protested. "How do you know this? And how
can I trust your information?"
	"We know." That kid nodded at him. "You'll just have to trust us.
Trust isn't easy to come by is it?" He said showing a feral smile to
Roland.
	"No, it isn't." Roland agreed with him. "Thank you for the
information." He smiled. "Perhaps I can return the favor?" He asked,
trying to find out the price of the information.
	"Perhaps." The boy nodded. "Someday." He smiled and walked off with
his group in tow, silent, and disappearing into the crowd, quite proud
that he had couped a favor out of a City Detective.
	"I got it all." Tucker nodded and smiled at Roland as he walked
back to him standing on top of the hill, where he had just moments before
been hunching down behind the hill covering Roland with his side arm.
	"Anything on them?" Roland asked curiously.
	"Not before now." Stone shook his head. "No information available.
But I entered them as a semi-law abiding, tech-gang from the Kansas side
of the city."
	"That sounds good." Roland nodded as they continued down the
causeway. "What do you think about what he said?"
	"You mean about the woman being killed by Jolly Rogers?" Stone
looked puzzled. "It MIGHT be true, but we've always got along with Jolly
Rogers Gang."
	"I know." Roland nodded "WE do. That's You and I only. And this kid
definitely said they were enemies."
	"I entered that." Stone informed him, nodding as they walked along.
"But Jolly Rogers aren't really a violent group. Petty thiefs is all."
	"Could they maybe have killed her by accident?" Roland asked.  "But
what kind of accident is putting a gun to someone's temple?"
	"True." Stone nodded. "Hell Rolly I don't know. You're better with
these gang things than I am." He sighed. "Well, there's nothing we can do
about it until we get back to our cases. Maybe next week, or after the
first of the year."
	"You're right." Roland sighed as well, going back to trying to
concentrate on suspicious characters in the area, but his mind kept
tracking back to the case.
	It might be a class struggle thing. He thought to himself. She
might have been just a victim that happened to be a part of the
destruction during conflict. Collateral Damage during a random robbery.
But there was still that gunshot wound. There was power in the sheer
numbers of the homeless that roamed the streets. Perhaps she had said the
wrong thing at the wrong time.
	Since the "takeover" revolution of HUD housing left over from
before the turn of the century, homeless people meant trouble brewing.
They had formed coalitions, extended families, clans, gangs and leagues
that extended for years, into the hundreds of members sometimes, that had
existed even into the current day. Housing meant possessions. Neither of
which the homeless could acquire for any extended period of time. Their
lives were transitory conditions. And in protest, they had taken over BIG
buildings out of frustration. They had to OWN SOMETHING instead of just
using it for a time. That meant, old schools that were no longer being
used, churches, hospitals, the old Bellas-Hess building, the Union
Station, office buildings out in the inner moderate zone, and even run
down hotels sometimes.
	They got their food by either growing their own, in some fairly
imaginative ways sometimes, like hydroponic roof gardens, or fish farms,
or by simply trading for it. Trade could mean, for or with, goods or
services. Whatever the market demanded at the time. Since they had long
ago organized into their own sub-culture, there was a lot of variety in
their groups. Though, for the most part, being homeless did not mean the
people were dishonest. They had simply met with a situation that took them
out of mainstream culture and into another, different world where they had
to learn to survive.
	They managed clothing by reclaiming the art of sewing as a trade,
and of course, sometimes simply stealing clothes. They had their own
MedTeks in some of their groups that knew medicine without technology.
REAL medicine. Not this Hytek magic that was performed today by the
elite, whe




From: cybcq@clubmet.metrobbs.com (Bob Wilson)
Subject: Cold World 09-a/22
Date: 5 Aug 1995 10:59:17 -0500

Chance Five
	Chance lit a cigarette, throwing the pack on his desk, and sat
rocking and swiveling back and forth in his big leather chair, thinking to
himself. Things were going to start getting crazy either Monday or
Tuesday. There were lots of human responses to unusual phenomena, and he
had a feeling they were going to see the gamut soon.
