Chrome Rain, Chp 1 - Class 2 Ghosters

Chrome Rain - Chapter ONE


Nouveau Montréal, Protectorat Français
Centre Industrial 3
Date: May 15, 2103
08:32 EST






        Badend was exactly like its namesake. It was a bad place to end up on the best of occasions; known euphemistically as the last haven for society’s unwanted components, its worn out and worn in ethnical gears. Badend was the mother slum of all slums, what the other slums world-wide hoped to become when they ‘grew up’. Its denizens reveled in their exile. Wore it like a badge. Every kind of lowlife scumbag that ever crawled or slithered on God’s green earth lived there. They survived there. Yes, and they died there. Lived there because no where else would have them. Survived there because Badend was the only place they had any chance of surviving the way they chose to live. Died there because ….well, because  everyone and her grandmother living there was a cruel-assed motherfucker that would just as soon stab you in the heart as watch someone else do it. In other words, Badend was God’s testing ground for hell.
        So why the fuck did I agree to go there? Why did I let Dot talk me into entering that forgotten septic tank of humanity? Was it because she was my best friend and she said ‘please’? Hardly! Was it because I owed her credits and she was calling in her due? No, she actually owed me from my last job for her.
        The reason I was trying to get into Badend was the very reason most of those sorry no-codes were stuck there in the first place. You guessed it, money! And if what Dot promised me over the vid was no bullshit decimals I’d be getting a lot of it.
        You know when you see those holo-series with the down-and-out sucker being interrogated by the law with a bright light shining into their eyes? What’s their answer when the cops ask them why they did whatever crime they got caught doing? I needed the money! Yeah well, it sounds kinda lame, but I needed the money. Shit. It was really fucking lame and Dot knew I was hurting for the cred and she took advantage of me. Damn that fucking bitch. I don’t even know why I put up with her, but the truth remains that I was late on my last bio-aug payment by a few days. The grey doc (you know, one of those guys that perform upgrades in a back alley operating room without a license) told me that he would let the late payment slide that one time because I spent so much on the augment order. He made it clear however, that there wouldn’t be any more delinquent deposits if I knew what was good for me.
        I’ve been in some really crazy shit storms in my time as a Slammer, and I’m not afraid to be tossed into most combat theatres. But when a grey doc tells you to not miss your next payment, you don’t miss you next payment. Not unless you want to not wake up with your organs finding a new home in someone else’s body. The thing is, judging by my current account balance, I was pretty sure I’d be late on the payment again. That is, unless I did this job in Badend for Dot or if it didn’t scan proper. Three days to do the job and I’d have enough cred to pay off my bill to the grey doc early and still have a bit left over to maybe get myself that new Degtyarev SSR-320 I’d been eying for the last two years.
        But getting into Badend was tough. The outer walls were twelve stories high and thirty feet thick, and surrounded the three sides of Badend that weren’t butted up against the Hudson Bay. Air traffic in that sector was restricted, unless your last earthly wish was to go as a pretty firework display. The thing is there were dozens of security gates that had faulty surveillance on them that you could get past if you’re geared up with the right tech. It was much easier getting in than out. How I got out I would have to scan when the time came. For now I needed to find a tech-head I could trust to get me what I needed. I knew just the place to go to get him.
        I strolled into Coresoft, a small electronic repair shop on the outskirts of Free City. It was early morning and the sun hadn’t yet been able to burn away the veil of smog hanging over the sprawl of multicolored plas-crete buildings that gradually grew in height and density until they merged into the city proper. Surprisingly, there were quite a few shoppers wandering the disorganized aisles, in search of God knows what, I couldn’t tell you. At the counter was a tall tech-head scanning with some other 'head' that I could label right away as his friend by the way they were hooked directly into each others lobe nodes. The remains of my breakfast dripped out of its red foil wrapping onto the cracked cement floor of the shop as I approached them.
        “Hey!” complained the 'head' behind the counter as he unhooked from his buddy. “Why do you gotta eat that greasy crap in here, huh?!? Can’t you at least finish it outside, fer Chris sakes?” He made a shooing motion once, and then again when I didn’t take his advice. “Bitch….” He said under his breath to the other tech-head. He obviously was a new clerk and didn’t know who I was. As if I couldn’t hear him with my augs. I just smiled.
        “Is Solomon here yet?” I asked, making no effort to contain the juices of my Quiksnak meal. “Gotta talk to him. It’s important.”
