[ Story0]

		The front door of the Chatsubo swung open to admit another
	newcomer. Before the door closed, the cold wind brought in a smell of
	rot and pollution. The woman leaned against against the door,
	trying to close it quickly. She was young. Kind of pretty, but not
	pretty like a media star. Not short, but not tall either. A face with
	sharp predatory features. Her eyes were golden in color, with vertical
	slits for pupils. Cat's eyes. A sharp, small delicate nose. Adding to
	her feline appearance, she wore cat's ears raised boldly through long
	heavy blonde hair. She was dressed in black pants, grey blouse,
	heavy boots, and a long frock jacket with golden braid on the front,
	somewhat worn at the elbows. 
		
		"Tea, hot and fast," she said. Then turning to the rest of
	the crowd, she began to speak. "A lot of fancy street samurai here
	tonight. Lots of chrome. Guns, knifes, and glitter.  Subtle, real
	subtle. Cops be on ya in a moment. Whatcha doing?  Whereyagoing?
	You're mistaking the glitter for the message, guys." She leaned back
	against the bar, elbows behind her.

		"There are several major points in Cyberpunk. One is, the
	future is already here. And you ain't gonna like it. Another major
	point. Technology is going to change so fast and in so many ways,
	no one is going to be able to deal with it."

		She turned back to the bar and sipped from the cup. Speaking
	into the cup, she continued, "There are others, which we can discuss
	in great detail. In shorter posts. But the main point is that without
	examining some of these ideas, what you're writing is just puffery.
	Vanity writing."

		Another sip. "I'm just a character in a Role Playing Game.
	Not particularly interesting, outside of these ears and eyes. But
	what should be interesting is the reaction of 'normal people' to my 
	appearance.  Not that far-fetched, when you consider where cosmetic
	surgery might go to in a few years." She pulled at one of her ears.

		"Of course, you 'chromed' types might consider some of the
	problems you would have if you ACTUALLY had to make a living. Or
	consider recent work on 'hunter-seeker' weapons that the DOD is
	working on; weapons that seek out and destroy their target. Where
	ya gonna hide? Each day's paper contains scads of cyberpunk material
	to examine, consider, write about. After all, the future arrived a
	week ago."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[ Story 1]

	The young woman with the cat ears and cat eyes turned to look
at the other people in the bar. Mug of tea in hand, she began to speak
quickly and quietly. "Some of you have come in here, boasting of your
last run; how smooth, how cool, how slick you were. You come in here,
preening yourself, strutting up and down, real proud of yourselves. Well,
I've been there too, people, and I never found anything slick about a job."

	"I mentioned the Army's hunter-seeker project the last time. Some
of the mega-corps have their hunter-seeker robots working. I know. I've been
hunted by one. Oh, so you street samurai have been up against the best,
right?  Well, your opponents have always been human. Someone who gets tired,
someone who has to piss, someone who makes mistakes. The hunter-seeker
never gets tired, never makes mistakes, never gives up. And I was its
target."
	She turned back to the bar and dropped the mug with a thud onto
the counter top. Brushing her hair out of face, she faced the crowd of
people who were listening to her. "Story? OK, if you have the time. First
of all, I'm a helicopter pilot, not a fighter. I fly you guys to the job
and then fly the surviors back. No, it wouldn't do any good to tell you
which island and which mega-corp," she answered. "They'll all deny that
anything like this happened." Her strange cat eyes brightened and she began.

		About six months ago, I was asked to fly ten mercenaries
	to a small island off the coast of Seattle. There are many of these
	islands, covered with heavy growth, each with the ruins of someone's
	old pleasure palace. I found the landing site at an abandoned runway
	on the island, and set the helicopter down. As I stepped from the
	cockpit, I noticed that there were another twenty or so mercenaries
	already there, as well as a suit from one of the major corporations.
	He was standing before a large metal insect, adjusting something
	inside it. As I approached, the suit took his tools out of the access
	opening and snapped it shut.

		Well, the suit waited until the final mercenary had arrived
	and then began to speak. 'Welcome to the first test of our new
	security system. You have been chosen to test the system the best
	way we could come up with.'
		'What does it do?,' someone asked.
		'The security system tracks down humans and kills
	them. Anything human on this island, it will try to kill. It 
	needs just to be tested. And you get to test it'
		'How do we test it?,' asked one of the mercs.
		'Just kill it. Just kill it,' answered the suit, patting the
	insect on the top. The suit then walked to a waiting chopper and
	lifted off.
		'Piece of cake,' said another merc, pulling out a .45.

		The moment the suit was out of sight, the metal insect
	stirred. It was constructed of two black hemispherical domes, placed
	back to back, with a slit between them. Out of the slit, two mani-
	pulating arms, a laser sight and a pair of chain guns protruded. The
	whole thing rested on four thin legs like a spider. It was rocking back
	and forward slowly. I backed away, unsure of what would happen next.
	The mercs pulled out their guns and assault cannons, preparing to
	blast the thing. There was a BEEP, a black blur and the insect was
	gone.
		'Shiiit,' groaned one of the mercs.
		'Anyone see which way it went? No? So we hunt it down and
	kill it. Jones, Smith, Warren, you each grab a coupla guys and start
	looking. I'll monitor from here. Whatcha waiting for? Go!'

		They split up into several teams, each armed with a pair of
	assault cannons, a hand-carried chain gun, and several other
	support members. Each team would quarter the island and kill anything
	even remotely resembling that insect.

		'Good luck, fellas,' I said as I began to edge towards the
	helicopter.
		'Stop! Here, take this,' the mercenary leader shouted,
	handing me a heavy radio/communications pack. 'Go with Warren there.
	He's one man short.' His heavy hand rested on my shoulder.
		'Eeerp... Uick...'

		We entered the woods. Each step I took pushed against mud,
	branches, fungus and rot. The sky disappeared behind mists and trees.
	The radio was heavy, so I lagged behind. After several hundred feet,
	I was exhausted, mud covered me up to my thighs and mud coated my
	clothes; I had fallen flat on my face. The others had disappeared
	around a leafy curve when I heard the VRRRTTTTT of the chain gun. I
	dropped into the mud and rolled under a neighboring bush. Looking up,
	I could see the path in front of me, but little else.

		The shooting continued for a moment, then stopped. Silence.
	The woods were absolutely still. I strained my ears. Nothing.

		There was a short rustle of the leaves ahead of me, and then
	I could see the mercs moving backwards along the path. Two of them
	were badly injured; I could see blood staining their shirts. They
	were frightened; you could see it in the way they held their guns,
	the way they spoke in short harsh whispers, the way they looked
	with nervous darting glances. I stayed very still, holding my breath.
	If they saw me, they'd shoot first and check out who I was later.
	A black blur and the insect sat amidst them, crushing the merc with
	the chain gun. The merc was just raw meat and white bones; his blood
	splattered the insect bright red. I threw my head into the ground.

		The mercenaries never fired a shot. All I could hear was the
	tearing cloth sound of the insect's chain gun. On my back, the radio
	exploded into shards of plastic and metal. The leaves around me were
	shredded into green confetti. I pressed myself as deeply into the
	mud as I could. Another blur, and there was silence again. I looked
	up. Around me, the cloud of the chain gun's smoke still hung in the
	air. I discarded the remains of the radio and crept forward. On the
	path blood covered the mud. Gobbets of flesh coated with fabric
	mixed with small pieces of metal; the only remnant of the heavy
	armament that the mercs had brought. I threw up on the side of the
	path.
		I ran as quickly as I could, just ran. After a while, totally
	exhausted, I tripped and collapsed into a fern thicket. The woods
	were cold, clammy and quiet. Every so often, I could hear the sound of
	a chain gun, or the boom of an assault cannon, or the snap of smaller
	firearms. 
		An hour or two later, I could not hear anything at all. The
	woods were now completely quiet. The sun was now going down, making
	the woods even colder. Wet and coated in mud, I shivered. I got up
	and oriented myself by the sun. The airstrip was on the west side of
	the island; I needed to travel in the direction of the setting sun.

		Thirty minutes later, I could see the helicopter across the
	airstrip from me. I was still under cover; something bothered me
	about the scene before me. I waited and listened. Yes, silhouetted
	against the setting sun, the deadly insect slowly rocked back and
	forward. I considered running for the helicopter. No. It was just too
	fast. I would be dead within moments of stepping out from under cover.
	I pulled deeper into the bushes and thought carefully.

		I began by pulling off all my clothes. Then submerging my
	body in the nearest mudhole, I completed covering myself in mud. I
	dropped to all fours and began to move to the helicopter, repeating
	'Miaow. Miaow. Miaow'. I heard the blur of the insect, and felt it
	nearby, studying me with its sensors. Slowly, slowly, I approached
	the helicopter. I could not look at the insect; I knew that was the
	path to panic. Pad, pad, 'Miaow' pad, pad, 'Miaow'. 

		At the side of the helicopter, I froze. The insect studied
	me a moment longer, then moved back on guard over the corpses
	of the command post. I repeated Miaow a few times more while slowly
	climbing into the cockpit. After a few minutes, I could think enough
	to close the cockpit hatch, fire up the helicopter, and fly home.

	She ended her story and turned to the bartender. "Another cup of
tea please." The audience thought about what she told them and then asked
why could she have escaped when everyone else had got themselves killed. She
smiled and tugged at her ears. "First time I ever impersonated a cat. Heh heh
heh. Look, it was a robot, right?" The audience nodded. "It had strict orders.
Kill everything human on the island, right? And a human walks upright, wears
clothes and lots of metal, and speaks, right?" The audience was restless. "But
it's so simple. I just did not look like anything human. So the robot did not
consider me a target." A-hahs from the audience.

	"That trick won't work again, I'm afraid. I'm sure that mega-corp
found my clothes on the island. And just about everyone has heard about the
woman pilot who landed at SEA-TAC without any clothes on." She blushed. "You
samurai might consider that before being asked to test another one of those
security systems." The young woman turned back to her tea.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[ And now, the response by Carl Rigney]

From: cdr@brahms.amd.com (Carl Rigney)
Organization: Advanced Matrix Devices, Inc; Sunnyvale, CA

The Pilot with cat eyes and cat ears is finishing a story:

	"At the side of the helicopter, I froze. The insect studied me
	a moment longer, then moved back on guard over the corpses of
	the command post.  I repeated Miaow a few times more while
	slowly climbing into the cockpit. After a few minutes, I could
	think enough to close the cockpit hatch, fire up the
	helicopter, and fly home."
	She ends her story and turns to the bartender. "Another cup of
	tea please." There's a pause as she sips her tea and then a
	raspy disbelieving voice from a corner asks, "But how could you
	have escaped when everyone else got killed?" She smiles and
	tugs at an ear.  "But it's so simple. I just did not look like
	anything human. So the robot did not consider me a target."
	A-hahs from the audience.  The young woman turns back to her
	tea.

The door explodes into a thousand fragments and everybody ducks for
cover.  Outlined in the smoky entranceway is a Paulinian Nightmare,
a dull black sphere a meter across suspended 2 meters above the ground
by 8 multiply-jointed crystalline legs, rainbows dancing around their
orbital fibers as it moves into the bar with fluid precision.  Emerging
from the sphere are two rotary flechette cannons, bobbing and weaving
in time to the steps, capable of filling the entire room with
hypervelocity needles in the blink of an eye.  Stretching out above the
sphere are long stalks ending in silvery spheres glowing dully in the
deep infrared.  Behind those are four longer, thinner stalks and from
their tips sprout thousands of pale silken threads a few centimeters
long, waving gently in the breeze from the doorway.  Sensors for
motion, heat, shadow, scent... fear.

The Hunter Killer drone rotates so that a cannon faces the cat-woman,
who has spilled her tea.  The stalks bend towards her, swaying gently
from side to side, almost hypnotically.  The sounds from the city outside
spill through the shattered doorway but inside the bar there is no sound
but a soft hum, almost too high-pitched for human ears.  The chaingun spins
up, adding its distinctive whir.  And then spins down.

In a voice as human as anyone's in the room, with no trace of the mechanical
about it, the drone whispers "Woof.  Woof Woof."  And then backs out step
for step the way it came in, until it is framed in the doorway.  "Tag!
You're It!"

And it vanishes from sight in a mind-numbing burst of speed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hubert Bartels          INTERNET: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu
Optical Sciences Center VOICE:(602)-621-2032
University of Arizona   "To a WWWA trouble consultant, recklessness is
Tucson, AZ, USA 85721    a way of life"  Kei, Dirty Pair's Great Adventure


>The Hunter Killer drone rotates so that a cannon faces the cat-woman,
>who has spilled her tea. The stalks bend toward her, swaying gently from
>side to side, almost hypnotically...
>
	The woman with the cat ears falls off the barstool, crashing to
the dirty floor. She regains her feet, backing away from the mechanical
horror, spilling her tea on herself, her boots, the ground. Her ears
stand straight up, her pupils narrowed to thin vertical slits. Now she
is against the stained filthy wall of the Chatsubo. Her jacket is dusted
grey as she slides along the wall into the corner. She turns her face into
the corner, opening her hand and letting the teacup shatter.

> ..The chain gun spins up, adding its distinctive whir. And then spins down.
>
>In a voice as human as anyone's in the room, with no trace of the mechanical
>about it, the drone whispers "Woof.  Woof Woof." And then backs out step
>for step the way it came in, until it is framed in the doorway. "Tag!
>You're It!"
>
>And it vanishes from sight in a mind-numbing burst speed.

	"Nooooooooooo......" The woman with the cat eyes presses against
the cold cracked concrete corner of the Chatsubo. Her eyes are screwed tight,
her forearms covering her head, her face rigid with terror. As the moments
pass, she slowly slides down the wall, slumping into a sobbing heap. Her
tears come with great rasping breaths, her entire body shaking. At her feet,
the shattered shards of the teacup lie in a muddy puddle of black tea and dust.

	Silence, broken only by sobs and hiccups.

