Book III


Annette Fielding smoked and paced. The four tri-d screens in the luxury apartment had been tuned to news broadcasts and she paused occasionally to listen to a story but although each had touched on the assault on Nicolette Sayeva, none had any real information to offer, and for some reason her operative Lerner had not been in contact. It had been almost two weeks since the half-assed assault at the Inferno. She had been against it, but since she really did what the Sayeva bitch out of her life and out of her ex-husband’s bed she had not protested to hard. She was pleased that she had been playing both ends against the middle so well. She knew Lerner’s agenda as well as she knew John Fujiyama’s or Diane Scanlon’s but they really did not interest her, people with agendas were easily manipulated to serve her ends, and she had many fish to fry.

A picture of Nicolette appeared on the screen and Annette stopped to listen. The mellifluous voice of reporter Theora Oyono imparted the sad news that Nicolette’s condition had taken a turn for the worse. Friends and family were standing vigil at the wounded star’s bedside. A brief shot of the grief ravaged Sawyer Fielding leaving Nicolette’s room flashed on the screen. Annette gritted her teeth at the sight of her ex-husband’s face. The scene changed to show the large crowd of matahumans who had gathered outside the hospital. The stood quietly, many looking hopefully toward Nicolette’s window, others with their heads bowed. Most of the faces were elven, but there was a sprinkling of other metas as well as a few humans.

Annette turned away from the screen as a report of more deaths from the so-called metaflu in the barrens replaced the report on Nicolette. The metaflu was moderately virulent, but the death rate was only 17% above what one could expect from the Timorflu that ran through the world population five years previously. The only difference was that Timorflu had only hit metas peripherally and struck humans hard while metaflu was just the opposite. Annette didn’t much care. She was safe in the Fuchi arcology, nothing, not even the flu, got through the security on the executive level.

She thought about Sawyer Fielding, about John Fujiyama, and about her star rising at Fuchi while theirs crashed and burned. She stubbed out her cigarette on the cover of the annual report for Renraku Seattle and resumed pacing.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Lucy Manykills pulled the splint off Dallas' middle finger and examined the newly freed digit, "I cannot believe you did not know it was broken," she spoke in the Cheyenne language so Dallas merely sighed. Had she been seriously pissed, she'd have used English for it's more extensive curse coverage.

"It wasn't really broken, Aunt, barely cracked was all. It would have been all right."

"Hmph. Not the way you were using it," she threw away the tape and the splint while Dallas flexed his fingers, happy to have full mobility again.

"Is Stinking Man coming for you today?"

Dallas looked up and smiled, "Dawson. Yeah."

She shook her head, "I do not like this idea of yours. Are you sure you don't want me and the guys to just kill these fools?"

"Thanks, but the conspiracy reaches too far up too many corporate ladders to make a frontal assault worth while. We'd take way too many casualties. Trust me, a flanking move is the way to go here. We'll still get the bastards."

The former combat biker crossed her arms and studied the boy who was half her age as he prepared to take on the suits. Dallas pulled a soft, off-white buckskin shirt over his head and tucked it into the waistband of the black trousers. The garment would have cost a mint if such a thing were even available in Seattle - which it was not. The clothing he wore now was quite a bit more upscale than the bloodied sweater and jeans he'd had on when he'd pitched up on her doorstep ten days before. Even the worn down boots had been replaced with a polished lizard skin pair - another item impossible to find in Seattle, unless you went synth, and they just didn't look the same.

"I still can't believe you got an in with Sawyer Fielding," muttered Lucy.

"I told you, Aunt, when we heard he was going out of house for his security after Fuchi guards failed so miserably with Nicolette, my associate, Spyder just slipped into his assistant's day book and deleted a couple of the tougher interviews and added me. An inside track position. See, everything ties in," he said pulling his long hair into a tidy queue, "the virus, the hit, the humanis policlub, Fielding, Fuchi, Eastern Herbalist, and Renraku. The problem is that the tie in is too high up for us to get at from street level, so we go corporate."

He smiled and put on a pair of round framed Onyxshield Specs. His eyes were effectively hidden behind the matte black lenses, but he could see as well as if they were clear, better since they served the same purpose as shooting glasses.

Lucy snorted, "Still. Can't believe he hired you."

"Hey. I'm as good as they come, Aunt. High Wolf saw to that. And I'm cheap, I'm only hitting him for a 1000 a day. That's cheap by corporate standards."