        The man kissed his teeth and looked me up and down before replying. “You wanna do business, you do it with me. Solomon don’t have time to waste on chicks that don’t know the difference ‘tween USB and IF interfacing.” He was trying to give me the tough guy routine straight out of a Slammer vid. Chest puffed out, squinted eyes, curled back lip showing a hint of canine. If he had about seventy-five pounds more on him it would’ve had a chance at being believable. He clearly had spent a lot of time in front of a mirror practicing. “Anyways, why should I go get him? You ain’t givin’ me nothin’ but hassle, ho. I got better things to do than clean up after your ass!”
        I was willing to humor his posturing if it was going to get Solomon up front without drama, but what can I say, I really do love me some drama. I let the foil mess drop to the floor and it made a soggy splat when it hit. I pushed the punk the clerk was talking to out of my way and grabbed ‘Mr. Tough Guy’ by the interface cables he had draped around his neck. “If you don’t go get him right now you piss stain, you’ll be working atrophied muscles in a hospital ward. You scan me, sport?” To make sure he understood my sincerity I applied gentle pressure to one of his nerve points. His eyes bulged rather prettily. His quick departure was all the proof I needed that he scanned me.
        I didn’t wait too long (just long enough to witness the ‘friend’ plot a course to the shop entrance and disappear) before Solomon came out the backroom. He was a short round fellah, especially compared to the now docile clerk. He had more hair on his arms than I think’s right for a human. He was bald as a cue ball and had so many nodes on his skull it looked like a giant, egg shaped interface module. He wore a stained smock over a purple one-piece that had seen better days, hell, better decades. He pushed a pair VR goggles up onto his forehead and squinted like a mole. He looked like the king of the tech-heads. If you went by the rumors alone in Slammer circles, he was.
        “Mary…” he said in way of greeting, voice a deep baritone that rumbled past fat lips that were dry and chewed. “I thought I told you not to frighten my employees. They’re very fragile and hard to come by with any real talent. I must say, I lose more clerks to your scare tactics than to robbery”
        I shrugged. Not exactly an apology, but an admission that there was some truth to what he said. “If you added politeness to your clerks’ job description then maybe you’d keep more of them, Sol.” I replied with a grin. “I need to talk to you. Privately, if you you’ve got the time? My holoset keeps flashing 12 o’clock, 12 o’clock.”
        The clerk’s withering stare of disbelief that he directed at me when Solomon told him to go make the rounds of the aisles was priceless.
        Of course, he didn’t know that what I said was the little code Solomon and I had arranged to tell him I had serious business to offer. Usually Slammers arranged to see Sol outside of shop hours, but there were times, like today, when a Slammer couldn’t wait to get some custom tech order filled. There were other tech-heads out there in Free City that were good, but Solomon was the best, and his tech pieces were works of art. They did what they were meant to do quicker, quieter, and most importantly, more reliably untraceable than all other tech built in the city. Solomon was a cut above and he only worked with the best. Bloody Mary was one of the best. I’ve got the scars and notches to prove it.
        Sol led me through the workshop doorway and locked it behind us as I passed through. I stood patiently as a detection rig came to life from the ceiling and searched my body with every spectrum you could think of. All the rig found was my Bernadelli 10mm, a 9 inch combat blade strapped to the outside of my left thigh, two thermal grenades slotted on my belt, and three throwing knives sheathed at my lower back. Oh, and two backup clips for the Bernadelli in my purse. Yes, I carry a purse. It matches my boots.
        When that was done, Sol waved me over to a tidy little table lit with a bright overhead light. “Sorry for the search, Mary” He rumbled. “But a man has to be careful. Never know when the Federals have gotten to a Slammer and wires them up for sound.”
        I nodded in understanding. There were more and more tech-heads getting nabbed by the federal forces for illegal manufacture and sales of controlled or restricted tech. The feds had gotten into the habit of either making deals for lighter sentences with Slammers they’d arrested to wear a surveillance wire in order to get evidence on known technology merchants, or just wiring Slammers without them even knowing. Sol had been in the business for a very long time and he was always a step ahead of the feds.
        “So what have you got for me, Mary? It must be something special if you’re up this early in the morning.” He pulled a small bottle from his smock pocket and took a swig. I knew it wasn’t alcohol. No tech-head in their right mind did rec drugs. They took away from the purity of the interface. It must have been some sort of synaptic accelerator that tech-heads sometimes take to increase their computational abilities when they couldn’t keep up anymore. That couldn’t be happening to Sol. He was a god. He didn’t get old and he couldn’t die, right? I was curious to know what was in the bottle, but didn’t ask him about it.
