The Path of Fate - 0.7

The Path of Fate - 0.7

The elf rode the Yamaha Growler on in solemn silence for a time.  Allowing the cool air to help him shake the memories from his dreams last night.  The last dream made no sense to him and yet, it was the most disturbing of the three.  Other than his mandatory term of service with the SDF (1) he had never been much further than the old missionary.  The mountain of steel, and glass… made no sense to him.  It didn’t look like any city he had ever seen… not even Seattle.

When he finally arrived, he knocked gently.  Mother answered the door, and bowed very slightly to acknowledge her guest, and then motioned for him to enter, but never said a word.  She quietly led him to his old room, where he found Grandfather and the mystery man from the highway.  With her obligation complete, she turned and left the room.  Rain sighed as he watched her leave.  He knew why she was angry though, and turned back to enter the room.

“Erurainon, this(2)” Grandfather said as he lifted his arm to his guest, “is Mr. Johnson.  It would seem,” he continued as he stood up to leave, “you two have much to discuss.”  And with that, the old man left the room, and shut the door behind him without saying another word.

“Erurainon?” The man inquired.

“Do not use that name.  It is not for you to speak.”  Rain replied, struggling to find the right words in English.

“Ah, ok.  Well, what should I call you then?”

“My name is Magazu Waki ya. (3)”

“Oh-kay,” the man replied hesitantly.  “Well, Magahzue as you…”

“Magazu Waki ya” Rain interrupted.

“Um, right… well, Mah-gah-zoo,” the man tried again.  “I was on a very important business trip that got… interrupted.  Your father…”

“Lala,” Rain interrupted again.  “…Grandfather” he said, struggling to find the correct English word again.

“Ok, Grandfather, told me that I have you to thank for saving my life last night.”

Rain stood impassively for a moment, “I was only using the gifts that… um… the Great Spirit, gave me.” He said dismissively.  There was something about this man that he did not like.

“Well… thank you.” The man said.  “I will not be able to complete my work,” indicating the porta-doc wrapped around his upper thigh where, Rain knew, he was missing most of the muscle and a large chunk of bone.  “I would like to offer you a job.”

Rain’s first instinct was to decline it flat, but there was an itch in his mind to hear the man out.

“I need to retrieve something… well, someone, who stole something, from my company.”  The man paused to gauge Rain’s reaction.  “I know where she is,” he said pulling out a tracker, with a small monitor screen at the top.  “She’s in New York.”

The image of the mountain made of steel, glass and light, leapt into Rain’s mind, causing him a moment of disorientation.

“I just need you to get her, and deliver her to the local Lone Star offices there.  They will do the rest.” The man finished and offered Rain the tracker.

Without fully knowing why, Rain accepted the proffered device.

“I can pay you twenty five thousand Nuyen.”

That got Rain’s attention.  Unless one worked for one of the corporations in the Sioux Nation, that kind of money was very rare.  He absentmindedly, not fully knowing why nodded his acceptance.

“That’s great,” the man said extending his arm to shake hands with Rain.  Rain looked down at the extended hand, and years of history class rushed through his brain.

“Ah, yea… sorry wasicu (4),” Rain replied.  “Your hand shake does not mean much to me, but… I will do this because Atkuku ki Wakan Tanka (5) is compelling me to.  Just give me your SIN information… and I will contact you when I am finished… then, we will see about that handshake.”

Once the man gave him the information, Rain turned to leave.

“Thank you Mayguzee”, the man called after him.  Rain ignored the mangling of the pronunciation of his name... again.

Grandfather met him in the center room.  “You have long worked to avoid your destiny Erurainon… but, it seems to have come to you.”

Rain was not sure what to say, but he acknowledged his elder’s words with a respectful nod of his head.

“Mother had these made for you… before… well, you know.” The old man said handing Rain a pair of samurai companion swords.  “She had told me that you had earned them when she had them made, but her pride is too strong to give them to you herself.”  Rain was speechless as he accepted the honored gift.  He was still staring at them, when the venerable elder held up a hand, and let drop a medallion, suspended by a sturdy chain.

“I always knew you would return one day… although… I had hoped it would have been sooner… and for a longer stay.”  The old man paused, deep in personal thought, “I had this crafted for you… it is of good quality… but, it has not been… well, never mind that,” he said as he leaned forward to loop the chain around Rain’s neck.

As his elder took a moment to move Rain’s ponytail out of the way so that he could secure the clasp, Rain held up the 75mm diameter pendant.  It was made of two different metals.  One was highly  polished platinum, the other a cobalt blue alloy.  The two were formed into a perfect yin-yang symbol.  Within the platinum circle of the blue tear drop, the cobalt blue alloy formed the Japanese kanji for 'samurai' (侍).  Within the cobalt blue circle of the platinum tear drop, platinum the Japanese kanji for 'doctor' (or, medicine) (医).  The craftsmanship was exquisite.