	Li steps from behind the wreckage of a table, and kneels next
to the woman lying, partly propped against the corner. Li reaches down
and takes the woman's head in her arms, brushing away the soft blonde hair
from the woman's eyes. The woman is repeating over and over, "Nai ya...
Nai ya... Nai ya", in a soft child-like voice. Li studys the woman's
face, with its angular features, thin-lipped mouth and slightly tilted eyes.
There is dirt from the Chatsubo wall on her forehead and cheeks.  The eyes
are open, fixed, glassy, staring into unknown distance. Tears roll off her
high cheeks to the dirty floor. She is still crying with ragged moans.
	"Young, so young," Li murmurs. She lightly slaps the woman's
cheeks. The woman closes her mouth, takes a deep breath though narrow 
nostrils, hiccups, and focuses her eyes.
	"Are you OK? What is your name?" Li asks gently.
	"Nekoko" the woman with the cat eyes hiccups.
	"And you think this drone had something to do with your story?"
	"Maybe... I couldn't see a company logo..."
	"There was a ARES logo at the top of the sphere," says the razor boy
wanna-be, "Red, about 10 cm high."
	"Yeah, its the same company," Nekoko sniffs.
	"How do you think they found you?" asked Li, wiping away Nekoko's
tears.
	"I don't know. Unless... Unless..." Nekoko tries.
	"Boy, you must have lost one of your nine lives there," grins the
razorboy wanna-be. Both Li and Nekoko turn to glare at him. Nekoko gets
up, knocking away Li's arm and steps toward the razor boy. Suddenly she
turns to Li.
	"Those bastards. Those BASTARDS. THOSE BASTARDS!!!"
	"W-W-What?..." stutters Li, standing up.
	"I think I know what happened. That hunter-seeker on the island had
a video uplink. Someone watched the whole thing. My little trick. How stupid
I've been. I was so smug, thinking I outsmarted the hunter-seeker. Can you
see the scene? I on fours, creeping up to my helicopter. Some mega-corp suit,
watching it on video; 'Come here, look what this dumb broad is doing' And I
survive only because I make a good show for some bastards..." Nekoko begins
to cry again.
	"So today...," starts Li.
	"That was their way of telling me that the joke is on me", moans Nekoko.
She looks at her feet, then quickly reaches down to pick up a shiny little
square. Holding it up against the dim lights of the bar, she studies it
carefully. "I think I know what this is. A vid-chip with my little act on it.
The drone must have spat it at me when it was threatening me." She drops it
onto the floor and grinds it to dust with the heel of her boot. "I betcha
that every guy working on the project has one of these." Nekoko rubs her
eyes with the back of her hand, leaving them red and swollen. "I guess the
vid-chips are used to train the hunter-killer to recognize the target. "
	"Oh, I see," says Li, "The hunter-killer builds a map of the
target with the images on the vid-chip using a type of binary network."
	Nekoko nods her head and sniffs, "Once they have the target loaded,
they program the drone to start searching. An hour, a day, a week later, bamm!"
	"It didn't look like the hunter-seeker you described in your
story," says Li.
	"I... I think we saw a much more improved model. The hunter-seeker
on the island didn't speak, had only a chain gun, and lacked the stalk
mounted sensors. I think this model was even faster..." Nekoko looks at
the ruins of the door. She slowly walks over to the bar and drops herself
onto one of the remaining barstools.
	"Maybe you street samurai don't realize what has happened tonight,"
Nekoko starts, "but if ARES get those things into production, you're dead
meat." She looks down at her black pants, soiled now. "I'd better go and
wash up." She looks at Li. "Thank you." Nekoko slides off the barstool
and disappears through the shattered doorway.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hubert Bartels          INTERNET: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu
Optical Sciences Center VOICE:(602)-621-2032
University of Arizona   "To a WWWA trouble consultant, recklessness is
Tucson, AZ, USA 85721    a way of life"  Kei, Dirty Pair's Great Adventure

	The story so far:

	A woman, looking somewhat like a cat with pointed ears and
	cat's eye pupils is telling a story about an encounter with
	a robot Hunter-Seeker drone. She flew mercenaries to a small
	island, where they were to test a Hunter-Killer drone. She
	explains that the drone was programmed to kill all humans on 
	the island. She escaped by removing her clothes and pretending
	to be a large cat, sneaking to her helicopter and freedom.
	Unfortunately, the whole thing was recorded...

	At the end of the story, the front door of the Chatsubo was blown
	in by a newer, improved Hunter-Killer drone. The Hunter-Killer
	advances on the cat-woman, spins up its twin rotating fletchette
	cannons and tells her "Woof Woof Woof. Tag. You're it!" The drone
	then disappears through the shattered door. The cat-woman, whose
	name is Nekoko, realizes that her little trick was recorded and
	used to train the improved Hunter-Killer drone. A razor boy wannabe
	recalls that the drone was marked with the ARES logo. Nekoko then
	warns the street samurai that this new drone might be used against
	them.

	
	Nekoko blew into the Chatsubo, dressed in a single-piece motorcycle
leathers, carrying a Heckler & Koch HK227 submachine gun slung across her chest
and a 9 mm pistol in a midthigh holster. She paused only briefly to watch
the carpenters fitting a new door to the front entrance. As she watched them
struggling to pull the frame into alignment, she unslung the H & K and rested
it on the floor.  Then Nekoko reached up to her neck, pulled the leather's
zipper down to her waist, and pulled her arms out of the sleeves of the
leathers. Under the leathers, she wore a sleeveless T shirt. She knotted
the sleeves around her waist and picked up the H & K again.

	The Chatsubo wasn't too crowded, other than a tight grouping of street
samurai and toughs at a single table. The vidscreen flickered over the bar,
showing the last night's carnage and body count.
	The announcer on the vidscreen continued, "and in other news,
several Shadowrunners were killed during a raid on ARES' dockside warehouse
area. ARES refused comment, other than to say that the new security system
recently installed at the warehouse worked admirably. Unfortunately, ARES
would be unable to release the bodies to the County Coroner as there was
not enough left of the bodies to autopsy. More news after this message from
our sponsor, 'BUXOM BABES'..."
	The vidscreen brightened, showing snapshots of young nubile women.
"BUXOM BABES is hot. This month's issue is hot, sexy, erotic! The latest
genetically-enhanced women. And once again, this is our special issue with
those funny sex videos you send in. We have a new winner this month, sent
in by those fun folks at ARES Advanced Research ( Seattle), featuring ..."

	Nekoko reached up, snapped off vidscreen's blaring and turned around.
She raked her fingers through her long blonde hair, perked up her ears and
smiled at the ugly bartender.  "Haaii, Ratz, I see you finally are going to
get that door replaced."
	Ratz looked up from the glasses he was rinsing and glared at her.
"Hey, don't bring those guns in here. Watcha think this is, a Wild West
saloon?"
	Nekoko approached the bar and smiled sweetly at the embittered old
bartender. She leaned across the scarred surface and flipped a small ID
card at him. Ratz gave it a quick glance and looked at her as if to say,
'so what'.
	"Says on this card, I'm a registered and bonded DataCourier. Means
I can carry any type of armament, anywhere I want to. See?"  Nekoko swept
up the card and slipped it into an inside pocket. She flipped the H&K 
and placed it on the bar top. "Hey Ratz, can I borrow your phonescreen? I
think ARES might have placed a tap on mine."
	Ratz scowled, pointed at the phonescreen at the end of the bar
and said, "No long distance calls without a credit stick, OK?"
	"Hai, Ratz"
	As Nekoko moved towards the phone, she passed the razor boy wannabe.
He put out a hand and stopped her. A nasty expression on his face, he
asked, "Have you seen this month's ish of BUXOM BABES? The streetboys over
there got it. You might be interested in it. It's a real wiz!"
	"Uh... No, why?"
	He just smirked and backed away.
	"Chotto matte...." she called after him.

	She turned and strode to the small circle of street toughs around
the table. As she stepped into the circle, someone said, "Hey, look who's
here. Hey Garry, reset that and play it for the lady..."
	Nekoko looked down at the table top, where a vidplayer, a flat color
screen, about 40 cm by 40 cm, was resting between bottles, drug vials and
other trash. The vidplayer had a small membrane keyboard and a pair of slots
for vidchips. Garry pulled a BUXOM BABES vidchip carrier out of his pocket
and slotted it into the vidplayer. The screen of the vidplayer darkened,
then started showing the BUXOM BABES logo.
	"Garry, don't screw around." 
	Garry's fingers tapped on the keyboard of the vidplayer, bringing up
the Table of Contents menu, then choosing the funny sex video section. He
waited for the menu to flash on the screen and choose the first entry. Bright
garish colors filled the screen, which then focused into the image of a man
and a microphone.
	"All right...," shouted the announcer on the screen. "The winning
entry in this month's funniest sex video. Sent in by our friends at ARES
Advanced Research Division, Seattle.."
	Nekoko had a bad feeling about this.
	"... recorded on their private island resort. OK, you hentai, for
your enjoyment..."
	The screen flashed again, and Nekoko saw again the airstrip 
where she had landed the mercenaries. There was the helicopter, there
was the scrub brush in which she had hidden.
	"Watch what's in the bushes. We'll switch to infra-red...."
	The screen changed colors, black sky and dull red plants. Nekoko
could see a figure, white hot, hiding in the brush.
	"...We'll zoom in here, watch what this babe does next..."
	Nekoko watched the screen blur, then fix on the white-hot figure.
She watched herself removing her guns and other metal, taking off her clothes,
and then slide into a mud puddle. The figure, a dull yellow rather than
white-hot, looked up and started on all fours for the helicopter. Nekoko
start to feel a warm anger.
	"OK, folks, back to visible light. Isn't it a scream!"
	Coated in mud, knees bent, on all fours, the figure scuttled across
the field of view. Nekoko watched herself try to look feline, not human.
The figure was taut, smooth muscles moving quickly under skin, mottled in
greys and browns. Nekoko's anger grew hot.
	"We'll send our camera in for a closer view..."
	Nekoko seized the vidplayer, pulling it out of the reach of the
street toughs. She stepped back and threw it against the Chatsubo's concrete
wall. The case of vidplayer cracked and the screen crumpled but the audio
continued, "Miaow, Miaow.."
	"Enough!" screamed Nekoko, pulling her heavy pistol from her
mid-thigh holster. She grabbed the pistol with both hands, brought it out
to eye level, and emptied the pistol into the vidplayer. The vidplayer
jumped once and then exploded into a cloud of plastic.

	For the third time that week, the patrons of the Chatsubo dived
for cover with a crash of tables and shattering of glasses. The roar of the
pistol echoed and reechoed within the filthy walls of the Chatsubo. Ratz
started for the scatter gun under the bar, but stopped himself when he
saw that Nekoko was just standing there, pistol at firing position. The only
sound was the cold metal ringing of the 9 millimeter shells rolling on the
floor.
	Echos of the pistol reverberated in Nekoko's mind. She stood there
for a moment, the smell of cordite in her nostrils. The street toughs began
to stir. She quickly reached into a pocket and pulled out another clip of
ammo. She tossed the empty clip on the floor and inserted the new clip.
Nekoko turned and aimed the gun at the street toughs.
	"Uh, madam, no problem here, OK," started Garry.
	"Nekoko," warned Ratz, reaching below the bar.
	She flicked on the safety, flipped the pistol up, and replaced it
in the holster. Then, she reached down on the ground, picked up the empty
clip and put it in another pocket. Nekoko kicked one of the empty shells
against the wall and said, "Sorry Ratz. I'd better make that call and go,
huh?"
	Ratz watched her, one hand still under the bar.

	Nekoko went over to the phonescreen, watching the bar patrons moving
to stay out of her way. She flicked on the power, watching the blue LED
indicate that the system was ready. Her fingers danced across the keyboard,
bringing up the icon of the Yonhon-Hana corporation in California. She felt
a light hand on her shoulder; she looked up to Li's steel-blue eyes
reflecting the soft grey pixels of the phonescreen.  Li's fingerless
gloves gently squeezed Nekoko's shoulder.  A few more keystrokes, and the
icon of the corporation was replaced with the image of a man, late forties,
balding, with large glasses that made him look like a panda. The borders of
the image flashed, showing Nekoko that his phone was ringing. The image
melted, and started to move. Nekoko quickly tapped a command and the image
expanded to the full size of the screen.

	"Konnichi wa, Sensei-sama," Nekoko said and then bowed.
	"Ojosan, I am very disappointed in you," the image said.
	"Nanda?"
	"I have seen your performance," the image spoke, holding up a
copy of the BUXOM BABES vidchip carrier. "I have heard that this is how you
escaped a Hunter-Killer drone?"
	"Hai, Sensei-sama," Nekoko spoke in a small voice.
	"This is not the 'Bushi' way. You should have died honorably,
fighting. I trust you will do the right thing. I assume the woman in blue
is your 'kaishaku'?  Have someone send me word when it is done; I will send
someone for the ashes." The image shrank and winked out.
	"Sensei-sama..." began Nekoko.
	"Ojosan?" asked Li.
	"He calls, no, called me that in class. It means 'honourable
daughter', just like I call him 'Sensei-sama', Lord Teacher." Nekoko spoke
as if far away.  She turned away from the soft grey glow of the phonescreen
and began to move from the bar. "He is... no, was my teacher."

	As if in after-thought, Li powered off the phonescreen. She 
stepped in front of Nekoko. She grabbed Nekoko by the shoulder, stopped her
in front of Ratz. "Are you all right?"
	Nekoko looked at Li with dead eyes. "I... I don't know."
	Ratz looked up from the draft Kirin he was drawing and asked, "What
did he mean by doing the right thing? Who or what is a 'kaishaku'?"
	"He thinks I should commit 'seppuku'," Nekoko answered dully. Her
ears were flat, dispirited. 
	"And what is a 'kaishaku'?"
	Nekoko gave no sign of hearing the question. She walked slowly toward
the hallway at the end of the barroom.
	Li spoke quickly, "When a 'bushi', a warrior, commits 'seppuku',
the bushi drives a long knife like this," pointing at the combat knife
strapped to her lower leg, "into his or her guts. The 'kaishaku', you
see, is there to strike off the bushi's head if the dying takes too long. The
'kaishaku' helps the bushi to death."
	Ratz, who had seen worse on the street, shuddered.
	Li turned towards the bar and noticed Nekoko's HK227 still on the 
countertop. "Wait..."
	Nekoko had disappeared in the hallway leading to the bathrooms.
	Li grabbed the H & K off the countertop and rushed towards
the hallway. She stepped into the narrow, dimly lit fetid hallway, her eyes
looking for the direction that Nekoko had taken. She saw the lights on in
the women's bathroom, pushed the creaking door open, and stopped.

	The room was small, stank, and contained a single toilet stall, 
painted a peeling lime green, a sink, coated in rust and slime, and a small
table, on which used bottles were piled.
	"Nekoko?" Li asked.
	"Go away."
	Li pushed at the door of the toilet stall, but found it locked.
She then hopped up, put her hands on the top of the toilet stall door, pushed
herself up and dropped inside the narrow toilet stall. Where Nekoko was sitting
on the toilet, knees drawn up, hands around her legs, staring into space.
	"Kinda tight in here, even for thinking," began Li.
	Nekoko put up her head and gazed at this woman in blue eyes, blue
jacket, blue leathers. Her gaze was dull, lifeless.
	"You forgot your submachinegun. You're gonna need it if you're going
after the people who did this to you." Li unslung the HK227 and handed
it to Nekoko. Nekoko reached out for it, cradled it for a moment and then put
it down. "Fancy shooting there, a vidplayer at 5 paces. It never had a chance."
	"I couldn't watch it anymore. I had to shut it up."
	"So that's what it is, huh? You're ashamed of what you did to stay
alive, right?"
	"Sensei was right, it was shameful, not worthy of a bushi."
	"There is no shame in doing something to stay alive. Your teacher
is a fool. Had you stood up as a warrior, it would have killed you without
a thought."
	"But the Hunter-Killer can't think," Nekoko pointed out peevishly.
	"That's part of my point. There is no honour in getting yourself
killed by a machine. But more than that, there is no honour in getting
yourself killed period, no matter what your teacher says."
	"But... but"
	"Nekoko, what's most important is survival. It's the surviors who
continue, not dead heroes."
	Nekoko looked at Li dully, thinking. Her ears were flicking
up and down slowly in bewilderment. "So. so..." she began.
	"Besides, if you commit 'seppuku', the guys who did this to you
will still be laughing at you. There is no honour this way..."
	Nekoko narrowed her eyes. "You might be right. You must be right."
	"Here, Nekoko, clean your pistol. You must clean your pistol after
every use. Didn't you learn that at least?" Li pulled a small
gun-cleaning kit out of her jacket and offered it to Nekoko. Nekoko twisted
herself in the effort to get the pistol out of its holster in the narrow
toilet stall. Breaking the pistol down, she began to polish off the burned
power.

