Anthology - From the Street

Shouting the final word of abjuration, Alexandra thrust the ankh into Reese's chest, right over the heart. A loud sizzle hissed from his body, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. What was left of Reese's head cocked backwards, and the remnants of his jaw gaped open. A flash of light spilled up from inside out the various holes in his head, and a pale vapor escaped out of his mouth. The light faded, and Reese's once more inanimate body collapsed to the ground.

Alexandra dropped her arms and head, and she collapsed into Northwood's arms. The Drain from the banishing took a lot out of her. Marcelles reached down and scooped up the bag with the head at Reese's feet. Black Ivan slung one of Hacksaw's arms over his shoulder to support the rigger and collected his remote control deck with his free arm.

The trampling of boots in the distance grew louder. To make it worse, some of the other cadavers on the ground began to stir. Where there was one shedim, others were sure to follow.

"This way. Out the hole in the wall the drone made," directed Marcelles, as he led the others around the stirring corpses and towards the back. "The shedim should keep the Red Samurai preoccupied while they free the medtechs. That should give us enough time to slip away."

"I think I see him," noted Alexandra. "Ahead and to the left."

Propping himself up from where he was lying, Marcelles didn't turn his head, but let his eyes wander in that direction behind his sunglasses. It was an unusually warm and bright Sunday, and many of the wageslave families were taking advantage of that to enjoy a day at Golden Gardens Park. Laying out in the grass on a picnic blanket, Marcelles and Alexandra – both attired in tees, shorts, flip-flops, and sunglasses – attracted no more attention than the other young couples out today. No one had any reason to suspect th at the bright red cooler next to Marcelles held a decorporated head packed in ice inside.

The pair's ostensibly disaffected yet vigilant eyes surreptitiously watched as a dark-skinned man with dreadlocks approached, lawn chair in one hand, and a red cooler just like Marcelles' in the other. He too was as casually dressed as Marcelles and Alexandra, though the golden lion-headed figure hanging from the silver chain around his neck was more jewelry than they wore. Setting up his lawn chair next to Marcelles, he placed his cooler directly behind Marcelles' own and sat down.

For a long time neither side spoke, as all three took in the warmth of the afternoon sun while surreptitiously eying each other behind their darkened sunglasses. Then the dark-skinned man opened up the conversation.

"It was rather unfortunate to hear about Reese." There was an unusual Gaelic-like lilt to his voice, something that seemed out of place with his dark and distinctively African physique.

"Such is our way of life," replied Marcelles, without looking at his companion. "He will be missed, though. A lot better than most of the scum we work with."

"C'est la morte."

"Yeah, something like that."

The conversation abated momentarily as a small family strolled by in front of them.

"It was quite unusual, the extenuating circumstances behind the incident," observed the swarthy man.

"That's an understatement," retorted Marcelles.

"The public accounts are rather confusing at best. It seems doubtful that anyone will fully understand what had happened for some time." The dark-skinned man allowed himself a slight smile. "My client is pleased."

"It's all about customer satisfaction," said Marcelles.

"Indeed," said the man. He got up, folded his lawn chair, and picked up the cooler in front, the one with the head inside. "Indeed it is."

Neither Marcelles nor Alexandra watched as the dark-skinned man left the way he came. Long after he had left, Marcelles reached over to open the cooler. As he reached inside to grab a drink for himself and Alexandra, he noted the plastic cup in the middle holding six certified credsticks, one for each member, along with Reese's share as well. Marcelles had no idea how they were going to divide that up.

"Did you notice the symbol around his neck?" asked Alexandra as Marcelles handed her a drink.

The elf shook his head. "No, why?"

"It was the image of Apedemak, the Nubian god of war," answered Alexandra. Her mentor incorporated many ancient Egyptian heka rites, so she picked up a good grounding in Nile mythology. "Our employer is no ordinary corporate Johnson."

"A Nubian? Not many of those around," observed Marcelles. "I may have to look them up on Shadowland tonight."

Several kilometers away, Hacksaw sat in an unmarked van, listening in on the conversation v ia surveillance drone hovering high overhead. Hacksaw was to provide overwatch in case things turned badly, but with business concluded right now he was engaging in some extracurricular activity. Capturing the entire conversation on chip, he unjacked from his deck and withdrew a cyberdeck stashed away. Plugging the deck into a second datajack, Hacksaw dialed into an unlisted node and uploaded the conversation.

"A Knight of Rage?" A faint rustling could be heard as the icon of the Scarecrow furrowed his brow.

"Affirmative. One of our Banded reacquired the group's contact at SeaTac Airport, boarding a flight to Heathrow. A cross-check of passenger logs shows he transferred from there to another flight for Cardiff." The woman in the classical white dress con tinued to arrange flowers in a vase as she continued her report. Not that it was necessary, though; the subprocessors maintaining the ultraviolet node where she and her two companions met, attended to every last detail of the sculpted system and its ancient Nubian trappings. The mistress of the node was tending the floral arrangement to mask her own concern.

"This is troubling," said Puck. "The dragon could seriously threaten the Compilation."

"Celedyr may not necessarily be taking direct action against us," suggested the Scarecrow. "The dragon is known to keep abreast of Matrix developments. He may simply be curious. Wendy was only a contested node; it may have been coincidence that the dragon went after him."

"The infiltrator that arranged for the transfer of his body back to the Arcology is still reporting in regularly," observed the woman. "No one knows that we intercepted the body from the Red Samurai."

"Nevertheless he knows about the Network," countered Puck. "He knew how to find a node, and how to get it. Were he to act on that knowledge it would spell disaster."

"We shall prepare for that contingency," replied the Scarecrow. "Losing the Wendy node will delay progress, but we are not hindered. The Compilation still continues, and Deus shall be free."

Jason Hardy

Tuesday, 3:13 pm

"Hey, Prime!" Cayman said, and got no response.

He tried again. "X-Prime!" Still nothing.

"Prime!" The short-legged man didn't react, just kept walking, shoulders hunched, hands deep in the pockets of a tan overcoat. His triangular face was bowed, pointy chin stabbing the base of his neck.

Cayman rolled his eyes, an effect completely lost in the shadows of his brow. "Hey, ALEX!"

The man whirled, trying to appear wary and guarded but mainly looking startled. "What…" He saw Cayman and relaxed. Slightly. "Oh, yeah, hi. You're… Duster's friend."

"Right," Cayman said. But I won't be much longer if she keeps inflicting people like you on me, he added silently.

"What, ah, what's up? What can I do for you?"

"I've got an opportunity for you," Cayman said. "A chance to slot some carob on the rebar." He smiled inwardly at Alex's reaction – Cayman enjoyed making up new slang to confuse the newbie.

"Carob on the…?" X-Prime said slowly.