The conversation was interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom. Dallas pressed the panel and Dawson's face appeared on the screen, "Let's go kid."

"Coming," Dallas grabbed his jacket and grinned at Lucy, "I'll be seeing you."

He galloped down the stairs and pushed through the lobby doors. Dawson immediately turned and started walking, Dallas fell in beside him.

"Here," said Dawson without preamble.

Dallas took the tiny ear piece radio, "Spyder and Crane?"

Dawson nodded, "They're hold up over in the Elven District and likely to stay there until they figure out if the metaflu is the plague or not. But they don't want to miss the rest of the show either way. They'll also keep us updated on Jack Moore's progress if we can't get clear ourselves."

Dallas nodded and placed the radio in his ear.

"Touch it once for on, twice for off," Dawson then passed over a blue envelope with the Fuchi corporate logo on it, "Instructions from our new boss," he grinned wolfishly, "He went like we wanted. You're gonna be close cover, and I'm gonna be lurking in the background. I guess you clean up prettier than me. Love the shades."

Dallas drew himself, puffing out his chest importantly, "It's all in the packaging, buddy."

Dawson laughed shortly, "Just get in the car, kid. Don't want to keep a Fuchi VP waiting."

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson straightened out his metallic blue suit jacket and adjusted the shoulder-slung Ares Predator concealed beneath it. In actuality, Dallas had never seen Dawson dressed so sharp. The high-collared suit jacket even complimented the steel grey shirt beneath--one of those shirts with the high button-cuff around the neck, rather than a collar. Dawson's mirrored shades made him look like a professional mafia hit-man. As Dawson started the car, Dallas noticed the elegant silver cigarette case on the dashboard. Dawson casually picked it up, pulled a smoke, and lit up, placing the case in his inside pocket.

"Now kid, remember the drill," Dawson started. "We get close enough to earn this guy's trust. We need to know the nuances of what's going down. Hopefully we can learn something from him before we have to kill him. Got it?"

Dallas nodded silently, all professional. Dawson smiled as he looked at his young friend. "DOn't get killed, kid. Good help is hard to find these days." It was as close to an outright compliment as Dawson had come since the amerind had met him...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas and Dawson entered the Fuchi arcology at street level and had to make their way up to level nine before they could access the express elevators to the executive levels. Out side the elevators was a guard post surrounded by bullet proof glass and occupied by five chromed corporate soldiers. The area was decorated charmingly with notices on orange and red backgrounds sharing thoughts like ‘GO NO FURTHER’, ‘GUARDS AUTHORIZED TO USE LETHAL FORCE’, and ‘BLUE ACCESS OR HIGHER BEYOND THIS POINT ONLY’. Dallas slotted his Fuchi issued ID and waited for the lights to cycle green.

A mechanical sounding voice issued from the panel in front of him, “Dallas Ree, security. Enter and access level 117 only.”

Dallas pushed through the revolving door, thinking dark thoughts about arcologies in general, and waited for Dawson.

“Raymond Palmer, security. Enter and access level 117 only.”

The two men entered the express elevator and hit 117. Neither spoke, both were well aware they were under the eye of the passive security system and had been since they set foot inside the arcology. If they sent up a red flag either by word or action, they’d have a considerable load of Fuchi security to deal with in short order. Only the executive levels held out even the hope of a private conversation.

Level 117 was a residential level. It held four apartments, each of which featured a minimum of twelve rooms – not including bathrooms, which tended to be numerous. When the doors of the elevator opened, the first thing they saw was Sawyer Fielding opening his own door to meet them. In a heartbeat Dallas had Fielding pressed against the door with a ball point pen laid across his throat.

“Okay, Mr. Fielding, do you want to tell me how you’ll never open the door yourself again?” Dallas emotionless ‘working mask’ was in place so his tone was merely conversational.

“Mr. Ree….”

“Dallas. Fewer syllables.”

“Is this really necessary?”

Dallas stepped back and held out the pen, “Mr. Fielding, this is a weapon. I am a weapon. I could kill you just as easily with the pen, my hands, a paperclip, or a .357. Get inside, please.”

Fielding sighed and led the way inside to a palatial living room, “Have a seat, gentlemen.”