	"So, Nekoko, what are we going to do?" Li started.
	"Information, right?" Nekoko said slowly.
	Li nodded.
	"Before anything else, information," Nekoko continued. She pulled
the ammo clip out of the pistol and slipped the polishing cloth inside.
"Who are we dealing with, what are their resources, what can we bring up
against them?" She flipped the pistol over and slid a bore cleaner into the
barrel. "We might be over our heads..."
	"ARES is pretty big, true," agreed Li.
	"We only want the guys in, what was it? Ah yes, the Advanced
Research Division."
	"Still a tough bunch of guys," Li said. "Say, Nekoko, how
about getting out of here? I can't stand the smell any longer."
	Nekoko finished up polishing the pistol and closed up the gun
cleaning kit. "Just open the door behind you, and we'll go."
	Li squeezed herself around and wiggled at the toilet stall
latch. "Uh, Nekoko, it's stuck."
	"Shit! Let me see," said Nekoko, pushing herself past Li. 
"You're right. Let's see, when you hopped over the door, you must have
bent the latch. Shall we yell for help?"
	"Nekoko, no! Those guys out there don't think we can wipe our
own butts, let alone start a campaign against a mega-corp." She laughed.
Li looked around for a moment. "If we use the stock of the HK227,
we could probably pry the door open." She pushed herself over to the HK227,
pulled it up and pried at the door. A loud crack and the walls of the toilet
stall collapsed. Laughing, the two women stepped out of the ruins and left the
bathroom.

	As they walked into the Chatsubo barroom, Li waved OK at Ratz.
The women tipped a table over, clearing it of bottles and debris and sat down.
Li pulled a sheet of paper from somewhere and dropped it on the table
top. "First things first. Information. You said you're a DataCourier. Could
you get some jobs delivering at ARES?"
	"Probably," Nekoko replied.
	"About your appearance. With those ears and eyes, you're easy
to remember. Can you do something about it?"
	"No, Li. That's something I can't change anymore than you
could clip off your nose. I'll just be careful. Look, I've been made
out to be a fool. They won't suspect me. Who suspects a fool?"
	Li made some notes on the paper and circled a few items.
"Can you visit the people at BUXOM BABES?" I think that should be your
first stop. I'll make some discrete inquiries; I've got some contacts I
can use."
	"Sure, I'll visit BUXOM BABES," Nekoko smiled. Her ears stood up.
	"No shooting, Nekoko. If they even suspect something is up,
that Hunter-Killer drone will be back, and this time, it'll be for real."
	Nekoko stopped smiling suddenly. "I'll be careful," she said
slowly, her ears drooping.
	"Meet you here later. Let me know what you find," Li said
as she got up and headed for the doorway.
	Nekoko rotated the paper and studied the scribblings. Folding it
carefully, she put it into a pocket, zipped up her motorcycle suit,
slung her H & K over her chest and stepped past the carpenters. As she
passed the guys trying to get the frame straightened, she stopped and
said, "When you get that done, you need to go work in the ladies bathroom.
The toilet stall latch is sticking." Laughing, she disappeared down the
street.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hubert Bartels          INTERNET: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu
Optical Sciences Center VOICE:(602)-621-2032
University of Arizona   "To a WWWA trouble consultant, recklessness is
Tucson, AZ, USA 85721    a way of life"  Kei, Dirty Pair's Great Adventure

	Nekoko stood on the sidewalk before the offices of BUXOM BABES. A
four story, grey concrete building, poorly constructed, scarred with gang
graffiti, streaked with rust, stained by the rain. The sidewalk was crowded;
she could barely keep her place in the moving masses. The air was filled with
the smells of the street vendors, selling krill, ramen, sushi, soup. Sellers
offered talismans, drugs, vidchips, discarded technology, information. 
Each vendor had their mat or stand from which they alternatively shouted,
implored or cursed. No one seemed bothered by Nekoko's cat ears or cat eyes;
there were stranger people on the street. Her long skirt layered over a
bodysuit and waistpouch contrasted with the shabby wornout clothes of the
passing crowd. They pushed and shoved her, making her dance to keep on her
feet. 

	Nekoko took a deep breath and pushed her way through the crowd to
the side of the building. She slipped between a soba stall and a fortune-
teller to the alley behind, stepping over the stacks of rotting paper that
blocked the entrance. Rusted dumpsters overflowing with garbage, piles of
broken drug vials and puddles of dirty water smelling of urine filled the
alley. Nekoko studied the backwall of the BUXOM BABES building, noting the
large windows on the top floor and the fire escape. She returned to the noisy
street, walked to the front entrance, pushed the door open and stepped inside.

	Nekoko walked across the dingy lobby and rode a creaking, wheezing
elevator to the top floor, where she was greeted by a door marked 'Editor in
Chief'. She pushed it open and entered a large cluttered office. At the desk,
a elderly pot-bellied man sat looking at a vidplayer. Dagit Basel, the editor,
had a gentle face; small white mustache, round bulbous nose, soft grey eyes
looking through thick black reading glasses. He was almost bald, with white
wild tufts of hair over each ear. Nekoko saw him as someone's grandfather.
Intent on his reading, he did not look up as Nekoko entered. Behind him,
windows gave a view of Seattle's dock area. A quiet roar came from the streets
below.

	A vidscreen on the office was showing scenes from the waterfront.
In the foreground, the announcer spoke into a microphone. "...ARES gave
no reason for the closure of the East Dock, other than to say it was for
security reasons. Informed observers reported that ARES was undertaking
a marine salvage project in the area. When asked to confirm this, ARES
spokesmen warned the media about fruitless speculation..."

	As Basel gave no signs of noticing her, Nekoko cleared her throat.
	"If you have come for the vidchip," Basel growled, "it is not for
sale, as I told your people this morning. All submissions become property of
the magazine, as it says in our bannerhead. Oh!" Basel looked up at her.
"I thought you were my 12:00 appointment."
	"I am your DataCourier. I brought you this." Nekoko reached into
her pouch and pulled out the packet of vidchips. She dropped the packet
onto the cluttered desk.
	Basel adjusted his glasses. "Thank you." As he reached to sign the
receipt, he took a closer look at the DataCourier. "You! You were in the
funny sex video!"
	"Not willingly." 
	"We always wondered if you had survived. Your trick was so funny, it
would have been a shame if it didn't work. Are you mad at us for publishing it?"
	Nekoko thought for a moment. "No, not any more..."
	"Still, it was a good trick. We could only use that part of the
vidchip in our magazine. The rest was simply too bloody."
	Nekoko's ears stood straight up. "You saw the rest of the vidchip?"
	"Yes, I scanned through it. It wasn't good for anything. Scenes of
soldiers getting slaughtered. Doesn't sell real well."
	"How was the vidchip identified?" Nekoko asked.
	"I remember the title 'Muenchen Turbinen und Roboten Werke', a date,
and the words 'Project: Model 60'".
	"Do you know where the vidchip came from?"
	"My assistant editor found it on the doorstep the other morning.
ARES Advanced Research markings on the vidchip carrier, but nothing else.
We often get submissions that way. We asked at ARES for the Advanced
Research Divison, but never got a response until today."
	"Why do you think you got the vidchip?" Nekoko asked.
	Basel turned off the vidplayer. "We often get vidchips with strange
things on them. I thought someone might have been showing off. They, the
anonymous submitters, often do that."
	"I know that the vidchip is not for sale, Basel-san," Nekoko asked
very slowly, "but could you arrange for me to see it?"
	"No problem..."

	Nekoko started to say something, but was interrupted by tapping on
the door. Basel turned to his desk and checked his desk vidscreen. "Sorry,
it's my 12:00 appointment with the ARES Advanced Research Division people.
Do you mind waiting outside for a moment?"
	"Those are the people asking for the vidchip back, aren't they?"
	Basel nodded.
	"If you don't mind, I'd rather not meet them. Could I wait in your
washroom back there?"
	"No problem. Shouldn't take long."

	Nekoko moved over to the washroom, closed the door, sat on the
toilet and sighed. Below her feet, on either sides, and on the ceiling,
there were mirror tiles. She looked into an infinite number of cat-eared,
cat-eyed, blonde-haired women. She amused herself by making faces at her
reflections.

	From the direction of the office came the murmur of a discussion,
ending in the sound of a muffled shot. Nekoko crept to the washroom door, knelt
down, and listened at the door. She could hear the voices of a man and the
electronic voice of a comlink.
	"Red-1 here. Primary target terminated," said the man.
	"Kommodore here. Have you found the vidchip?" asked the electronic
voice.
	"We've got all Basel's vidchips. It'll be in there somewhere." 
	"Have you found the secondary target?" Kommodore asked.
	"No. We know she's here."
	"Good. Find her copy of the vidchip. Then terminate."
	"Understood, Kommodore."
	"Is the building being cleared? Don't want any unnecessary deaths."
	"Yes, Kommodore. Red-2 is telling people to leave quietly, there
might be a killer in the building."
	"The girl with cat's ears? Good idea."
	"Yeah. She'll take the blame for Basel's death. And the explosion."
	"Good. Are the explosives ready?" The electronic voice asked.
	"Yes, you may detonate on my command."
	"Understood. Will detonate on your command. Endtrans."
	"Endtrans," said Red-1.
	
	Before Nekoko could react, there was a loud crash. The washroom door
fell in, the lock and hinges splintering from the wooden frame. Nekoko
sprawled across the floor. She turned to stare up into a small black hole,
mounted at the end of a automatic pistol. Behind the pistol stood a tall
gaunt man with frizzy blonde hair, light blue eyes, aquiline nose and soft
smiling mouth. With his tan and good natured features, he looked like a
gym teacher on sabbatical. He wore a blue business suit, carefully tailored,
a pair of leather gloves, and a gym bag over one shoulder. He smiled gently at
Nekoko. Only in the eyes could Nekoko see the soldier in him.

	"Hi girl. Thought you might be in there. Come up here. I won't hurt
you," he laughed.
	He fingered the small comlink mounted on his shoulder. "Red-1 here.
I've located the second target."
	"Red-2 here. Good. The building is almost cleared."
	"Kommodore says he is ready to detonate the explosives."
	"Just a minute Red-1, got one more office to check."
	"Endtrans, Red-2."
	"Yeah, yeah. Endtrans."
	"So, girl, come with me." He grabbed Nekoko by the hand, pulled her
to her feet and waved her into the office with the pistol. "Here, give me
that pouch. Never know what a girl's got in her handbag." Nekoko sullenly
slipped off the waistpouch and handed it to the mercenary. He laughed, dropped
the gym bag and slipped the waistpouch over his shoulder.

	Nekoko looked around the office. Basel lay in a pool of blood behind
his desk. The desk was covered in vidchips and datapaks. The mercenary waved
her into the center of the room, took a step back, lowered his gun and smiled
at her.
	"Well, you are a pretty little thing..."
	Nekoko watched his face. He was smiling, but his smile never reached
his eyes. When he knew she didn't have the vidchip, he would kill her.
	"It'll be a shame, girl, but I have my orders..."
	Nekoko knew he would kill her. She studied his eyes.
 	"Where's the vidchip the drone gave you?"
	"I crushed it," Nekoko answered. She curled her hands slightly,
leaned slightly forward, balanced herself.
	"Maybe you did..." He laughed.
	Nekoko took several short little breaths, then exhaled slowly. The
mercenary looked down to search her waistpouch. "Gee, nothing but junk.
The things some girls carry..." Nekoko's eyes narrowed.

	 Nekoko stepped forward and launched a sweeping sideways kick to the
merc's head. The merc's head snapped hard. He fell, his head hitting the desk.
He rolled over slowly, reaching for his pistol. Nekoko struck again with the
palm of her hand against his chin, breaking his neck. The mercenary's body
slumped.  She stood up, shaking, dazed. There was not much blood, just a
thread from the corpse's nose. A cut on the side of his head. The side of her
foot tingled, her hand was sore. It was the first time she had to kill.

	Nekoko limped over to the wall, gathered the vidchips and datapacks
from the desk and poured them into the gym bag. She turned to the mercenary's
body, looking for her waistpouch. The strap of the waistpouch was lying under
his torso so Nekoko steeled herself to roll the body over. When the body
flopped over, several items dropped out of the merc's pockets onto the floor.
Nekoko swept the items into the gym bag, trying not to look at the dead merc's
eyes.  As she grabbed her waistpouch, she heard the footsteps of the other
mercenary. Nekoko rushed across the floor to the window, opened it, and
stepped out onto the fire escape. 

	Gym bag and waistpouch in hand, she began down the fire escape. As
her head dropped below the window sill, she could hear the doors of the
office open. She hurried, hearing the cry of the mercenary above her. Faster,
faster, she jumped down the steps of the fire escape. There was a bang, a
whistle, and Nekoko realized that he was shooting at her. At the ladder,
she dropped the gym bag to the ground below, and stepped onto the ladder's
rungs. A flash of white light lit up the alley; everything in monochromes,
walls, dumpsters, garbage. Thunder rolled. The ladder shook, her hands opened,
and Nekoko fell, landing in a dirty puddle of water. She looked up to see the
top floor engulfed in flames. She rolled over, pulled the gymbag and waistpouch
together and ran. Behind her, the walls of the building slowly fell in on
themselves.

	Late afternoon at the Chatsubo. Nekoko stared into the glass of Kirin
that Ratz had poured for her. The beer was flat, the taste sour. She traced
the scars of the tabletop with the tips of her fingers, wondered how she had
survived. Had the mercenary not considered her harmless, had he not hit his
head against the desk, she would have died with the others in the explosion.
Ratz had taken one look at her, her tangled hair, her filthy skirt and called
Li.

	The vidscreen behind her continued to blare. " ...body of Claus
Lagervelt, a vice president of ARES Corporation, was pulled from the water
near the ARES Corporation's marine salvage area. ARES has refused to comment.
Recovery of the body was made more difficult by the extreme ARES security
in the area. Identification of the body was difficult as Lagervelt's face was
severly mutilated by the micro-fletchettes that killed him."
	"Closer to home," the vidscreen continued, "the offices of BUXOM 
BABES was destoryed in a mysterious explosion around noon. Authorities have
identified about five dead, with several others still missing. Amoung the
dead is Dagit Basel, popular editor of the magazine. Police are seeking the
Cat Woman made famous in this month's issue of BUXOM BABES."

	Li and Running Wolf arrived an half an hour later. Nekoko watched Li
stride through the crowds in the Chatsubo, a cobalt blue samurai. Nekoko was
in awe of Li's bujitsu, her smooth skill at the cold business of death. She
had heard of Li's dance with the drone. She compared it with her own awkward
attempts to discover the truth behind the drones.