Rain was rendered speechless with the presentation of such honored gifts.  He respectfully remained with his head bowed to his elder, in grateful thanks.  The old man reached forward and held his arm lightly, and then turned him to the door. As he walked Rain to the exit he said, “Wakan Tanka has put within you the spirit of the yin yang… think on this as He leads you along your new path.”

Rain nodded his acknowledgement of Grandfather’s words.  He moved to leave, but then hesitated and turned, “please tell ‘mother’ that I am sorry… and that I am grateful for the gift.”  Without any further words, he turned to his motorcycle, and left.

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(1)    The Sioux Defense Force 

(2)  Speaking in English

(3)    (ma-gh-ah-zue) (wah-kee yahn)  - Lakota /// Thundering Rain

(4)    (wah-shee-chue) white person (aka Anglo in ‘modern’ form of Shadowrun)

(5)    (ah-dkue-kue kee)(wah-kahn dahn-kah) // Father God

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If You Want Something Done Right – 0.3

If you want something done right – 0.3

Normally, he would have just hired a team of Shadowrunners, the disposable assets of the sixth world.  Mostly SINless, ne'er do wells, with the best qualities… they all wanted Nuyen, and they didn’t care how they earned it.  But this run, this one was special. 

He always understood his role within the organization.  He was only a low level ‘project manager’ with a special focus on ‘additional tasks, not otherwise assigned’, but when the ‘Big Man’ calls you… himself, you best make sure it’s done right.  Besides, it was just the retrieval of a minor corp asset.  If it got too real, he could hire local talent.

For the third time in the past thirty minutes, he pulled up the tracking program, which displayed the RFID, and found it right where it had been for most of the night.

~*CRACK*~

The windshield had instantly polarized when the bolt of lightning landed so close to the speeding Bently, the flash of light and the crack of thunder were united.  It might have even struck the car. 

“Drek that was close!” He said, yelling to himself.

He held both of his hands up in front of him, “look at that!  Steady as a rock!” he said proudly. “Still got it.”

Another flash from a streaking bolt of lightning from further down the road outlined something.  He only caught a flash of an outline.  He placed both of his hands back on the steering wheel now, and began squinting out into the gloom.  At this speed, the thick drops of rain just peeled up and away, but it was so dark.

It was then his world erupted.  Another flash of lightning revealed the single man Wasp helicopter.  Hanging underneath the nose was slung an Ogre Hammer Assault Cannon, already spewing high velocity death.  It chewed up a clean line of cement right at him.  There was no time to think, and he instinctively jerked the wheel to the left, but it was too late.  The 360 gram rounds, impacting at over six hundred and fifty rounds per second it etched a vicious wound from the right fender, through the front tire and engine compartment, shredded the passenger door, and then stitched its path complete through the trunk.

When the front tire disintegrated under the assault, the rim slammed down and dug into the asphalt covered cement, causing the Bentley to vault lazily into the air.  For a few moments, he felt weightless, the tumult of the storm and attack had passed, and he was free.  But when the broken machine returned to earth, it began to tumble violently. Over and over, spewing pieces of metal and plastic over one hundred meters away, until it finally came to a rest on what was left of the roof. Over a half a kilometer from where it first took flight.

For several long moments, he couldn’t tell which way was up.  Not until he saw the small streams of water flowing along the roof above his head, did it click.   Slowly, painfully, he pulled himself out from under the wires and broken glass, and out into the pouring down rain.  The incessant pounding of large drops of cold water, and the oft repeated thunder, frustrated his attempts to find out where his attacker had gone off to. 

It wasn’t until he tried to stand, to try and make a run for it, that he realized that his right leg would not support his weight.  The first time, he went down hard, pushing his face along the debris of the accident, ripping deep lines of fresh cuts into his face and arms.  The second time, he just ended up in a heap.  As he lay there, he heard the angry little bird come screaming in, spitting more death and destruction.  The eruption of asphalt and concrete, and the insanely cacophony of shredding of steel, all around him caused his ears to ring.  He curled up into a fetal position, desperately trying to make himself smaller while waiting for the fatal round to fall.  Somehow, as the sound of the screaming engine and blades faded into the storm, he found himself still alive.  For all the good that did him.