They ignored the suggestion, “Mr. Fielding, “ began Dallas, “we’ve been over this. Everything I do for your protection is necessary. I take my work very seriously. And though it is true you hired me and pay may salary, you pay for my expertise, you will, therefore, do me the courtesy of listening when I advise you on matters of security. You saw the results when Miss Sayeva ignored her bodyguard'’ advice," he finished brutally.

Fielding winced and nodded, avoiding Dallas’ gaze. Dallas studied Fielding for a long moment, as if he was trying to see if he was being understood. For his part, Fielding found the blank scrutiny slightly unnerving, he could not read his new bodyguard at all.

Dallas finally nodded and looked at Dawson. The man had pitched his last smoke when they entered the arcology and had not lit up since. In and of itself, that was a great disguise, “Since you bought the whole package, my associates and I will protect you as well as analyze the threat potential for both you and Miss Sayeva. Her hospital room, calls, mail, will all be monitored. Lone Star is covering this angle, of course, it’s SOP, but we’ll make sure you are updated regularly.”

Fielding nodded and the haggard look he’d worn since they entered hardened into something else, making him look like someone who might actually be a senior VP in an international megacorp, “You gentlemen have a free hand. Submit your expense accounts weekly, report to me weekly if nothing new comes up. Report to me the second you find out anything, perceive any threats, even potential ones, and watch my back, “ he checked the face of the Auric Chronoton decorating his left wrist, “Dallas, Ray, I have a meeting in town if twenty-two minutes.”

Dallas nodded and started moving, “I screen calls, I open doors, I go into every room first. I stay between you and whom ever until I decide they’re clean. I’m at your side until you go to bed at night. You break my rules, you ditch me, you countermand me on security matters, you get yourself another boy.”

Fielding pulled on a top coat and nodded, “Agreed.”

The three rode the elevator to the garage in silence, once there, Fielding moved automatically toward the driver’s door of the glossy black Westwind, but Dawson stopped him, “You and Dallas ride in back, I’m the wheel man.”

Fielding did not hesitate, which scored him a point with Dallas, and he slid into the back seat with out a word. Dallas sat beside him as Dawson took the wheel. As they pulled out of the garage, Fielding took a palm computer from his case and opened his mail. Dallas watched and took note.

*** *** ***

“Is this line secure?”

“Of course it is! What am I, an idiot?” snapped Spyder.

Dallas ignored the question. Spyder had been pretty snappy lately in general. Not to mention on the hollow-eyed side, “Okay. I have his mail account, a few names from his correspondence, and some weird thing he punched in that got him some kind of secondary mailbox.”

“Give it to me.”

Dallas transmitted the information and Spyder began nodding happily, “Jammin’. I can work with this. Nice little wedge for a real tight assed little system.”

“I’ll get you more tomorrow. He’s meeting with the CEO Senji Takahashi, and I’m damned observant.”

Spyder grinned, “Oh, goody,” and she broke the connection.

Dallas sat back and looked at Dawson who was rooting through his refrigerator, “So, what do you think?”

Dawson emerged with a beer for himself and a cola for Dallas, “I think I’m glad we don’t have a room in the fraggin’ arcology tonight. I thought you were gonna duraseal yourself to his butt.”

Dallas smiled, “Standard contract. We’re guaranteed six hours free and clear a day. So?”

Dawson shook his head, “Got no opinion, yet.”

“Bulldrek.”

“Okay, if you insist. After some 17 hours of careful observation, I’d say Fielding probably has no hidden agenda, that’s he seems like a straight shooter. But he is a corp, and a highly successful one, so appearances can be real deceptive that high up. None of which will stop me from walking right over him to get to the mover and shaker behind our little germ fest. It was me they were gonna use as a Guinea pig, remember.”

“You know what? I think you’re right. All we have to do now is figure which of his friends in high places is your mover and shaker.”

“Oh yeah, that’s all.”

-Dallas

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Ray Dawson stood behind Sawyer Fielding as the meeting progressed. Dallas had already cleared the other bodyguards, who were standing behind Takahashi defensively. Dawson almost smiled as he looked over the gorillas on the other side of the room. Four of them. This Takahashi guy was pretty insecure, even though his outward appearances were all cool, collected, and in control. Ray would give more value to a CEO who only had one bodyguard--who didn't look like a bodyguard--than one who needed the appearances of high security at the risk of a lack of intellect.