	Nekoko weakly waved to Li. "Konnichi wa, Li-sama..."
	Li turned off the vidscreen and looked at Nekoko. "I thought you
could be discreet. The editor dead, the BUXOM BABES office blown all over
the block," Li started.
	"It's not my fault"
	"Well, Nekoko, the media is telling everyone that the Cat Woman
who was featured in this month's BUXOM BABES killed the editor and blew up
the building. You were seen leaving the building."
	"It's not my fault," said Nekoko. "They tried to kill me."
She stood up. "First, they made me into a fool. Then they made me into a
killer." She thumped her hand on the table. Glasses wobbled and fell over.
"All I want to know is," she screamed. "Who the HELL are these guys?" She
swept her hand across the table, tossing bottles, glasses, ashtrays over
the surrounding crowd. "Oops! Gomen nasai..."
	Li pushed down on Nekoko's shoulders, making her sit again.
	"What really did happen?" Running Wolf asked.
	Nekoko told the crowd around the table her story. She told of Basel's
death, of the killing of the mercenary, of the explosion.
	Li looked at Nekoko and asked, "So, Nekoko, what did you get?"
	Wordlessly, Nekoko poured a cascade of vidchips, datapaks and
ROM packs onto the table.
	"Rad wiz!" said the razor boy wanna be, "All the BUXOM BABES pictures
on vidchips."
	Li and Nekoko glared at him.
	Nekoko stirred the pile with her fingers. "I think that someone in
the drone project is worried about the direction of the project. He or she
sent these vidchips to Basel and me as a warning. Whoever sent out the
vidchips couldn't have forseen that Basel would see the vidchip as a
submission to the funny sex videos. Or that I would crush mine." Nekoko flicked
her ears. "There is something on that vidchip that we are supposed to see.
We need to see that vidchip."
	"Nekoko, there must be 500 unlabeled vidchips here," remarked Li.
	"Hey, I'll screen them for you," smirked the razor boy.
	Nekoko rose to slap the boy. Li grabbed her arm and forced
her back into her seat. "No, Nekoko, he's right. We're going to have to
screen all the vidchips. In the meantime, it might be good for you to go to
MTRW and ask around. Get out of Seattle for a while."
	"Something else is strange about your story," mused Running Wolf,
who had been listening carefully.
	"What?" asked Nekoko.
	"Kommodore didn't want anyone to survive this mission. He set off
the explosions early." Running Wolf said. "Hey what's that?"
	Nekoko picked up the card from the pile of chips. "A cash voucher."
	"Rad," whispered the razor boy.
	"Take the cash, get a flight, get out of here. We'll follow up
on the stuff you found today. Don't worry. Enjoy yourself," Li said.
	Nekoko pocketed the card. She got up and gathered her things.
	"Nekoko?" said Li.
	"Yes, Li-sama?"
	"Be discreet. Don't blow up the place."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hubert Bartels          INTERNET: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu
Optical Sciences Center VOICE:(602)-621-2032
University of Arizona   "To a WWWA trouble consultant, recklessness is
Tucson, AZ, USA 85721    a way of life"  Kei, Dirty Pair's Great Adventure

	Nekoko took the last set of stairs at a run, panting, stumbling.
At the top of the stairs, she saw that the train had just closed its doors.
She ran.  "Matte kudasai! Matte. Matte Shimatta! MATTE!" As she arrived at
the last car, the train began to humm and slowly pull away from the station
platform. Nekoko ran alongside the car, pounding on the doors to the
stare of the passengers inside. "Matte, Matteee...." The
train sped up and left Nekoko stumbling in disbelief. She stopped and
watched the train round the curve and disappear southwards. "Kuso!"
She began. Then, she cursed loudly, outrageously, screaming, swearing.
After a few moments of tumult, she was interrupted by a quiet comment
in Japanese from behind her.
	"Sugoi...."
	"Ara....." Nekoko turned to see an elderly Japanese gentleman standing
behind her. He was small, wizened, bald with only a few wisps of hair.
His dark eyes sparkled from their deep sockets, his mouth curved in a smile.
He may have been old, but he stood ramrod straight with a quiet dignity.
The old gentleman was dressed in an almost black suit, carefully fitted,
very correct. He carried a long umbrella, tightly coiled in one hand and
an oxblood leather briefcase in the other. He continued in his quiet Japanese,
"I had to come up and see. Miyamoto, I said to myself, someone is cursing
like a dockworker. I have not heard cursing like that since I left the Osaka
dockyards forty-two years ago."
	"I am very sorry for my rudeness.." She blushed. Her Japanese was
high-pitched, like a child.
	"No, no, no," the gentleman smiled. "But I would like to know where
you learned to curse like that. It was a masterful business."
	"My father was a teacher of Japanese in California. He taught his
only daughter all he had learned."
	"Your father instructed you well."
	 "Thank you." She told him her name. "But I am called 'Nekoko'"
	The old gentleman bowed slightly. "My name is Miyamoto Yoshiro, but
I am called 'Ojiisan' by my grandchildren." He smiled. "Choojo, is 'Nekoko',
a street name? Are you a street samurai?"
	Nekoko started to say something, but stopped herself. She thought for
a moment. After a while, she said, "No, I am a helicopter pilot. Nekoko is
my callsign on the comlink."
	Miyamoto looked at Nekoko's cat's ears, her slightly tipped cat's eyes
and answered, "'Cat-child' is appropriate, maybe, but I will call you Choojo,
eldest daughter. Come, keep an old man company. We have forty minutes before
the next train. I will tell you of myself and you can tell Grandfather why
missing a train is the cause of such magnificent cursing."
	Nekoko looked up from the old gentleman's face to see an empty
platform, swept by a chilling wind. A wall of clouds lay to the north, dark,
cold, threatening rain. She shivered. Miyamoto took her by the arm and led her
into the waiting room. After setting her at a table, he left her for a moment
and soon returned with two cups of tea in styroform cups.
	"What these people do to tea is criminal. But it is warm." He said.
	"Thank you." She took the cup in both hands, and sipped slowly.
"Miyamoto-san," she began.
	"Please call me Ojiisan like my grandchildren."
	"Ojiisan, where did you come from?"
	"Originally? I worked with Doctor Akechi in Osaka. After retiring,
I moved with my wife, Meiko, to New Gifu, in California. It was part of the
agreement we made with the zaibatsu's, that we would have a place to retire.
You know, Choojo, there are two million people in New Gifu? They built it and
the other cities for retirees. The zaibatsu did not see that people would
come to make New Gifu and the other cities into real Japanese cities."
	"Honto?" Nekoko asked.
	"Really, Choojo. We came to retire, others came to sell us things,
others came to build, repair, and finally live. Now, you can look around and
cannot tell that you are not in Japan. My wife, Meiko, says that it does not
feel like home, but she doesn't see that we could never live as well in
Japan. There would be no room for her teahouse in Japan. And I can get a
tee-off time without a long wait." He smiled and dropped the empty cup
in the trash.
	Behind him, through the windows of the waiting room, Nekoko could see
the clouds gathering, covering and uncovering the sun. The wind picked up.
To the north, the black wall of clouds advanced. The waiting room was warm.
Nekoko started to get sleepy.
	"Besides, the old woman is being foolish." Miyamoto continued. "All
of our children are here in America. Tetsuya is a lawyer in New York. Akemi
is married and lives near the Napa Valley and Nabiki, the youngest, is about
to start college.  That is why I was in Seattle. I visited the Dean of
Admissions of the University of Washington. Luckily, he spoke Japanese. All
civilized people should. I convinced him that Nabiki should be admitted this
winter. She is very much like you. You must meet her."
	Nekoko drained her cup. Outside, the clouds covered the sun. The
light turned dreary and grey. She looked up at the clock in the waiting
room. Miyamoto caught the direction of her gaze and said, "Yes, the train
will be here. We should go now." They stepped out of the warm waiting room
into a bitter biting wind. From the distance, they heard the bleat of the
train's horn. "It's pretty bad out here, isn't it?" Miyamoto remarked. Nekoko
nodded. The train approached and hissed to a stop before them. As the doors
opened, Miyamoto and Nekoko stepped on board. They moved down the car's
corridor and found an empty compartment. When they had settled down, Miyamoto
leaned forward and smiled at Nekoko. " Now, Choojo, tell me what was the
reason for your cursing." With a small lurch, the train began to move.

	She started to tell her story. She began with the charter flight to
the island, and finished with the head she had been given. She told of the
man in leathers, and his final question. "He asked me what I would do, when
I found out out who was behind all of this. I had no answer I could have given
him." She spoke of the accusations, the questions, the guilt, her doubt.
	Miyamoto did not speak; he just nodded at times, his eyes deep in
thought. When she had stopped, she looked up at him, through her eyelashes.
	"You have told me a dark tale, true, and I will have more to
say on it later. No. Not now." He thought for a moment. "Choojo. When you
get home, take a rucksack..."
	Nekoko looked up at him, puzzled.
	"Fill the rucksack with those items you need, if you had to leave
suddenly. Warm clothes. A knife, matches, such stuff, and keep it near you."
	"Wh-Why?" Nekoko started.
	"You now have a powerful enemy. You must prepare yourself. You may
have to leave your home suddenly."
	"ARES?"
	"Perhaps. It is hard to tell." He turned to look out the train window
at the gathering gloom. "You do not need to worry about the police."
	"But. But the press said..."
	"Choojo, the press says many things. They must say that the police
are looking for you. But the police have too many other problems. A murder
and an explosion is a small item in their day to day problems. Bounty hunters,
now..."
	"Bounty hunters?"
	"The police will wait for a bounty hunter to do their work. It is
easier for them." Miyamoto leaned back in his seat. "However, someone has to
put up the reward money first. You are safe until then."
	"When am I in danger?" Nekoko asked.
	"The street will tell you. Listen to your street samurai friends.
They will let you know if someone has placed a price on your head."
	Nekoko shivered.
	"But, come, tell me of other things, tell Ojiisan of your father, who
taught his eldest daughter to curse so well."
	Nekoko turned to the window, watching the houses and factories pass
in a blur. After a moment, she began to speak. "I was born in Sakumento,
the only child of my father and mother. When the Japanese empire took
economic control of the region, my father took Japanese citizenship,
changing our name. He had been a pilot, so I learned from him
what it is to fly." She turned back to Miyamoto. "When I was nine, my
mother went into the hospital to have another child. She never returned."
Nekoko dropped her eyes and sat quietly for a moment. "I entered boarding
school that year. Later, I applied at Yonhon-Hana as a pilot trainee."
	"Yonhon-Hana? That explains something that puzzled me. Go on."
	"The only openings were in the ESWAT division, the Extra Special
Weapons and Tactics division. After they accepted me, I underwent the surgery
that marked us as Yonhon-Hana samurai." She pointed to her eyes and tugged on
an ear.
	Miyamoto interrupted her. "Yes, I have heard this before. Go on."
	"Yonhon-Hana trains you for a while, equips you with the equipment
you might need and sends you to a Sprawl city, to learn to survive. They
think that those who learn the streets will be better ESWAT samurai." She
sighed.  "Before I left for Seattle, I visited my father. He had not seen me
after my surgery. He disowned me... He turned his back on me and left...
I still do not know why." A tear ran down Nekoko's cheek. "I write, but I
have never heard from him. I don't know if he reads my letters..." Miyamoto
reached into an inside pocket, pulled out a soft hankerchief and wiped her face.
Outside the train, the gloom deepened. Lights appeared and rushed past. A
station, bright lights, grey and empty, a moment in the compartment window,
and then gone.

	"Yes, I see.", Miyamoto started. "Choojo, you have been raised well.
However, I cannot see the samurai in you." 
	Nekoko looked up at him. Her ears stood up. "What?"
	"No, you were not meant to be a samurai. A pilot, yes, but
not a pilot carrying soldiers to die in some small unimportant action."
	Nekoko flicked her ears in bewilderment. "But. But..."
	"Choojo, the way of life you have seen, the streets, the people,
the Chatsubo may be doomed. They are like the masterless ronin at the beginning
of the Tokugawa period. Today, things are unsettled. There is chaos, unrest,
troubled times. Some companies thrive on unrest and trouble. Yonhon-Hana is one
of them. Others do not. The mega-corps are like the 'daimyo' of old. They
may decide that chaos and trouble costs them. They will try to reorganize
society.  Like Lord Tokugawa of old. Then, your Chatsubo, your Lady Li, and
all the others will be no more. Not right away. Maybe ten years, maybe more.
And the drones..."
	"Li-sama?"
	"Yes, even Li-sama. She has no patron, no mega-corp to help her."
	"The drones?" Nekoko asked.
	"I think I know what the drones are..." Miyamoto mused. "I think they
are supposed to be the new samurai of the mega-corps. They do not feel, they
cannot be corrupted. And they can be trusted."
	Nekoko shuddered.
	"Your future is not in Seattle, Choojo. Seattle is a Sprawl city.
There are many Sprawl cities, but the future is not in them. Seattle is dying.
Slowly. That's why you have your Chatsubos, your street samurai, your violence,
your death."
	Nekoko turned away, looking into her reflection in the darkened
compartment window. Houses rushed by, each lit with the flickering blue
of vidscreens.  Large rain drops started to splat against the window. They
rode in silence, listening to the rumble of the train. Miyamoto pointed to the
houses passing by.
	"They will not care if your friends disappear. They are cattle,
herdbeasts. It may sound fascist to say that, but they are. Because they
did it to themselves. No one enslaved them to the vidscreens, to cheap
entertainment and cheap alcohol, they did it to themselves. You read, right?"
	Nekoko nodded.
	"Most of those out there," pointing to the rows of houses, "are 
illiterate. And it does not bother them. Their parents and grandparents did
not read. Choojo, most all the students at the University of Washington are
from Japan, California and other countries. The cattle out there, they don't
care. They will just as happy with the drones as with the police they have
now. They might not even notice the change. If it does not interfere with the
evening's sports schedule."

	"Ojiisan, what did you mean, that being in Yonhon-Hana explained
something that puzzled you?"
	"I wondered why the killer drone spared you on the island."
	"I had thought it was my trick at first..." Nekoko said.
	"No, it was not your trick. Nor your body. ARES, if it was ARES, knew
that with your eyes and ears, you could have been a Yonhon-Hana samurai. They
could not kill you without endangering themselves in a war with another
mega-corp. Your ears and eyes saved you, Choojo."
	"But someone sent a team of mercenaries after me, Ojiisan."
	"True. I am guessing now. ARES has not heard from your mega-corp.
Yonhon-Hana would have protested if you were a regular samurai. So, now ARES
assumes you are just another girl with cat's eyes and ears. There are many
out there..."