Looking around, there were no city lights on the horizon, not another set of headlights coming or going, just the pouring rain and his destroyed vehicle.  That was when something wore off inside of him.  Intense, searing pain came crashing down on him, especially on his right leg.  Looking down, he saw something that his mind could not immediately grasp.  The lower half of his thigh, to the knee, there was barely anything left.  There were strips of skin and sinew connecting the top and the bottom, but not much else.  His head began to swim.  He unbuckled his belt, and tugged, but all his effort did was to cause him to fall over onto his side.  Sitting up again, he rested against the side of his car.  If it were not for shock settling in, he would have begun to realize the hopelessness of his situation.

That’s when he heard the throaty growl of something approaching.  Wiping the dripping rain out of his eyes he saw what had made such a disturbing sound… in the strobes of the flashes of lightning, he felt fear rise into his throat and as he saw the silhouette of a bear.

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Part - 4

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The Long Unwinding Road - 0.1

The Long Unwinding Road - 0.1

Like an asphalt and concrete ribbon slicing through lightly rolling grasslands, I-90 went on as far as the eye could see. Paralleling this man made scar were parallel lines of obsolete telephone and electrical wires. Behind the wheel of a lone vehicle crossing the Badlands of the Sioux Nation, was a man with a single minded purpose, to get to New York as fast as he could.  He did not rate high enough in Evo Corp to warrant a suborbital flight.  Well, officially, he did not even work for them, so.  He was the one the 'suits' came to when they needed something taken care of... "off the books".  He was only ever referred to as, "Mr Johnson".  Definitely no glory or fame, but the pay was good.  Especially when there were no records of expenses to be kept.  Normally, something like this, the retrieval of a corporate "asset", he would just put a word on the street, and the rabble crawled out of the shadows for the work.  But when an exec comes to you directly, you make sure you see to it personally. If the 'asset' proves too difficult to regain on  his own, he would just hire some local talent.

Yawning, the man shook his head and lowered the windows to try and wake himself up as he accelerated to two hundred kilometers per hour. He looked to be maybe in his mid-thirties, with a slightly thinning rumpled crop of hair.  His beard was growing thick having gone unshaven for four days now. Although he had gone nose-deaf to his situation, he sat in a crumpled casual business suit that had not been taken off of his body for longer than the beard was old. He pulled out his last pack of cigarettes, took the last one from the packet with his teeth, then crumpled up the pack and tossed it on the passenger side floorboard. It fell alongside the growing pile of empty soykaf cups, and containers from Stuffer Shack that were mostly empty.

It didn’t help that the only thing that the headlights on his SK Bentley could reflect off of were the lines along the highway, and the rumble strips along the shoulders to let you know that you’d fallen asleep. But, even in the early morning hours, the driver could tell he was coming up on a storm, and fast. To his left, right, and rear view mirror, there was the dim illumination of moonlight, but the view out his windshield was only a wall of black, punctuated with frequent brilliant flashes of cloud to ground lighting.

With a blink and twitch of his right eye to the left, he checked his tracking readout within his field of vision of his cybernetic eye.  The target marker was still solidly locked in New York, “The City that never sleeps”’, he chuckled to himself. With another twitch of the eye, he switched to the MapSoft display, and then another blink and and a flip of his right hand, he switched the display to the windshield HUD. “If I keep to just fuel and essential pit stops… I should roll into New York in just under... twenty hours”, he says aloud to the empty cabin.

Another ten kilometers down the road, and the wall of black now filled the entire view to his front, and most of the side windows. The wind wasn’t doing it for him as he fought with having gone over four days without sleep. He reached into an interior pocket of his out of date suit jacket, and pulled out a hard case, the size of a long cigarette pack. Cracking it open, it revealed five thin metallic cylinders. He pulled one out and placed it between his lips.  Once he closed the case, and returned it to his pocket he reached up to grasp the cylinder, which he was now clenched between his teeth and with a swift tug, he pulled the cylinder free from its lid. With practiced ease, he simultaneously turned his head to the left and spit the lid out through the open window, while, with his right hand he fliped the cylinder over with his fingers and then jammed the open end into his upper thigh. He was used to the sting of the spring injected needle, and didn’t flinch. He just relaxed and enjoyed the slow spread of coolness through the muscles in his leg, as the dose of ‘Long Haul’ spread throughout his blood stream. When it finally began to wind its way into his brain, the fatigue induced mental fog just melted away. With a smile crossing his lips, he tossed the empty injector vial to follow its lid and then put the windows back up.   Leaning forward he retrieved the smoldering cigarette from the small ashtray in the console, sat back to let his head lean against the head-rest, took a long drag of the cigarette, held the smoke briefly, and then let it slowly exhale from his mouth and nose. He was only twenty four hours from the biggest payday in his life, and nothing was going to stop him now.

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Part - 2
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