The meeting was a relatively formal affair, with Takahashi and his staff of three and four bodyguards meeting with Sawyer Fielding and his personal secretary (a HIGHLY attractive, lithe, and polished red-head) with Dawson and Dallas in tow. Takahashi spoke no english, and so the smaller oriental man on his left did most of the translating. He wore a traditional servant's outfit--black, pajama-looking clothes with a white underlayer poking through at the hems--and kept fiddling with a set of wooden beads... Prayer beads? Dawson listened intently to the first several minutes of the meeting, which concerned some financial reports and some merger/acquisition talks. Product management, yadda, yadda, yadda... Ray hated these things.

Was that little Chinese guy staring at him?

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

After the meeting...

"Dallas," Ray muttered, barely perceptible amidst the droning of the execs shaking hands and bowing profusely. Dallas was next to him in an instant, surveying the field. Ray nodded toward the small oriental man. "Bruce over there wants a piece of me," he muttered. Dallas scowled.

"How can you be sure?"

"Instinct. Anyway, I wanna ask him some questions. Keep an eye on Tom Sawyer for a minute. It shouldn't take too long," Dawson responded, taking a step towards the little guy.

"Mr. --Palmer?" the asian said politely, bowing his head slightly--never taking his eyes from Ray's. "Can I assist you with something?"

Ray nodded, "Come with me for a minute, if you would." He stepped aside and gestured with his left arm at a door to a private office. The oriental looked, turned back to Ray, grinned, then fluidly strode into the indicated room. Ray followed, and shut the door behind him.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Palmer?" the asian said in even tones, the whole time playing with those damned beads.

"I just wanted to ask you a few standard questions. Take no offense, some of them may seem--personal," Ray said, standing firmly in front of the door. The asian nodded.

"Alright. Name."

"Chou Sun Di"

'geshundheit,' Ray thought. Out loud, he asked, "Nationality?"

"I was born within Renraku Corp--"

"I asked for your nationality."

Chou grinned again. "You are persistent, Mr. Palmer. Nations no longer have a bearing on the global economy--but I was born in what used to be China."

"How long have you worked for Takahashi," Ray asked.

"MR. Takahashi. 4 years. I grow weary of this game, Mr. Palmer, and you show me and my employer great disrespect in your lack of trust. I can understand this, coming from a westerner, but I will ignore it--this time. Know that the next time you disrespect my employer, I will not ignore it. We are done, Mr. Palmer." Chou walked easily past Ray, pointedly bumping into him on the way through the doorway. He paused for a moment, and glanced sidelong at Ray, then smiled. "I look forward to meeting you again, Mr. Palmer." Chou chuckled slightly, then strode out, the whole while playing with those little wooden beads.

Ray adjusted his suit, then muttered, "I don't like this guy," then tapped his ear twice, switching the transmitter off as he walked into the main room, still all-business...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Takahashi and his entourage departed first. Last out the door, Chou slid a final glance at Dawson, a tiny smirk, meant to be noted, was on his face. As the door clicked shut, Fielding expelled a huge breath and dropped into one of the chairs.

"Bastard. Did you guys get that?"

The two men shook their heads, "Half of your conversation was in Japanese anyway, so even if I'd been listening I wouldn't have got it," said Dallas, "I only speak two foreign languages, Japanese is not one of them."

Fielding lifted an eyebrow, tacitly inviting Dallas to elaborate.

"English and French," deadpanned Dallas.

Fielding stared for a moment before he finally got it, "Oh," he said with a chuckle, "Well, Takahashi san is a paranoid old xenophobe who only emerges from his fortress periodically to make sure we are squeezing the last possible nuyen out of the public so that he can squirrel it away in one of his theoretically secret off shore accounts," he stretched his legs out in front of him and allowed himself to slump in his chair.

"Half of the meeting consisted of him complaining about other divisions. So now I have to go down and jump all over the head of marketing because it's beneath him to do so. I'm really going to need you fellas down there."

Dawson took a turn at the eyebrow lift, "Something we should know about?"

Fielding sighed, "Yeah. VP of marketing is Annette Arno Fielding, my ex. A more ambitious and vicious bitch you will never meet. I'm gonna have to do this one just right, " he finished with a shark like grin.

*** *** ***
Annette was unprepared when her assistant announced Sawyer's presence. She rose to her feet and plastered a smile of false good fellowship on her face. She was startled when the man who entered her office was not her tall sandy haired ex, but a small black haired stranger. She was shocked into immobility when the man circled her and then returned to the door to usher Fielding in.