	Large dark raindrops beaded up on the compartment window. The lights of
the city were veiled behind sheets of water. An empty station flashed by, cold
fluorescent blubs, puddles, lit signs, and then darkness again.
	"Ojiisan, what should I do..." She asked. She turned and looked out
the compartment window at her reflection again.
	They sat in silence for several minutes.
	"No, not now. Later..., Choojo ," Miyamoto started. He was
interrupted by the announcement of Nekoko's stop. "Your stop will come in
moments. I do not think we have enough time to talk tonight. Choojo, you
must come visit us." He reached into an inside pocket. Nekoko was awake enough
to start searching in her waistpouch for a clean meishi. When Miyamoto pulled
his business card out, she was able to respond with her own, somewhat
bedraggled business card. She took his card and looked at it. Her eyes widened
and she looked up.
	"Come to New Gifu. Doctor Akechi and I will be able to answer some of
your questions. We will discuss the drones with him." He smiled. "Next Thursday
at three? Nabiki will be there. You will like her. Good. I assume you have a
kimono? Bring it. Meiko likes to be formal for company." 

	She got up slowly, moved to the door of the compartment, turned and
said, "Ja-mata ne."
	"Saynoora."
	Nekoko descended from the train, stepped into a cold rain. Behind her,
the train started, hummed, and rolled into the dark, a row of brightly lit
rectangles. She glimpsed Miyamoto's face in a window, smiling. Then
she ran for shelter and home.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hubert Bartels          INTERNET: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu
Optical Sciences Center VOICE:(602)-621-2032
University of Arizona   "To a WWWA trouble consultant, recklessness is
Tucson, AZ, USA 85721    a way of life"  Kei, Dirty Pair's Great Adventure

	Nekoko lay in her futon, staring at the ceiling. She was tired, the
day had been long and disturbing. The killing at BUXOM BABES, the escape
from the mercenaries, the trip home, the head in the box, the talk with
Miyamoto Yoshiro. Her body was tired, her mind wide awake. She fingered the
strap of the rucksack next to her. As soon she had arrived at the apartment,
she had taken the rucksack out of the closet and loaded it with clothes,
supplies, and anything she might need if she had to leave home suddenly.
The H&K 227 was broken down and slipped amoung her clothes in the pack. Thinking
of Miyamoto's invitation, Nekoko had taken her kimono out of the closet,
wrapped it carefully, and added it to the things to pack. A pair of tabi, a
obi and a pair of sandals had finished the packing.  
	She raised her head from the pillow and looked around. The apartment
was silent except for the ticking of the kitchen clock. Outside, the rain
continued. Nekoko's apartment was large for Seattle, a living room in which
she spread her futon at night, a small kitchen, seperated from the living room
by short curtains, and finally, a bathroom. The apartment was cheap. It was
under the final flight path to SEA-TAC. Nekoko usually was woken by the
sound of the morning flight from Osaka. The apartment was almost empty of
furniture; a chair, a low table, and a pair of bookcases filled with tattered
manga was all.
	Her motorcycle stood near the door. Even in the highly patroled 
neighborhood near the airport, theft was always a danger. Nekoko had been
lucky to find a ground level apartment with an outside door. She stared at
the Yamaha. In several days, she would be leaving her home, possibly
never to return. Nekoko turned over and laid her head on the pillow. Her
hand reached underneath and felt the weight of her pistol, close at hand.

	The room filled with the fragrance of perfume. Nekoko sat up. It was
a scent she remembered well. While she was in training, she had purchased a
small expensive bottle of the same perfume on a trip to San Francisco. Her
Sensei made her pour it out. 'Pour it out, the scent will give you away.'
She had cried afterwards, but Sensei's words still stayed with her; she never
worn perfume since.
	Nekoko pulled the rucksack into the futon with her, molded the 
blankets over the form, rolled away from the mattress, and crawled into the
kitchen. Her pistol was in her hand.
	The lock on the door clicked softly. Someone pushed the door open
slowly.
	Nekoko stood up, leaned against the kitchen wall, her back towards
the living room, her pistol in both hands upright, safety off. She heard quiet 
footsteps towards the futon.
	There were two spitting sounds. Nekoko held her breath. Footsteps
running toward the door. The door being slammed shut.
	Nekoko leaned around the kitchen wall. Silence. The kitchen clock
ticked.  Underlying the smell of perfume, there was the smell of gunpowder.
A slow step around the wall, the gun at ready. Nothing.
	She flicked the safety on, put down the gun and checked the futon.
There were two holes in the blanket, in the futon mattress, and two holes
in the rucksack. Quickly untieing the rucksack, Nekoko found the bullets
had holed a sweater, three shirts, and were resting in her campgear. She
swore softly. Tomorrow, she would cash the voucher, clean out her account
at Dai-Mittsu International, and ride her motorcycle to California. 
	After relocking the door, Nekoko tried again to get some sleep. She
considered the chances small that the killer would come back. After all, 
wasn't she already dead?

	The jet came in, screaming, turbines at full power. Nekoko could
hear the engines through the pillow she had pulled over her head. She sat
up, threw the pillow at the wall and swore loudly. The words could not be
heard over the sound of the 6:30 AM flight from Osaka.
	After washing up, completing the packing, and breakfast, she put
her motorcycle leathers on, and picked up her helmet. She carefully slipped
the helmet on, fitting her cat ears into the holes in the padding. With a final
look around, she wheeled the motorcycle out on the street.
	Last night's rain had stopped, but the street was still covered with
water. The clouds overhead were low, heavy, giving everything a grey washed
out look.
	Nekoko strapped the rucksack to the passenger pillion, mounted the
Yamaha, and rode into Seattle. On a quiet suburban street, she pulled into
the local Dai-Mittsu branch. Nekoko pulled off her helmet, walked into the
bank and sat down at the automatic teller. Tapping the attention key, she
fed the cash voucher into the deposit slot. The teller machine hummed for
a moment, then spewed 175 nuyen into the cash tray.
	"What!" She typed quickly on the keyboard. The teller machine displayed
the title 'Cash voucher - Coffee reimbursement'.
	"Damn it, a petty cash voucher. Ok, lets see what we have in my 
account. Should be enough for a ticket to Europe." Nekoko muttered to herself.
	She cleared the screen, started to type in a withdrawl. She stopped
suddenly and stared at the display. 'Account temporarily unavailable - Contact
Local Police for information.'
	"Shimatta!"
	"Can we be of service?" asked a voice over her shoulder. Nekoko cleared
the screen and turned her head. She saw a bank guard, hefty and armed, smiling
at her.
	"Gomen," she smiled. "A check I didn't cover. Sorry." She hoped the
guard would go away. "I'll transfer something to cover it later."
	"We can help you with your budgeting, Dai-Mittsu is holding classes
in household finance on Mondays. We can show you how to avoid overdrafts."
	"Yes, yes, yes," Nekoko stuttered. She swept the 175 nuyen into her
pouch and almost ran outside.
	
	"Now what?" Nekoko asked herself. She started back to the apartment.
She was approaching the turn into her street when she was passed by a police
panzer, doing twice her speed. She slowed down. The ground effects vehicle,
sirens running, lights flashing, turned into her street and slid to a stop
in front of her apartment. Nekoko continued to slow as the panzer disgorged
a crack SWAT team. As she continued past her street, the crack SWAT team had
already blown her apartment's door in. Nekoko quickly twisted the throttle,
and disappeared.

	Her motorcycle's lights reflected from the puddles in the alley
behind the Chatsubo. She rode carefully now, her pistol tucked on the fuel
tank. Nekoko stopped at each narrowing of the alley, her eyes looking for
the chances of an ambush. Once, she had yelled at children rooting in a
dumpster, stopping her motorcycle and aiming the pistol at them. They moved
away from the garbage, their dirt-caked faces twisted in anger. She knew that
no one in the alleys of Seattle was harmless, that even these children might
pull her down, kill her and sell her corpse to the body-clinics.
	She stopped the motorcycle again. An overhead bridge did not feel
right. Rusted, decrepit, it provided enough cover for an attack. She pulled
the pistol from the fuel tank, sighted on a corroded girder and fired. The
explosion was muted in the fetid air, the bullet bounced around the bridge.
She heard the sound of running footsteps above her, then silence. She rode
on.
	Nekoko stopped again. A corpse blocked the alley. It had been there
a while, too long for the body clinics. She ran a quick glance around her,
checking for hidden killers. As she walked her motorcycle over the corpse's
arm, the stench made her gag.
	The backside of the Chatsubo was a little cleaner, better lit. The
dumpster alongside the backdoor only smelled putrid. She stepped off her
motorcycle and banged on the back door.
	"Hoi, Ratz, open up. It's Nekoko." She yelled. She hoped that her
call would not call the killers of the alley to her.
	"Hey, Ratz, come on." She could not hear anything inside. Behind her,
something stirred in the heaps of rags and trash.
	"Ratzzzzzzz....."
	There were eyes now. She could see them reflecting the overhead light.
She pulled the H&K 227 out of the rucksack on the motorcycle and started to
thread the stock onto the rear of the submachinegun.
	"Damn it, Ratz, where are you?"
	More eyes now. She clipped the magazine onto the bottom of the H&K 227.
In the mist and darkness, Nekoko could not tell if the eyes were human or not.
	"Ratz, you sorry SOB, I need you..." She used the stock of the H&K 227
to bang on the door. Rustling now, and the sound of feet sliding across the
wet concrete. She put her back against the door, held the H&K 227 at ready,
and flicked on the laser sight. A thin red line sprung down the misty alley.
	"Ratzzzzzzzz"
	A sudden shout and the eyes started to approach. Nekoko pointed the
muzzle over the eyes and pulled the trigger. The H&K 227 spat yellow fire over
the alley, the sound crashing around and around. Cartridges rained around her
feet. She stopped, tipped the muzzle up and watched the eyes disappear into the
blackness.
	A voice from behind her, a rattling at the backdoor. "Hey, what do
you think you are doing?"
	"Ratz, open up, it's Nekoko."
	"Nekoko, what the hell are you doing, firing that thing?"
	"Ratz, open up, there's something out here."
	The door finally opened. Nekoko looked over her shoulder to see the
familiar ugly face of the bartender. "What's that? Oh, the children. Come
in then. Leave them alone," he said.
	"Ah....." Nekoko looked back into the alley to see the eyes reflected
in the light again. "Better bring my motorcycle in too."
	"Yep, they'd strip and sell it in a minute. Never have to pay someone
to take my garbage. They'll clean it out as soon as I dump it." Ratz chuckled.
Once inside, he turned to Nekoko. "So, what are you doing out there?"
	Nekoko leaned against the discolored wall and told him of the attack
on her, the police at her apartment, and the sequestering of her account. "So,
Ratz, I'm broke, I'm hunted by the police, and have no place to stay."
	Ratz turned away from her. Shouts for more beer were coming down the
narrow hallway. "Damn it, busy all the time now."
	"Ratz, I could work for you. I could be a barmaid. It would only be
for a few days. I have someone to help me after Thursday. All I ask is a
place to stay, away from what is... outside." She clasped her hands, and
gave a small trembling smile.
	"Well..." Ratz was doubtful.
	"Please? I'll work hard. I have no other place to go..."
	More calls for beer from down the hall. Ratz stepped back towards the
bar, then stopped. "Alright, for a few days. You'll be sleeping in the
stockroom, washing up in the bathroom. Get yourself settled in, then come on
down and I'll tell you what to do." He rushed back to his bar.
	Nekoko thought of the bathroom and shuddered. Then she felt the
warmth of the H&K 227, and remembered the eyes outside, behind the heavy metal
door. She climbed the stairs to the stockroom.

	Moving around a few cases of Suntory, she made a flat space for a
bed. Several unrolled layers of bubble wrap made a mattress and her extra
clothes a blanket. She pulled off the motorcycle leathers, put on a pair
of jeans and one of the shirts with a bullet hole in it. Her expensive
armored jacket almost covered the hole. She descended the stairs and went
down the hall to the bar. Ratz waved her over and gave her an apron, a 
serving tray and a few extra nuyen for change. All Nekoko had to do was
take orders and deliver the wet stuff. "Simple enough, right?" he asked.
	She nodded. "What about tips?"
	"Tips? You think you're gonna get tips in here?" Ratz started to laugh
uncontrollably. Gasping for air, he leaned against the bar for support.
Finally, he pushed her into the crowd and returned behind the bar. "Tips.
What a concept..."

	Hours passed. The crowd shrunk. Nekoko thought they were more
quiet than usual. She expected more come-ons, more butt-pinching but these
crowd had other things on their mind. They drank heavily and talked of combat,
death and changing times. Nekoko only had one hardcase, a young boy with
cyber-eyes, augmented reflexes, red leather, shaved head. He would have been
faster, had he not been drinking. "Hey Kitty. Meow." Nekoko tried to ignore
him. "Here Kitty, here kitty." She walked past him. He stood up. "Are you
ready for a Real Tomcat?" Nekoko kneed him in the groin and poleaxed him with
the edge of the serving tray. He slid towards the floor, face down. Nekoko
did not expect a tip afterwards. 
	
	At the end of the evening, Nekoko could barely stand. She staggered
upstairs and flung herself, face first, on her makeshift mattress. Ratz
followed her up the stairs and smiled. "Ya done good, Nekoko. We start at
9:00. There's cleaning up, glass washing and sweeping to do. See you then."
He turned, switched off the light and went down the stairs. Nekoko groaned.
She turned over and stared into the darkness. A few more days. Outside, there
was a scream, suddenly cut off. Nekoko shuddered and burrowed herself deeper
into the makeshift bed.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hubert Bartels          INTERNET: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu
Optical Sciences Center VOICE:(602)-621-2032
University of Arizona   "To a WWWA trouble consultant, recklessness is
Tucson, AZ, USA 85721    a way of life"  Kei, Dirty Pair's Great Adventure

	Nekoko made her her third trip to the bar in five minutes. The
Chatsubo was crowded, more crowded than usual. The noise of the crowd was
muted, faint.  She turned away from the bar with a loaded serving tray and
walked towards the next table. The crowd noise faded away. She could see
people drinking, talking, argueing, in silence. She stopped at the table,
reached for the first bottle, and the people at the table faded away. She
looked up and the bar was deserted. Smoke curled from cigarette ashtrays,
bubbles rose in beer, but the bar was empty. She dropped the tray. There was
no noise when the glass hit the floor. She turned and stared at the front door.
	The front door blew in. Nekoko watched a dark form shape itself in
the smoky shattered doorway. With jerky abrupt motions, the blood-red horror
stepped through the wreckage of the door. Nekoko froze in place. Balancing
on six thin legs was a large metal skull. From the empty eyesockets, dark
red lights glowed. Another pair of legs carried chain guns. The skull rotated
to face her, then spun up its chain guns. Nekoko saw flashes and smoke from
the guns. The bullets tore across her chest, opening her body, cutting her to
pieces.
	"Waaaaaaaaaa." Nekoko woke from her nightmare. She breathed deeply,
quickly, reminding herself she was still alive. She sat up. The stockroom
was quiet, only the sound of the rats in the walls. She put a hand to her
breasts, feeling the rise and fall of her chest. Blood pounded in her head.
She lay down again, rolled over and studied the cases of gin in front of her.