	The New World Order was a survivalists dream. It was every country
for themselves, and the world government had bigger agendas they had to
attend to than the greedy, uncivilized, uneducated and lazy Americans who
were screaming about their bank balances. There were 13 Billion people to
feed.  AND believe it or not, there were other people in the world besides
Americans! So, the now defunct United States, had to go through it's own
period, trying to survive the hatred of the rest of the world towards
them. These steps towards survival, were under the deliberate guidance of
the corporations, the only remaining power left in tact.
	Americans, which included Canada, the United States, Central and
South America, had to learn a few lessons. The new world was once again
being taught the facts of life by the old. The first of which was full and
honest acceptance of the nature and inferiorities separating themselves
from the advantages of other people. Then, there was national solidarity
for a while in all positions taken in dealing with the other cultures. New
nations sprung up everywhere. Afterwards, highly controlled and limited
intercourse was permitted with the other side, or the old world, doing
those things advantageous to the foreigners which the people were faced to
do by circumstances.
	After a while, a friendly and correct attitude towards the others
arose, followed by national eagerness to learn everything possible about
the others; their tek, cultural strengths and weaknesses, and this
involved sending selected groups and individuals to their nations to
become "One of their kind" or ambassadors, or even to help them in their
wars against other adversaries.
	Survival is then accomplished by finally adopting as many of the
advantages of the others as they could, and doing it as fast as possible,
while still protecting their identity by molding each new knowledge
increment into their own cultural cast. Kinda like what the Japanese
pulled after WW II. This time, Texas was not going to get the jump on
Breadbasket.
	Chance thought about Jerry Bones and how he was probably already
on the shuttle up to Breadbasket out of Dallas. First class no doubt.
Where the hired consultants and high technocrats sat, and he would use it
to his advantage no doubt. Make a few connections. Networking, he called
it.
	Where he would be treated like an individual, by the flight
attendants, even though he really wasn't. He was a faceless fare. That's
all. Still, it was better than coach. In coach, he would have to ride like
a sardine packed in a tin. At least up in First Class, they could fake
friendliness enough that, if you were drunk, you could almost believe
them.
	Once back in coach, with nothing to remind him of home except the
overhead fiberoptic dataports for personal computers, and the personal
phone/TV on the headrest in front of him, he would have to endure the
flight, punctuated only by the screaming children and cranky people around
him cussing and sweating as they were served peanuts and Cokes by people
who saw thousands of him every day. That is, IF the airline he chose even
bothered with coach class flight attendants on their air-buses.
	Most of the jets today were flown on automatics, linked by
satellites to Air Traffic Control, where the companies each had offices,
which linked the jets in the skies to the hubs and node ports of the
global flight network. Airports were such strange places. Sealed
environments where you could travel all around the planet and never touch
the ground. Global islands in a network of airline flight paths. A nowhere
node of sweat and jet lag with the smell of luggage and floor wax
permeating the air.
	From Kansas City International, or Mid-Continent International, or
just MCI, you could see the towers of DownTown even though they were about
ten miles away. At night, you could even see the red aircraft warning
lights flashing, red blips racing from ground to sky, seeming to fling
themselves upward into the stellar blackness.
	Instead of taking the Mag-Lev into the city, Jerry Bones would
have the money to buy a card key that would operate a taxi. Outside,
picking up signals from the key card, the taxi would light the area at his
approach, start up, and the door would pop open for him. By signals in the
rarely used highway, it would take him to any hotel in the city he chose
to tell it. Netix were SO cooperative. Unlike human cabbies who refused to
drive in some areas of the city.
	Chance called up the GEOS satellite that the city got it's weather
information from, and watched Kansas City from twenty two thousand miles
out in space. There were so many fewer problems out there.  Or so it
seemed. In actuality, he knew that the off-world colonies held even more
dangers than there were on Earth. There were so many civilizations out
there, one almost had to be an expert on Human interactions before he
could think of taking on the other worlds where some interfaced with
aliens and their cultures.
	He traced his finger along the screen a moment and thought briefly
about the flight-plan that Jerry Bones might be taking, aboard the air-bus
he was on. The weather for the next week is going to suck, He thought to
himself.
	Chance stood up and shook himself from his day-dreaming. Slipping
his cigarettes back in his shirt pocket he grabbed his NuCity Fashions
jacket and Smith & Wesson in it's shoulder rig, and started down the glass
steps from his aquarium-like office that stood on stilts in the middle of
the room.