She clenched her teeth and regarded the three men who now occupied her office with a smoldering stare, she recognized an insult when she'd been handed one, "What the hell is this about, Sawyer?"

Fielding seated himself casually as Dallas and Dawson retreated to opposite corners of the room. They would not leave unless Fielding specifically requested it.

"My new security team, Annette," he said waving a languid hand, "They're really very good. Did you know that you have just been scanned for weapons? Show her Dallas."

Without a flicker of expression, the Amerind held out his hand. Annette noticed a palm sized device hidden in it. It was evidently some kind of sophisticated metal detector. Annette's fury at Fielding grew to include his two men as well.

"I'm busy, Sawyer, so if this is just a show and tell session...."

Fielding spoke as if she had not, "Takahashi san is very disappointed with your department. He insists that the new Braindance line has not been marketed effectively or aggressively enough. Our market share was down 3.7 % last quarter. He thinks that your division is poorly led," he smiled apologetically, "Sorry, Annette, his words, not mine. He wants an annotated quarterly report by 8 am tomorrow, and he wants you to make yourself available for the senior staff meeting Saturday 3 pm at the club. And you know how he hates meeting with female execs."

Fielding paused, but Annette held her tongue albeit with great difficulty. He rose, adjusting his cuffs, "Have a pleasant day, Annette," he turned to go, then added in a stage whisper, "Cover my withdraw, Ray."

Annette waited a good twenty seconds after the door shut behind them before she allowed her self to kick the decorative litter basket across the room. She paced furiously for several minutes before she began to calm down enough to function. She threw herself into her chair and yanked the computer towards her, "All right Sawyer, just who the frag are your Ray and Dallas anyway? Anyone can be turned, you bastard."

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

John Fujiyama's private suite; Renraku Corp.

Mr. Fujiyama stood at the room-height wall of glass, peering out into the darkened city below. He thought of all the possibilites that had lain before him, but now, due to one person's actions, he had only one direction to take. It saddened him, really. He didn't want to have to kill his former lover--but she had brought it upon herself. The automatic door to his living room slid open, and Diane Scanlon slinked in, still dressed in the red satin lingerie he had given her, and she was carrying the half-empty bottle of champaigne in her left hand. He saw her ghostly reflection in the glass, and contemplated making love to her a second time that evening--once more before disposing of her. No. It had to be done now.

"That was wonderful, John," Diane cooed, running her fingers over the oriental man's chest. He wore an expressionless mask as he turned to face her--the kind of calm, nondescript face he wore to business meetings. He reached out tenderly to stroke her cheek, and then suddenly clasped his hand around her throat.

"It saddens me, Diane, to have to do this to you, but you have failed me for the last time. Because of your lack of foresight, too many complications have arisen. Publicity is something we did NOT want. Tell me, love--who told you to assassinate Nicolette?"

Diane struggled against Fujiyama's iron grip, her face turning shades of purple from lack of air. She watched him reach under his robe and pull out a syringe. He injected her with it, then slapped her across the face. Hard. She sprawled over the floor, coming to rest near the huge window, a trickle of blood at the corner of her once-perfect mouth.

"Truth serum, Diane. I can't have you lying to me any longer. Who paid you?" Fujiyama stepped closer to her, still expressionless. Of course, his spies and informants had already told him all the information he needed. He just wanted to hear it from her before killing her.

"Fuchi. I was hired through Fuchi. No name was given, just a target and a money transfer. Please don't kill me," Diane blubbered, tears mingling with the blood from her mouth. Fujiyama allowed a slight smile, then leaned down and kissed Diane on the mouth--a hard, passionate kiss. He lifted her to her feet before pulling away, smiling again.

"Goodbye, my lover," he said. Then he pulled the trigger on his sleek-looking .38 repeatedly, sending round after round through Diane's body, as well as the glass behind her. She stared at him blankly, staggering backwards with each shot, until she finally crashed through the window, plummetting the 215 or so stories to the sidewalk below.

John Fujiyama placed the gun in a drawer and lit a cigarette as he picked up the vid-phone.

"Housekeeping? Send someone up right away. And have someone look into that mess on the street." John Fujiyama contemplated his next move as he hung up the phone, pacing once more...