	Nekoko came down the stairs early, dressed in her bodysuit, her skirt
with the intertwined four flowers pattern and slip-on shoes. Ratz and a woman
were standing at the bar, going over the inventory sheets. The woman was in her
late forties, hard, muscular, with hard eyes. She was neatly dressed in white
jacket, white jeans, gray boots. As she spoke, Nekoko watched the woman's
fingers stab at the inventory sheets, her voice low and determined.  The woman
turned to look at Nekoko. "Who's this?"
	Ratz waved Nekoko into the room. "Nekoko, this is Darla Sung. Darla
does the cooking and helps me with the bar on weekends. Darla, this is Nekoko.
Nekoko is helping us in exchange for a room upstairs."
	"Ohayo gozaimasu," Nekoko said.
	Darla's eyes narrowed. "You know how to wash dishes? There's a pile
in the sink. Dish towels under the sink. Hop to it, girl."
	Nekoko slipped under the curtains and stepped into a old but clean
kitchen. Sighing at the size of the pile of dishes, she slipped the first
plate into the hot soapy water.

	"Done?" Darla asked as she entered the kitchen several hours later.
Nekoko sighed again and pointed to the stacks of clean kitchen ware. "Good.
You can go to the bar and help Ratz set up for opening. I'll need you later
to wash up again." Nekoko's ears drooped. "Hop to it, girl."
	In the bar, Ratz handed her a broom and told her to sweep up. As 
Nekoko piled the broken glass, scraps of paper and other trash into a bucket,
several women and a single man entered the bar. Ratz waved hello and continued
to wash glasses. The women scattered around the bar and began to preen
themselves, touching up makeup, adjusting low cut dresses, combing hair. In
the corner, leaning on the broom, Nekoko stared.
	The man and Ratz were talking in low tones near the bar. Finally, Ratz
called Nekoko over and asked her to come closer.
	"Nekoko, this is Lonny Zone."
	"Hi" Nekoko said as she walked across the bar. The other women giggled.
Lonny waved her over, a slow and lazy motion. He showed signs of hypnotic
addiction on his long and placid face. Zone's eyes were glazed, showing almost
no white, his pupils large and dilated. He spoke slowly, as if in a dream.
	"Hey girl... You in the biz...? You working... here."
	Nekoko was puzzled. "What?"
	"This... this is my bar... Ratz gets... a percentage."
	Nekoko turned to Ratz. "I don't understand. Biz? Dealing?"
	"Zone, she's not that way. You needn't bother yourself." Ratz said.
	Lonny pulled a thin glass ampule from his jacket. "Wanna hit? You...
can stare at your big toe for... ten hours. And never... get bored." He broke
off the neck of the ampule and sniffed the contents.
	"No, no, no..." Nekoko shook her head.
	"Nekoko, Lonny has been telling me there might be trouble tonight. 
There's something going on out there. He doesn't know what it is. But people
are scared." Ratz said. "Listen, Nekoko, go down to Madame Fontaine's, and
get several boxes of plastic bullets. Get... oh, a hundred rounds, loaded in
clips for your H & K."
	"But I already have ammunition for the H & K." Nekoko protested.
	"Yeah, those steel-clads'll go right through the wall. Get the
plastics. Here." Ratz dropped 100 nuyen into Nekoko's hand. "Take a few hours
off. Take oh, take Denise with you," pointing out a girl sitting at a far
table. "She knows where Fontaine's is."
	Nekoko looked up at a young girl, short, voluptuous, blonde, with
a broad good-natured face. Denise, dressed in a tight sleeveless T-shirt,
tattered cutoff jeans, and tall shiny vinyl boots was staring into a vidplayer.
From the vidplayer came the babel of a laugh track.
	"Hey, Denise, take this razorgirl wannabe and show her where Fontaine's
is, OK?" Ratz shouted.
	Denise nodded. She put down the vidplayer and walked over to the bar.
"Hi, you ready to go?"
	Nekoko nodded and headed for the door.

	They pushed their way through the crowds, getting stepped on, pinched,
and shoved. Nekoko and Denise sidestepped the mats and stalls of the street
vendors, walked around the street samurai, stepped over the drunks in the way.
A demented man lay in the gutter, stretched out on his back, shouting at some
unseen personal demon. Denise averted her eyes and walked past. Nekoko hurried
up and asked, "Why doesn't someone do something?"
	"It's no good. If he can't hide somewhere by night, the ghouls'll get
him."
	"Ghouls?" Nekoko asked.
	Denise turned her good-natured face to Nekoko. In her eyes, tears
glittered. "Where've ya been? Dontcha know? In the Sprawl, anyone who can't
protect themselves gets taken by the ghouls. They'll kill ya to sell your body
to the body clinics." She walked faster. Nekoko almost ran to keep up with her.
	Nekoko told Denise about the eyes in the alley. "But I didn't know
they were called ghouls."
	"Ghouls, yeah. That's why I'm with Lonny. If'n ya can't protect 
yourself, ya gotta find someone. Or you die." Denise wiped her face with the
back of her hand. "You a razor girl?"
	"No, I'm... no, I was a helicopter pilot. Now I'm just a barmaid."
	"Ain't gonna live long with that attitude. I've seen them come and
go." Denise stepped around a soba stall. Nekoko stumbled into the stall and
backed away to the curses of the stall's owner. When Nekoko had caught up 
with Denise, they stood at the street corner, waiting for the light to change.
	"Attitude? What does attitude have to do with living?" Nekoko asked.
	"It's everythin'. Look at yourself. You have to push people out of
the way, right? With the right outfit, the right attitude, they'll step out
of your way. They'll stay away."
	"No way." Nekoko snorted. The light changed and they started across
the street. "Attitude and outfit have nothing to do with it."
	"I betcha. Lemme pick somethin' out at Madame Fontaine's. You watch.
I'll show you.  They'll jump into the street to get out of your way."
	"Denise, you're on. Loser buys lunch." Nekoko said. They continued
down the sidewalk, passing a woman sprawled in a doorway, filthy, clutching a
empty bottle of liquor. A few coins were scattered at the woman's feet.
	"Another walking corpse," Denise said sadly.
	As they stopped in front of an old decrepit warehouse, Nekoko asked,
"By the way, Denise, how old are you?"
	"Don't know. Someone said I was sixteen, so I guess I'm sixteen.
Madam Fontaine's," she said, pointing to the door.
	Nekoko said nothing, opened the door to the warehouse and entered.

	Broad alleys inside the warehouse led to a small office near the
center. On all sides, boxes of tools, parts, clothing, machinery, and junk
were stacked to the ceiling. Many had thick coatings of dust, other boxes
had decayed, spilling their contents onto the floor. Denise knocked at the
door of the office.
	"Hey, Madame Fontaine, it's Denise. Gotta customer here."
	"Bon jour," came a voice from inside the office. "Entree, mes amie."
	Nekoko and Denise walked through the office door. Inside, a very fat
woman sat, fanning herself with a piece of plastic, watching the vidscreen
on the wall. A desk and a large mirror completed the furnishings. Madame
Fontaine looked at Nekoko, then at Denise, then at the vidscreen again.
	"Madame Fontiane, we need a few clothes, and..." Denise started.
	"A hundred rounds of plastic bullets for an H & K. 9 mm in clips
of 20." Nekoko finished.
	"Go and look around," Madame Fontaine said. "When you come back,
I'll have the ammo. Got some upfront money?" She never looked away from the
vidscreen.
	"Give her the money that Ratz gave ya. You can trust her." Denise
said softly. Nekoko dropped the 100 nuyen on the small desk next to the 
vidscreen. The two women stepped back outside.
	"Ok, first, we'll need some unitards. They're over here." Denise
ran down a dark alley. Nekoko looked around, then followed.

	An hour later, the two women sorted through their finds. A golden
unitard. A dark gray rigid armor vest, with hard shoulder epaulets, a
pair of fingerless gloves with spiked backs. Two dark gray ammo belts. A
pair of gray hard boots, knee high with knife sheaths, with attached knives.
	Nekoko looked at the small pile. "I can't wear that! The cops
would be on me in a moment. It's all threats..."
	"Uhm, forgot the long coat. There's a long grey coat that should
fit all this. You want to keep it open to just suggest what's underneath."
	"Besides, that unitard is... sorta revealing."
	"Here, use this." Denise pulled a fat cloth belt out of the pile.
Matching in color with the unitard, the belt had an smiling sun embroidered
on its front and two lengths of cloth mounted front and back. "Goes with the
outfit. A little modesty, yeah. It's like a highly slit dress, right."
	"I don't know, Denise..."
	"While you change, I'll go get the ammo. Let's see what Madame
Fontaine has to say."

	Nekoko slipped into the unitard, buckled the belt around her stomach,
putting the cloth front and back. She put on the armor vest, wondering at the
weight. The boots, the ammo belt and gloves completed her dressing. She
gathered her old clothes and stepped into the office. As she entered, she
caught sight of herself in the mirror. Nekoko jumped back, then studied her
reflection. With her cat ears, her cat eyes, the new outfit gave her her a
deadly aspect. Denise turned and slipped a long grey coat over Nekoko's back.
	"How's that. You look pretty good. Watch what happens on the street."
Denise giggled. "Besides, you can hide your H & K in your coat now."
	Nekoko turned back to the mirror. She tried a pose, then another pose.
She smiled, then turned to Madame Fontaine, who had been watching Nekoko, "How
much for the outfit? I don't have much."
	Madame Fontaine thought for a moment, then said, "Ah, you like the
outfit? You look like it was designed for you. I'll make you a good price. 100
nuyen."
	Denise laughed. "No way, too much. Nekoko, give her 50 nuyen."
	"75 nuyen, and that's it. It'll break my heart." Madam Fontiane said.
	"Denise..." Nekoko started.
	"60 nuyen. I know how long it's been here..." Denise said.
	"Ah, the young people today. Very well." Madame Fontaine sighed.
	Nekoko paid Madame Fontaine out of her meager savings, gathered the
clips of ammo and filled the pockets of the long grey coat. As she turned to
go, her foot kicked a small box out onto the floor. The box turned over,
spilling several brightly bound manga onto the floor.
	"What's this? Where did you get these?" Nekoko asked as she knelt
to examine the contents of the box. Denise looked over Nekoko's shoulder,
puzzled.
	"Oh, those. Someone sold them to me. No market for the stuff. Small
black and white drawings with chicken scratches markings. Why would anyone make 
something like that?" Madame Fontiane was turning back to the vidscreen.
	"I'll give you 2 nuyen for the box." Nekoko shouted.
	"Done."
	Nekoko dropped the 2 nuyen coins on the desk, gathered the manga off
the floor and left the office. She piled her old clothes on top of the box,
picked it up, and walked to the warehouse door. Denise hurried after her.
	"Nekoko, why do you want those things?"
	"I'll show you later."
	Denise stopped at the warehouse door. "Stop, Nekoko. There is one more
thing I need to tell you before you go out there. True, you look like one
tough razorgirl. You've got the armor, the gloves, the boots. But the attitude.
Without it, you'll always be a wannabe. You gotta walk like you are death
itself. You gotta act like you know what's happening, but ya don't care. You
must never flinch, 'cause if they see you flinch, they'll blow you away. You
got that?  Oh, and you betta give me your old clothes and that box."
	Nekoko turned and gave her the pile of clothes and the box of manga.
	"Ready?" Denise asked.
	Nekoko nodded and the two women stepped back onto the street.

	As Nekoko strode along, she noticed that Denise had fallen behind,
walking behind her by two strides. She stopped suddenly, and turned to Denise.
	"Why are you back there?"
	"No, Nekoko, don't look back here. Street samurai have nothing to
do with whores. Keep going. Go!" Denise sounded nervous.
	Nekoko turned back and continued. She noticed that people started to
watch her, then move slowly out of her way. It gave her a warm feeling. She
walked alittle faster, the flaps of the grey coat flying behind her, revealing
the unitard, the boots with the knives, the ammo belts, the belt with the
smiling sun. The crowds parted as if by magic, people taking a step or a jump
to get out of her way. Nekoko smiled at first, then laughed.  Around her, the
people stopped and waited to see what the crazy street samurai in the cat ears
and long grey coat would do.

	Entering the bar, Nekoko waited a moment for Denise to follow, then
turned to see what Ratz's reaction would be. Ratz stared at her slowly for a
moment, then smiled. "I approve. That outfit'll help if we have problems."
Darla stepped out of the kitchen, scowled and vanished. Nekoko laughed.
	"Ah, Nekoko, that was fun. Did you see that fat man jump?" Denise
was behind her, laughing. "You owe me lunch, right?"
	"Hey, Darla, can you bring us lunch? I'm buying." Nekoko shouted.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hubert Bartels          INTERNET: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu
Optical Sciences Center VOICE:(602)-621-2032
University of Arizona   "To a WWWA trouble consultant, recklessness is
Tucson, AZ, USA 85721    a way of life"  Kei, Dirty Pair's Great Adventure

	Nekoko leaned back in her chair and placed the hashi across the empty
plate. That had been a good bento, with the gyoza just right. She looked up
at Denise, who was still struggling with the long soba noodles. The box with
the manga sat at Nekoko's side. She reached over and sorted through the box's
contents. 
	"'Ranma 1/2', by Rumiko Takahashi, several volumes. 'Dominion' by
Masamune Shirow, 'Outlanders' by Joji Manabe. Sutekii!"
	Denise looked up from her plate and dropped her fork. "What's those?"
	"I had to leave my manga, my comics, behind when the police raided my
apartment. Now I'll have something to read at night."
	"Read? Is that what you do with those?"
	"Hai, I've been reading them since I was a young girl at school. Want
to see?" Nekoko pulled one of the 'Ranma 1/2' out of the box and pushed it
across the table.
	Denise reached out and pulled the thin volume closer. She turned it up,
around, upside-down. "Where's the on switch?"
	Nekoko started. Her eyes got real large, her ears stood up. "On-switch?
There's no on-switch. It's not a vidplayer." She took the 'Ranma 1/2' back and
flipped it to the front. "You open it here, and start here, read to the left,
down these columns of text. Then you go to the next box. Simple?"
	"Uh... what's these markings?" Denise put her finger on one of the
pages.
	"Let's see now," Nekoko mused. "You read it like this. That's 'ka', 
then 'wa' then a pair of 'i's. So that word is 'kawaii', cute. Next column,
that's 'ko', child, like part of my name. The symbol that looks like a little
man, with a tic in the upper right corner, that's 'inu '. So, 'child-dog' or
puppy. The final character just means this is being exclaimed, like a shout."
	"What's it saying, then..."
	"So, it reads 'Cute puppies!'." Nekoko answered.
	"Too much work. I'll stick to my vidplayer. It just tells me 'Cute
puppies!' instead of making me do all the work." Denise said.
	"But, it's important to know how to read..."
	"I'm sixteen, and I ain't met no one who can read, other than you and
perhaps, Mr. Ratz. I don't need to know. I got me a life." Denise turned away
and pulled out her vidplayer. The vidplayer began its cacophony of cheap
laughter.
	Ratz had been listening to the talk between Nekoko and Denise. "Nekoko,
there is nothing you can say," Ratz began, "I can do figures and do some
reading, but not much. There's probably 5 out of 100 people out there who can
read, and less who want to. There's no need anymore. The computers just tell
you if you need something looked up."
	"But Ratz, what if what you are looking for isn't in the computer?"
	"It must not be very important then." Ratz laughed.
	Nekoko said nothing. She wondered who decided what was important and
what wasn't. She gathered her manga into the box, picked up the plates and
started for the kitchen. As she passed the bar, the telecom started ringing.
Nekoko struggled with her load, finally dropped it on the bar, and answered
the call. She spoke shortly with Viadd, pulled a data cartridge from
underneath the bar and slotted it for downloading. When Viadd rang off, she
dropped the data cartridge on the bar, marked with a note, 'For Tracker or
Argent'. Then she started again for the kitchen.
	