        “Do you still make ghosters, Sol?” I asked instead. “I need a class 2 ghoster that will get me into Badend and I need it by tonight. Can you do it?”
        He stared at me owlishly for a moment. “You want to go to Badend?” He asked in a flat voice. I just nodded. “How do you plan on getting out? You plan on flying out on a chartered sub-orbital in first class?” he added sarcastically.
        “Can you do it, Sol?” I asked again. “I can give you five thousand in paper now. You get the other five when I get back. Standard deal”
        “You mean if you get back!” He countered incredulously. “Girl, I have no problem sending you off to slam in Africa, or China, or anywhere in the Japanese Cultural Unity. At least they have some form of rules. They officially have laws that they abide by, if albeit ineffectually. Badend will chew you up and not even spit you out, Mary!”
        “I already have a father, Solomon. I don’t need another one.” I expected less resistance from him than this. Didn’t need, nor wanted him trying to protect me. I pulled out the five grand and placed the slim stack on the table between us. “Can you get the ghoster ready by 8pm?”
        Sol crossed his arms and leaned back. His face fell into shadow and it was hard to make out his expression. “You never answered my question. Do you even have an escape plan figured out?” When I tapped the battered old bills in response he snorted. “Just as I thought. Stupid kid. I’ve known you for almost ten years and you haven’t changed a bit. Too much doing and not enough planning. Badend isn’t your typical town, you know? It’s a prison. The government just doesn’t call it one. It’s packed full of killers and crazies and—“
        “Oh, give it a break! I know all that, Sol. I wasn’t born a minute ago. I’ll figure something out. I always do.” I couldn’t stop the sigh that spilled out when I continued. “I’m at the top of my game and I can handle those fuckin’ no-codes, alright? Now can you do this or what?”
        Sol scratched at a node for a while, lost in thought. Just when I was about to start getting antsy he cleared his throat. “Alright. Ok. But I have two conditions.”
        “What conditions?”
        He leaned in again and there was a glint in his eyes. “First, you take Wijesoora with you.”
        I didn’t expect that. I was planning on doing this slam by myself so that I didn’t have to cover all the overhead of dragging along some up-and-comer trying to make a name. Still, Wijesoora wasn’t a bad Slammer at all. I’d never worked with him before, but I heard he was tough and fast. Also, he had a lot of connections in the underworld. “Does he know his way around Badend?”
        “According to rumor he has been in and out of Badend several times. Liquidation jobs, as I understand it.”
        It was my turn to lean into the cone of harsh light. “What are you up to old man? You better not be piggybacking my fuckin’ slam!”
        Sol raised his hands defensively. “Whoa! Wait a minute. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea here. I hired Wijesoora to deliver a package to Badend. I was worried about his affiliations, but I was on a short time schedule and couldn’t get anyone else who could get the job done.” Sol’s hands were doing a weak flutter as he talked, showing his nervousness “Now you can alleviate my fears. Which brings me to condition number two: I need someone I can trust to give me verification of the delivery, namely you. He doesn’t need to know.”
        Something smelled fishy about the whole situation. I mean, Solomon’s offer of someone who just happened to know how to get in and out of Badend, was just too convenient. I trusted Sol (as much as one freelancer could trust another), but couldn’t help but notice his sketchy attitude all of a sudden. He obviously had more going on than he was willing to let me in on. I didn’t like it, but as long as it didn’t interfere with my slam I could put up with it because I really needed his tech. The thing was that he also needed me!
        “You get me a ghoster by 8pm tonight, on the house, and we got a deal.” I said finally. He pushed the money back to me with a relieved grin. “Deal!” we said in unison. We got up and walked to the door. Sol unlocked it and it opened with a whoosh. “8pm, Sol.” I repeated a final time with a gun-finger gesture directed at him.
        As I walked around the counter I saw the clerk swishing a mop across the floor in front of it. His face was dark as a thundercloud with anger as he cleaned the mess I had left for him. “You missed a spot.” I advised him cheerily. He didn’t even look at me. That was ok ‘cause I was feeling like I might be able to run a smooth slam this time. I might just be able to get in, get out, and get paid with little or no fuss. That made me happy. I was smiling when I exited the shop and coded into my black tinted VW Spry. My grin at the image of the clerk resorting to menial labor fell off my face when I felt the cold kiss of a gun at the back of my head. I looked into the rearview mirror. All I could make out in the gloomy interior of the back seat were two sets of glowing cyber eyes. We were both quiet for a few seconds, but my unexpected passenger spoke first.
      “Mary-Ann Donato I presume?”