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Ray's place:

"Spyder, I want you to run a full check on a chinese guy named Chou Sun Di," Ray said as he unbuttoned his top shirt-button. He had grown so accustomed to using the earpiece radio that he used it all the time now. As he got undressed for bed, thoughts flew through his mind concerning this case. If the plague-virus was out there, people would have started bleeding out by now. Chances were Renraku had managed to recover from Diane Scanlon's little zealous blunder. He almost chuckled. If it wasn't for Diane, he would have never found out about the plan to destroy metahumanity. But the main topic gnawing on his brain was simpler than that. If Renraku had sent out Diane to do the field testing on a virus designed in unison with Aztech, where the hell did Fuchi fit in? And why had Diane attempted to kill Nicolette? That was the part that didn't make sense. Had she been a competing lover of Sawyer Fielding's? Or was there something else?

"Spyder, also see if you can dig up anything on Annette Fielding," Ray added, reclining on his bed. He switched on his old Lone Star police scanner and closed his eyes, listening to the evening's police activity...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

"Holy frag…."

Crane looked up at Spyder. She was just jacking out of the system looking like she stepped in something squishy.

"Man, have you ever seen what a human body can look like after it's been pumped full of bullets and fallen 2000 feet?"

"Is this a trick question?"

She grimaced,"Let's just say that 'icky' doesn't begin to cover it."

Crane switched off the network 23 news, "Okay. Who, when, where?"

"Outside the Renraku arcology, night before last, apparently…Diane Scanlon."

Crane whistled, "Well, la de da, Ms. Scanlon. No wonder there was nothing on the news. Renraku is really good at the old cover up. I'm surprised you found anything at all."

"You know me, chummer, nothing stays hidden."