	Nekoko ducked under the curtains seperating the kitchen from the bar.
Steam rose from rice cookers, blue flames flickered under pots, grease sizzled
on the hot plate. Darla stood at a wooden table in the center of the kitchen,
busy with a long knife. Darla turned from the vegetables she had been cutting
and pointed the knife at Nekoko.
	"So now you're a real razorgirl." Darla began. "Did you enjoy watching
the people step out of your way? Was it fun? Freaking the mundanes?"
	"Eh..." Nekoko started. She walked closer to the wooden table. 
	"It was fun, wasn't it. But you were lucky. Girl, you might have the
look, with that outfit of yours, the cat ears, the cat eyes, but never forget,
you're just a cat in wolf's clothing."
	"Uh?"
	Darla put the knife on the wooden table top. She stepped over to the
stove and stirred the bubbling pot. "You aren't really a street samurai, 
are you?"
	"No, I'm a pilot, a helicopter pilot with some fighting skills..."
Nekoko answered. She unzipped the velcro on her spiked gloves, pulled them off
and dropped them on the chair next to the wooden table.
	"But those skills aren't enough to make it on the street. So, girl,
be careful. Be careful. Don't get talked into any shadowruns."
	Nekoko slipped off the long coat and draped it over the chair's back.
"I plan to be out of the Sprawl on Thursday. I don't think anything can happen
until then." She stretched under the armor vest and scratched her left ear.
	Darla returned to the table. "This morning, I thought you might be
one of Lonny's shanks. Then I saw your skirt. That's the Yonhon-Hana crest,
the four intertwined flowers, in your pattern, isn't it."
	Nekoko nodded.
	"With those cat ears and cat eyes, you must be one of Yonhon-Hana's
ronin girls, out on training."
	Nekoko nodded again. "Hai..."
	Darla picked up a pot of peeled sweet potatoes and put it on the table.
	"OK, ronin girl in training, practice cutting up these sweet potatoes"
	Nekoko took the knife from Darla, placed the first potato in front
of her and started chopping. Darla thought for a moment.
	"Speaking of shadowruns, I wanted to warn you about Denise."
	Chop. Chop. Chop. Nekoko looked up. "Uh?"
	"I don't know what her game is, but watch out for her."
	Chop. Chop. "How does she know so much about street samurai?" Chop.
	"Her older brother was a street tough. Got hired for a bit of nasty
biz. She adored him, so she followed him secretly. The deal went bad."
	Chop. Chop. "So?" Nekoko asked.  Chop. Chop.
	"The others in the biz ran. Left him wounded badly. Denise saw it.
Ran to get help. Returned to find her brother dead. Ghouls had removed heart,
lungs and pancreas. He was too big to move. Else they'd taken the body."
	Chop. Chop. "OWWW!" Nekoko shouted. "Cut myself." She put her finger
in her mouth.  
	"Denise swore revenge on the other shadowrunners. She wants someone to
kill those who left her brother behind. You keep this in mind, ronin girl."
	Nekoko, finger in her mouth, nodded.
	Darla took the knife from Nekoko and continued to slice. Nekoko stepped
away and turned to sit down in the chair.
	"Ow!"
	"Now what?"
	"I just tried to sit on my spiked gloves," answered Nekoko, rubbing her
butt. She picked up the gloves and put them into the pockets of the coat. "I'd
better go help Ratz before I kill myself in here." She picked up the coat.
	As Nekoko passed under the curtains, she heard Darla's voice. "Don't
forget, ronin girl, a cat in wolf's clothing..."
	
	That night, the crowd was made of equal parts. Street samurai, varied
in looks, dress, attitude. Corporate samurai, swaggering, loose jackets with
company logos, alike in their arrogance. And finally, the sararimen, neat and
tidy in their black suits, small company pins, wishing they had gone home
instead. Nekoko was still dressed in armor vest, unitards, and long coat, the
coat tightly buttoned. At Ratz's insistence, the H & K nestled against her
back, poking her in the neck every time she straightened out. Nekoko thought
it awkward, but she watched Ratz stay close to the scattergun under the bar.
	Another round of Sapporo beer to the table at the back. Nekoko caught
hints of conversation, suggestions that the corporate soldiers were worried
about their future. 
	"...So I says, 'Tadaka-san, when can I have my next reflex upgrade?' And
he says, 'maybe you should wait.' Wait? It's not his butt out here on the
streets, protecting Fukara property..."
	Nekoko reached for the empties. Another samurai with the dragon logo
of Dai-Ryuu spoke. "Same here. We're cutting back as well. No replacements,
no trainees, no additional expenditures. Anyone know what's going down?"
	As Nekoko turned away, another muttered. "Probably, they'll go out
to the streets and subcontract security work. Damn street rats..."
	Nekoko was returning to the bar with the empties when she caught 
sight of Denise. Denise was talking to a tall gaunt street tough, tattered
leather jacket, twin spiked mohawks and small pig eyes. They sat in a booth
near the front, deep in conversation. Nekoko thought for a moment that the
street tough's eyes were following her around the room.
	From the booths in back, a call for a round of Kirin draft and a
whiskey sour. Beers in hand, Nekoko passed a woman, tall and orange-red haired,
with a air of authority about her; she wondered if the woman might be cop.
More calls for beer. Nekoko hurried the Kirin bottles to the booth.
	"...Anyone get closer to that ARES site down in Portland? I heard that
a team just wandering by got picked up by corporate guys. Getting damn hard to
do anything in this town..."
	Nekoko placed the Kirin bottles in front of the short street samurai
with the shaved head, rusty nail earrings and glossy black leathers. The
samurai looked up at her, then continued. "I mean, whose team has gotten
squat out of the corp's in the last few weeks. The corp's are wired down 
tighter than a woman's heart. Oh, excuse me, honey..." He looked up at Nekoko
again. "Hey, honey, why you dressed up like that. I like my waitresses more...
accessible..."
	Nekoko looked down at the samurai. He was peeling the horse-dragon
logo off the Kirin bottle. His neighbors watched the corporate samurai on the
other side of the bar. "Ratz expects trouble. I'm packing armor. Let's
keep this our secret" She gave him a wink, turned and stalked away.
	"So, anyway, I guess the corp's are giving all our jobs to the
corp's own troops..." The street samurai continued.
	When Nekoko got back to the bar, Ratz put a hand on hers. "How's it
going, Nekoko?"
	"Tense, but unless someone does something stupid, we should get
through the night. I think."
	"Maybe..."
	"I wonder if Li's kidnapping has something to do with tonight's
unrest."
	"Probably. That's why those street fighters are more nervous than
usual. Don't do anything to set these people off. Please." Ratz lifted his
hand. Nekoko put another six bottles of beer and a vodka on her tray. Another
round for the table near the front.
	Half-way there, the street tough talking to Denise stood up, a quick
and smooth motion. "Wait," he shouted. Nekoko half-turned to look at him.
	"Eh.."
	"You wiped out our shadowrun team. You and those bastards from Keikaku,
you double-crossed us. Now you die."
	"WHAT?" Nekoko faced him now. Her ears stood up. Her eyes wide.
	With a fast blur, he had his gun out, at firing position. Nekoko could
see the black hole of the Beretta 9mm line up with the glint of gold in his
right eye, the gold of a Zeiss-Ikon cyber-eye. She dropped the tray with a
crash, bottles shattering, beer spilling around her feet.
	"Well, how does it feel, corporate scum? Denise's brother dead, Rico
blinded, Mandall losing an arm. Did you get paid extra?"
	Nekoko saw his speed when he pulled out the gun. She could not
reach her submachinegun, now poking at her back. She would not be able to
dodge his shot. She looked at him. Denise sat behind him, a crazy smile on
her face. The crowd in the Chatsubo was silent, watching the two of them.
	"Or was just part of the job? Denise told me how her brother died. That
you set up the double-cross. Do you get paid extra for geeking a street rat?"
	Nekoko's ears twitched. She wanted to ask, Denise, what have you
done?
	"Say sayoonara, baby..."
	A roar, and Nekoko was punched in the chest, hard. Her eyes closed,
she saw red haze, stars. Another roar, another tremendous punch to the chest,
followed quickly by a rolling of thunder. Nekoko forced her teary eyes open,
fought for breath. The street tough was gone, a bloody mass of bright blood,
pink bones, dark red tissue. Nekoko dropped to her knees, dizzy. She coughed.
Two slugs dropped onto the floor; she barely heard them. The air was filled
with the smell of propellant. She looked up to see smoke rising from about
twenty-five guns. The corporate and street samurai glared at each other; some
of the guns were being raised again into firing position.
	As if from a far distance, she heard Ratz yelling, 'No guns! No guns!'
She giggled to herself and dropped her head again. Fat lot of good that would
do now. She lifted one hand. It was bloody, cut from the shattered glass.
Somewhere above her, Denise was laughing. Nekoko wiped her face, smearing the
blood across her eyes, nose, mouth. Someone slapped Denise, Nekoko heard the
noise, then Denise's giggling. There was sudden rush for the door, sararimen
deciding they've seen enough adventure, wanna be's wanting to be elsewhere,
corporate samurai not wanting to be involved.
	"One dead, three to go. One dead, three to go." Denise hiccuped.
Nekoko looked up at Denise's mad face and looked away. Behind Denise, Darla
stood in the kitchen doorway, a assault rifle ready. Around Nekoko, guns were
being returned to holsters, tension eased. The woman in orange-red hair was at
the street tough's corpse, probing it with a pen or pointed instrument. She
turned and looked at Nekoko carefully. Nekoko put her hand to her breasts,
feeling the two holes in the coat, the small dents in her armor. The area was
sore now, a dull throb. It would probably hurt more later.
	"Nekoko?" asked someone.
	She giggled. She could not keep her clothes free of bullet holes.
Strange. With some effort, she stood up. Still giddy, she collapsed in the
nearest chair. Denise leaned over her from somewhere. "Thank you, oh thank
you. Can you do it again? Can you? There's a guy over on Madison and 9th..."
Someone dragged Denise away.
	"Here, this might help." Darla gave Nekoko a glass of brandy. The
sharp, aromatic fluid made her cough, starting more painful twinges from her
breasts. "Lucky that Denise made you buy that armor today." Nekoko narrowed
her eyes, flattened her ears, and glared at Darla. "Come along. I think you
should go to bed." Darla took Nekoko by the arm, and took her upstairs. 
	Darla eased off the long coat, the dented armor vest, the belt and one
boot, and rolled Nekoko into her makeshift bed. Nekoko turned over and looked
up at Darla. "Why did everyone shoot him? I mean, they could have just not
bothered to do anything..."
	Darla finished pulling off the other boot. "Everyone was nervous.
Most of those guys downstairs have enhanced reflexes. And the reflex to 
someone shooting is to shoot. Remember that too, my cat in wolf's clothing."
Darla patted Nekoko on the head, and left. Nekoko could hear Darla's footsteps
descending the old stairway.

	A few minutes later, Nekoko again heard footsteps on the stairway.
Darla returned with a pot of warm water, several strips of clean cloth, a
towel, and some cotton puffs. Nekoko sat up, leaning her back against a case
of Korean gin. "Here, let's clean you up some." After washing Nekoko's face
with the wet towel, Darla took Nekoko's hand, and dipped it into the water,
staining the water pink. Then she took the cotton swabs and started to clean
out the cuts.
	"He was so... fast..." Nekoko began.
	"Enhanced reflexes, just like I told you." Darla applied some
antibiotics to the palm of Nekoko's hand. "You need them to survive a fight
against another street fighter. You were lucky he decided to use a peashooter."
Darla wound a strip of cloth around Nekoko's hand. "Had he used APDS ammo or a
bigger pistol, we'd be dumping your body out back for the scavengers."
	"How can I..."
	"Think. Use your head. I was a corporate samurai for Kansy-Waffen for
ten years. Quit the corp to start cooking. Safer. Never got enhanced reflexes.
Survived by using my head. You can too." Darla gathered her stuff.
	Nekoko was silent for a moment, thinking.
	"Denise, what happened to her?"
	"She broke free from the guy holding her, and ran out of the Chatsubo,
waving a ARES Predator, screaming something about 9th and Madison..."
	"What!?" Nekoko almost shouted.
	"We wondered where she had gotten the pistol..."
	Nekoko jumped up out of her makeshift bed. She knelt next to her
rucksack, pulling clothes and other junk out. "Shimatta!" She cursed.
	"What's the matter," Darla began.
	Nekoko turned her head to Darla. "Denise got my pistol. She's crazy.
She's out at night, unprotected, to kill some guy at 9th and Madison..."