	Every time he entered or exited the room, he could feel the eyes
of the employees in the surrounding offices, and the security guards above
with their eyes locked on him and his every move. He could feel it.  He
also knew that while these people all respected him, it only went so far.
They also feared him. Chance Marchenko meant the difference between life
and death for a lot of them. The difference between a job and the street.
Some of them he supposed would even grow to resent that fact.  Especially
in Breadbasket. Where the Guilds were the REAL Power.
	Feeling particularly boxed in, and getting more claustrophobic as
he thought further about the problems approaching from The Great Republic
to the south, he felt he had to get out of there for a while. Be by
himself to think.
	Slipping his shoulder rig on and smoothing the velcro closed, and
his medium armor jacket over that, he still felt vulnerable to the hidden
things he could feel going on around him. Paranoia had sunk in. He
decided.
	"Kyle, I'm going to the La-Lo for a drink." Chance said turning his
collar up against the cold outside. "I should be back in a few."
	"Right Mr.Marchenko." The big burly guard nodded from his perch on
the stool, which, despite it's amazing strength, looked far too fragile to
hold the Nordic mans muscled bulk. "Did you want security?"  The man asked
in his deep voice.
	"Nah." Chance shook his head and walked out. Chance, in his long
dark brown hair, and soft features, looked 20 years younger than the man
next to him. Just as he often did next to Roland's muscular hulk and dark,
burly, often scarred features. Chance's thin body and boyish good looks
made them appear almost opposites. Roland was still handsome though,
despite his years and scars, and Chance thought his graying temples were
dignified.
	Suddenly, Chance felt very lonely, desperately missing the
comforting words of his husband, and longing for Roland's warmth and
protective strength. Even after ten years together, perhaps because they
HAD been together for so long, Roland knew just the right things to say
when Chance was in one of these moods that could make everything seem ok
again, or at least not so big that Chance couldn't handle things on his
own again.
	Once outside the office and in the clear skywalk that linked the
IBM building he leased space from, with the hotels and buildings in the
area, he took the stairs down instead and stepped into the dirty slushed
strewn street. The weather outside was just as shitty as he had predicted
from his office. He headed down the sidewalk pushing his way through the
crowd pushing back at him, wondering if perhaps this little expedition in
search of libation had been such a great idea after all.
	"Asshole." A masculine voice spat at him, as Chance walked past the
Salvation Army pot, where a man was glaring at him and pointing to a
crucifix he had around his neck, swinging a bell as people mechanically
walked past and dropped NuYen in as instructed. He started to go back,
fighting against the swarm of people, to donate a little something, and
then realized he was being bullied into being generous and was only giving
it out of guilt.
	"Hey Christian!" Chance yelled back at the man. "Fuck you." He said
flipping him off and continued with the current of the crowd. He got a few
glares from people behind him, but he kept up with the traffic and ignored
them all. He soundlessly cursed the rude shoppers and the horrid weather
silently to himself and walked on, despite the crush of the people and the
slush splattering his legs.
	Past Under Paradise Lane, Twenty-One's, with the dismal gray of
the afternoon sky twisting things into an unreal state, past the
Dreamworks Media Theatre, and 8th Alley, as the acid rain fell and the
dirty snow melted when it touched anything, glancing in the windows of
Sam's Electronics, and the Bull's Eye Book shop as he huddled down against
the coldness that had sunk deep into his bones. A crowd of people standing
in the middle of the sidewalk caroling was almost enough to make him
scream in rage at them, but he changed his mind when he saw the big black
man with a Russian AK-47 protecting them.
	Finally, he reached his intended destination of the La-Lo Bar, and
opened the door before the rush of the crowd could push him past the door
handle. Once inside, he stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the
darkness, and the still silence, taking in the scent of stale smoke of
years, and stale beer. It was a relaxing scent, the smell like a lovers
cologne.
	In contrast to the filthy outdoors, the place was clean even WITH
a layer of year old dust on the fixtures. The bar itself was practically
sterile though. That much alone started it's calming effect on him.
	Trying to breathe with all the binding armor on was enough to
irritate him, and the shoppers with their packages and obsession with
ownership, of "Stuff", taking even that much more of his personal space,
was just getting to be too much. It robbed a person of dignity to have to
endure that