Hubert Bartels          INTERNET: hgb@catalina.opt-sci.arizona.edu
Optical Sciences Center VOICE:(602)-621-2032
University of Arizona   "To a WWWA trouble consultant, recklessness is
Tucson, AZ, USA 85721    a way of life"  Kei, Dirty Pair's Great Adventure

	Nekoko ran down the sidewalk, long coat flapping. She held the H & K
in front of her, the strap over her shoulders, trying to keep the gun steady.
Her chest was still sore, her hand stiff in its bandages. Only a few people
saw her run, shadowrunners out on a job, drunks too stoned to seek cover,
druggies too gone to notice. She felt the weight of the vest armor, the
movement of her shoulder epaulets. She heard the slap slap slap of her boots
on the pavement. She took short even breaths.
	The night was warm. Clouds over her kept the city heat in, reflected
the city lights.
	Darla had tried to keep her in the Chatsubo, had tried to warn her
of the stupidity of following Denise into the Sprawl night. Nekoko had
refused to listen, pulling her armor on again. Several clips of 9mm ammo
in her long coat and she had run down the stairs, taking several steps at time.
Nekoko ran past several patrons in the bar and out the Chatsubo door. Ratz
had opened his mouth, but she was gone before he could say anything.
	Nekoko ran. The street descended down another one of Seattle's hills.
The slope lent her more speed. She ran past decrepit buildings, boarded up
stores, burned out apartments. Sometimes, as she passed a doorway, she saw
eyes staring out at her. Occasionally, she would pass a burning trash barrel
with several derelicts surrounding it, armed with clubs and boards. They
would scatter, afraid of anyone running in the Sprawl. 
	The sidewalk climbed another hill. Nekoko slowed to a walk, ascending.
She could hear her regular deep breathing, and the distant wail of a police
siren. The clouds muffled the regular roar of the city. The street was
dark, lit only at irregular intervals by dim flickering street lamps. At the
top of the low hill, Nekoko stopped and listened.
	She flicked a ear. Faintly, she could hear screaming. She ran down
the hill, her gun thumping against her breastplate. At the bottom of the
hill, a bent street sign read '9th Street'. Nekoko looked up and down the
street, nothing. More faint screams, sobbing, cries for help. Nekoko circled
the intersection, looking. 
	At her feet, a manhole cover had been removed. Wet footprints told
her something had recently returned to the sewers. A faint glow showed
below her. Wrinkling her nose at the smell, Nekoko descended the manhole
ladder. At the bottom of the ladder, the light was stronger to the left.
There was a faint murmur of voices, hushed and urgent. Nekoko slipped the
H & K's shoulder strap off and flipped off the safety.
	She looked at her feet. She was standing in a few inches of fetid,
stinking water. Above her, the concrete walls curved, grey, slimy, with
rust stains running down to the water. The water itself, oily, turbid, was
partially covered in a pale foam, in which shoals of styrofoam chunks floated.
The air was heavy with smell of urine, oil, and the sweet-sour stink of
rotting meat.
	Nekoko slowly walked to the light and sound of the voices, submachinegun
at ready. The sound of the voices was interrupted by a sudden, short scream,
then silence. Nekoko raised the muzzle of her H & K.
	As she approached the voices, the water at her feet got deeper. She
sloshed through the filthy runoff, her feet cold and clammy. The water got
deeper, half-way up her calves, flowing sluggishly past her. Nekoko used the
stock of her submachine gun to push aside the bloated corpse of a rat. Now
she could make out what the voices were saying.
	"Quick, Marko, get me the cutters. Jon, where's the harvest boxes."
	Nekoko rounded a corner, and stepped up out of the water into a larger
room, lit by several battery-powered lights. She was temporarily blinded.
When she put a hand over her eyes, Nekoko saw several ragged men look up
from Denise's body. She tightened her grip on the H & K.
	"Cripes, there's someone out there.."
	"Shit.." 
	They scattered. Someone pulled out a pistol and shot wildly. Nekoko
quickly jumped back to the corner of the sewer, back down into the turbid
cold water. She reached around the corner with her H & K and pulled the
trigger.  Crashes of sound echoed from the water. Flashes from the muzzle lit
up the narrow sewer. Nekoko stopped shooting. More shots from the room. Two
or three bullets whistled past her, spanking the far wall of the sewer.
	"Hey girl, go away. she's dead already," a voice spoke.
	"Baka! Baka yarou! " Nekoko shouted. "Leave her alone..."
 	"There's nothing you can do. Go away and let us finish." 
	"Go away yourself," Nekoko sobbed. "She was my friend..."
	Another voice, deeper answered. "She was no friend. I know who you
are, cat-girl. She betrayed you. I saw the whole affair in the Chatsubo. Let
us harvest our organs."
	"Bitch! The longer we wait, the less we get for the organs." came the
first voice.
	Nekoko reached around with her gun and fired again. More crashing
thunder echoed from the walls. More flashes.
	"Why?" Nekoko shouted.
	"The money, cat-girl." The deeper voice answered.
	"We're not all as rich as you are, Little Miss Cat. Go back to where
you came from; leave us alone." The first voice echoed from the sewer walls.
	"Where do you think transplant organs come from, cat-girl?  Those
living saving drugs. The body parts in the street clinics? Mega-corps pay for
fresh body parts. But only if they're fresh." Deep voice said. The voice was
silent for a moment. "Forget this girl. No one's gonna miss her." Deep voice
continued. "She's a nobody."
	Nekoko leaned against the cold concrete wall. "I don't think you're
even human..." She started to move around the corner. Another wave of bullets
from the ghouls stopped her. Then she heard the pistol click. Empty. She
leaned away from the corner, swapped out the empty ammo clip, loaded a fresh
clip, and climbed up into the room.
	"Game's over." Nekoko said, walking into the light. She aimed the H & K
into the dark corners of the room.
	"You took my pistol off the girl. I'd like my ARES Predator back,"
she shouted when she reached the center of the room. The pistol came sailing
out of the dark corner. Nekoko put up a hand, caught it, and tucked it into
her coat. She looked down at Denise's corpse. Denise's neck was broken, her
head lay at an odd angle. Some of Denise's clothes had been removed, readying
her body for cutting. Denise's body looked small, innocent, abandoned. Nekoko
looked down through tears. A pair of white plastic boxes stood next to her,
their LED's flashing. Thin tendrils of cold liquid nitrogen vapor coiled from
the corners of the boxes.
	"Saynoora, Denise...." Nekoko said sadly.
	She stepped back, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger on the
H & K. She walked a hail of bullets up along Denise, destroying her body. From
the dark corners came wails of anguish. A pair of shots exploded the white
boxes. Nekoko rested the warm H & K against her shoulder, smiled for a second,
and walked back to the sewer. Behind her, as she walked away, she heard only,
"Bitch....."

	Nekoko could not remember the walk back to the Chatsubo. She stumbled
through the door, collapsed in a nearby chair. Ratz was stacking chairs on
tables. The only other person in the bar was Blackjack. A musician, thin,
clean-shaven face, brown eyes, dark wavy hair, he was sitting at the back
leaning over a grey keyboard, quietly playing a song with a bluesy feeling.
Nekoko looked down at her unitards and boots, stinking of the sewers. Ratz
came over and looked down on her. 
	"Did you find her? Darla said you went to look for her."
	Nekoko nodded. "She's dead. The ghouls got to her first," she said
flatly.
	"Ah, perhaps it's for the best. She was mad at the end, you know..."
	Nekoko just nodded. She turned to look in the mirror behind the bar.
She looked the same. Golden cat eyes, cat ears, heavy blonde hair. And yet,
she was not the same woman she had been several days ago.
	She got up and walked to the back of the bar. Ratz continued to stack
chairs. When she got near Blackjack, he stopped playing and looked at her.
Nekoko sat down in a chair, pulled up a leg, cupped her hands on her knee and
put her chin on her hands.
	"Don't stop. Play. Play something sad." She flicked her ears once.
	Blackjack played the blues. Nekoko sat, her mind far away.

	After a few songs, Blackjack stopped. "Do you want to talk?" he asked.
	Nekoko lifted her head from her knee. "You know, a few days ago, I was
a charter helicopter pilot, making my own way, paying my bills. Nothing big,
but I was getting by. Now, I've just mutilated a corpse to keep it out of the
hands of ghouls. I was shot this evening and the guy who tried to kill me
is out back, waiting to be scavenged. My apartment was cleaned out by the
cops. I'm broke. ARES wants me dead. The cops want me dead. Yonhon-Hana just
doesn't want me. A woman I thought a friend used me. What is happening? Why is
this city so crazy?" Nekoko flicked her ears again. "Please play some more."
	Blackjack closed his eyes, leaned over his keyboard and played. Nekoko
returned her head to her knee. She continued. "When I was learning to fly,
everything was so clean, so technical, so precise. It was fun."
	Nekoko's ears drooped.
	Blackjack stopped again. He leaned back in his chair. "Woman, you're
a soldier in a strange war. A war in which the fighters often cannot see who
the enemy is, or who is a friend. Right now, you're on the front lines, in the
trenches.  And the trenches are always the worst place to be." He refused to
say more, returning to the music.
	Nekoko nodded. She sat quietly. Finally she got up, thanked Blackjack
and started for her bed in the stockroom. Ratz began to say something, but
stopped after looking into Nekoko's face. She clumped up the stairs and fell,
fully clothed, into bed.

	Morning came with the sound of Ratz pounding on the stockroom door.
"Nekoko, get up. I need to get in there." Nekoko stretched. She was stiff,
kinked, and uncomfortable from sleeping in her clothes.
	"Chotto matte, " Nekoko said. "Wait a moment." She stood up, reached
into the pile of clothes next to the rucksack, pulled out a shirt, her last
clean skirt and some other stuff. "OK, I'm up."
	Ratz walked quickly through the room, picked up a case of Jack Daniels
and descended the stairs. Nekoko followed him down the stairs and turned into
the kitchen. Darla turned from the pot on the stove.
	"What happened to you? You look awful. Here, take this," giving 
Nekoko a plastic bucket, "go into the kitchen's washroom, and wash up. After
you've changed, use the bucket to wash those clothes; they smell terrible."

	Nekoko came out of the kitchen's washroom, refreshed and clean. Her
dirty clothes, now washed, were drying in the washroom. She wore her 'Laura
Palmer died for your sins' T-shirt, a skirt and slip-ons. Darla nodded in
approval and pointed Nekoko at the huge pile of dirty dishes. She stepped
over to the sink and began. As the pile of clean dishes grew, Nekoko thought
about last night. Running out of the Chatsubo, full armor, submachinegun
and no backup. Descending into a sewer, a possible trap. Stepping up into
the room with the ghouls. Nekoko carefully put the dry plate back onto the
countertop; she was starting to shake. She must have been mad, as mad as
Denise was, to run into the Sprawl's night.
	"Nekoko." Ratz called from out in the bar.
	Nekoko turned around.
	"Could you come out here?"
	Nekoko dried her hands on the dish towel and slipped out of the
kitchen. Ratz was talking to a slender man, black-haired, polite, dressed
in smooth black glossy leathers. He looked to be somewhat older than most
of the Chatsubo's regular, his age showing in soft lines at his eyes and
at the corner's of his mouth. As Nekoko came out of the kitchen, he turned
and smiled.
	"Nekoko, this is Argent. He's had some medical experience, more 
than Darla's. I think he should check what Darla did last night." Ratz said.
	"Eh..." Nekoko started. She reached out her bandaged hand.
	"Better let me look at that..." Argent said. He had a soft clear 
voice. "Battlefield dressings are only to get the patient to a hospital.
Come over in the light. Sit down."
	Argent put a strong hand on Nekoko's shoulder and urged her into
a chair. He sat down across from her, took her hand, and with a gentle
touch, began to untie Darla's bandage.
	"Heard you chased after Denise last night. Any luck?" Argent asked.
	"No. Ghouls got there first..."
	Argent unwound the dirty cloth. "Anything you could do?"
	"No. Nothing. Except... Make sure they could not profit by the crime."
	The final cloth was pulled off her hand. Argent reached into his
jacket and pulled out a thin soft packet. He unfolded it, revealing a set
of instruments, salves, ampules, and other medical supplies. After studying
Nekoko's hand for a moment, Argent opened another tube, and smeared its
contents unto a wide syn-skin bandage.
	"So you..." He prompted.
	"I emptied my clip into Denise's body. It was the only thing I
could think of. I didn't want them to cut her up like that."
	Argent started suddenly. He squeezed the tube extra-hard. Salve
squirted out, covered his hand, the new bandage, the knees of his leathers.
With a soft curse, Argent began to wipe up the excess salve. Nekoko, her
thoughts elsewhere, didn't notice.
	"Why do they do it? Why Denise? What for?" Nekoko asked. "I asked
them that. They just told me to get lost." 
	Argent finished cleaning off his leathers. "Body parts. There is
always a market for body parts. Clinics, hospitals, research labs,
mega-corps. At first, they relied on donors. But there were never enough.
Then they paid rewards to next-of-kin. Now, they don't ask too much of the
people bringing in the bodies or the harvest boxes." He pulled Nekoko's
hand onto his lap. "This might sting a bit." Argent slapped the syn-skin
bandage onto Nekoko's palm, smoothing it out with his fingers.
	"IIItaaaiiii" Nekoko said through gritted teeth. Her ears lay
flat against her head for a moment. Her eyes watered.
	"Yeah, it does hurt for a moment. It'll go away." Argent assured her.
"As for Denise, she was foolish or mad enough to run into her death. You
do, repeat, do not run around after dark without a strong backup team. Now,
let's see your chest."
	Nekoko pulled her T-shirt away from her skin. Argent looked at the
bruising for a moment, then reached back into the thin packet. "This'll
help the reduce the swelling." He gave her another tube of ointment. "I'll
let you apply it." He smiled gently. "Keep that hand dry for a few days.
No dishwashing, hear?"
	Nekoko nodded. "How much?" She asked.
	Argent looked up from repacking his thin packet. "Oh, nothing. You
just owe me a favor one of these days."
	"Arigato, Argent, arigato gozaimasu..."
	Argent opened his jacket and put the packet into an inside pocket.
He stood up and glanced at Ratz, who was rinsing glasses at the bar.
	"Argent?" Nekoko asked.
	"Yes?" He turned to look at her.
	"Somehow, I still feel guilty about Denise. If only I had know earlier.
If I had run faster. If I been there to kill those bastards first..."
	For a moment, Argent put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
	Nekoko closed her eyes and sighed.


	He ducked to fit under the Chatsubo door, folding his antenna
over his back to avoid losing them on the door jamb. He had to duck; he
stood about 3 meters tall, humanoid, a cyborg in metallic blue armor, three
lenses for eyes, metal claws for hands, split metal hooves for feet. Heavy,
massive, huge. As he moved slowly through the crowd in the bar, conversations
stuttered to a halt, beer bottles returned to the table, eyes turned and
stared.  His 'head' was two rounded plates of ceramic armor, seperated by a
gap in which lenses glittered. His head bristled with sensors and antenna. He
turned his sensors onto Ratz and spoke, a deep brittle voice, generated
somewhere in his chest.
	"A table, a sturdy chair and a cold one."
	Ratz walked around the bar, and pointed the cyborg to a table near
the back. "I'll get you a beer barrel to sit on. What do you weigh, anyway?"
	"About 341 kg. That's about 750 pounds."
	Ratz shook his head in amazement. He rolled out a barrel from the
backroom and set it up next to the table. "My girl will be out in a moment.
I'll send her over with your beer." Ratz turned back to the bar. 
	After a short while, the patrons in the bar started to ignore the
cyborg. They returned to their drinking, their boasting, their idle threats
against the street, the mega-corps, and each other. They did not forget him. 
Every so often, someone would look at the massive cyborg, then quickly look
away. The cyborg put his arms on the table, making the table creak under the
weight.
	
	"Nekoko," shouted Ratz. "Front."
	Nekoko rushed out of the kitchen, tossing a wet towel behind her.
Skirts and a shirt with a bullet hole, soft boots and a ribbon tying her
blonde hair into a low long ponytail. Nekoko stopped at the bar. Ratz pressed
a bottle of Budweiser in her hands and pointed her at the cyborg's table.
She walked over to the table, popped the bottle on the table, put her hands
behind her back and stared.
	Nekoko saw that the cyborg's skin was smooth plates of ceramic armor,
joined together with interlocking shapes like those in the bones of the skull.
His joints were flat machined sockets, sliding over overlapping shapes. Small
vents on his back blew warm air past her hair. She stared at the small openings
for recessed guns, the lifting hooks mounted at his shoulders, the mounts on
his arms for heavy armament. The German Imperial Eagle was stenciled on either
side of his shoulders. The cyborg turned his 'head' and noticed her steady
flat look. 
	"Got a problem, katze-fraulein?" He said, looking at her carefully.
	Nekoko's cat ears twitched once. 
	"Never seen a combat-cyborg before, richtig?" He snapped the top off
the beer bottle with a twist of his claws. "Got a straw on you?"
	"Eh..." Nekoko said. She reached into her apron and dropped a straw
onto the table. The cyborg extended a pair of fine feelers from his left
claw, picked up the straw and inserted it into the bottle. He lifted the
bottle with the straw to her, said, "Prost," and sipped beer from the
straw, using a small opening underneath his three lenses.
	"Can't you drink beer from the bottle?" Nekoko fin