Crane smiled, Spyder really seemed to be coming back to herself lately, "Well scoop together all the gory details and we'll add it to the daily rundown for the dynamic duo. They should be heading back to the salt mines in about an hour."

~~~~~ ~~~~~

Dallas and Dawson were finishing breakfast when Spyder's call came through on the secure line, "You guys are gonna love this stuff. I've got to down load some of it cause it'll take too long to tell in the time we got. By the way, Dawson, your buddy Chou is a bit of a cipher, a lot of stuff, but all pretty light weight so far, I'll keep digging.

"Diane Scanlon fell from John Fujiyama's private suite. Glass repair was up there yesterday. When she fell she was loaded up on pentathol supra, that occasionally lethal truth cocktail, several .38 slugs, and was wearing a flimsy of red silk. Rumors about Fujiyama's kinky sexual tastes are even now being uncovered."

"What about Annette Fielding?" asked Dawson as he swilled coffee.

"Now she's a twisted piece of work. Annette Aileen Arno married Fuchi-Seattle up and comer Sawyer Calvin Fielding 17 years ago at the age of 22. Used Fielding like a hanky, slept with any one who would give her a corporate boost, Fielding quietly divorced her 10 years ago. She's been working to under cut or undermine him and anyone else who might make a handy stepping stone for the last 10 years, rising to the lofty height of senior VP of marketing. There's more detail in the file. You should have it all by now."

"So when do you get to the punch line, Spyder?" asked Dallas.

"Geez, All right. It seems that there was a nice little double blind office program set up for her lurking in a little out of the way system in the far reaches of the matrix. When you call or email this 'office' you get a greeting from Mayinga, a consultant for Eastern Herbalist. You may all ooh and ahh now."

Dallas and Dawson sat back and stared at one another, "The plot thickens," muttered the younger man.

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

"So, Diane Scanlon is hired by Mayinga to off Nicolette," Dawson started. He paused a moment to light a cigarette before continuing. "So, Mayinga is Annette... Which is perfect motive to offing Nicolette--revenge on our new boss, Sawyer. So, this Mayinga character was also apparently acting as a go-between for Renraku and Aztech--which means," he looked at Dallas expectantly.

"Annette Fielding has been behind this whole thing since the beginning," Dallas finished. Dawson nodded.

"We need to find how deep her ties are, and who they're with. We need to follow this thing down to the last man standing. Spyder--keep a running tab. I want to have some informational collateral in case our end goes sour. Japanese megacorps still cling to an old system of honor--all we need to do is make them lose face in the public eye, and anybody involved will just stab themselves in the guts for us." Dawson stood from the breakfast table and adjusted his gun rig, then looked at Dallas. "You got any input kid?"

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas sat in silence for several minutes, "Spyder, get all you can on the personal history of our players, too please. And run down Nicolette Sayeva as well, everything she ever swept under the carpet."

"Okay. Catch you two later," she said.

Dallas continued to stare at the dark vidphone screen for a moment, "Something isn't tracking," he said at last, "So Annette is Mayinga, okay, that gives us the Fuchi tie in to this. Scanlon slept with and conspired with John Fujiyama, AND conspired with Mayinga. I don't think she knew Mayinga was Annette Fielding. There are still a few pieces missing."

"Granted," agreed Dawson, "but we sure have a bright new direction to look in."

Dallas checked the time, "In the meantime, business as usual. We got to go. In sure feels like things are building up though. I almost hate to spend the time Saturday's meeting is going to take up away from this."

Dawson watched his partner speculatively, "Well, no one could ever accuse you of being excitable. Okay, we'll play it your way, nice and cautious and get all our ducks in a row."

"Then they can all commit ritual suicide and save us a whole lot of grief."

"Now you're talking, kid," grinned Dawson malevolently.

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

John Fujiyama, Mr. Takahashi, and Chou Sun Di sat in a highly ornate office, with a simple table adorning the center, surrounded by satin pillows which acted as seats.

"Mr. Fujiyama," Chou spoke, "Word has come to us that you have not been fulfilling your portion of the bargain satisfactorily." Chou smiled slightly, turning the wooden beads over in his hands. Fujiyama nodded slightly.

"Some... Complications have arisen. But, steps have been taken to control any possible damage. The project may continue according to plan."

Takahashi speaks slowly, in Japanese

Chou nods, then speaks in even tones, "What of the rumors about Diane Scanlon?"

"Diane Scanlon is no longer a liability. Measures have been taken to ensure the successful completion of our plan," Fujiyama said strongly--very secure in his position. Chou smiled again, nodding.

"What of the designer of the virus--Dr. Cosper?" Chou pressed.

"Cosper has also been dealt with. His two associates, however, have turned up missing. They could potentially be a hazard to us--however, they have served their usefulness. The virus is viable, sirs. I have seen to that personally." Fujiyama allowed a smile now, seeing his 2 closest associates nodding in agreement.

"Thank you, Mr. Fujiyama. That will be all. We will speak again at the meeting tomorrow, I'm sure," Chou said, bowing slightly as Fujiyama left.

Once Fujiyama had gone, Chou turned to Takahashi and spoke to him in an angry voice. "I am extraordinarily displeased with this situation, old man." He rose to pace around Takahashi menacingly. "My involvement in this is proof of your ineptitude. I do not understand how one can manage affairs so poorly. If we were in Tokyo, you would already be dead." Chou turned and stormed out of the room, leaving old man Takahashi to his own thoughts...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Sawyer Fielding had sent Dallas and Dawson out of his private office when the call from Nicolette Sayeva's doctor came through, she seemed, at last, to be on the mend. No matter, they had Nicolette and her doctors wired, they'd learn the details soon enough. Dawson was dispatched to the garage to ready the car while Dallas waited in the outer office. The whole spacious room was tastefully done in old American Mission style. The furniture was Stickley, the chair Dallas sat in would have taken him 10 years in this job to afford. Dallas pulled out the palm computer - which he had included on his last expense account - and ran through a copy of the file on Annette Fielding. He was aware of it the moment Fielding's secretary rose from her desk and crossed the expanse of carpet toward him.

Dallas shut the computer down and looked up at the slickly attractive redhead. She seemed a creature of fire and ice. She was a very cool professional, never flustered, very savvy. She was sleek and stylish, wore clothes from the high end of the fashion world, spent 110 nuyen every other week to have her hair styled, and 320 nuyen a month on a manicure and nail style. All this Dallas knew for a fact, he also knew she had not said so much as two words to either him or Dawson since the pair had been hired.

"Dallas Ree," she said without inflection.

"Ms. Van Wettig."

She smoothed her hands across the fine wool skirt that looked as if it had been painted on her and examined Dallas as if her were the house special, "You look like a tasty little morsel, Ree. I happen to know where there is an empty office," she licked her lips slowly.

The invitation was obvious. Dallas was struck momentarily dumb. He rose to his feet, but with her in heels, his eye level was even with her chin. He removed his dark glasses - something she had never seen him do before - and met her eye, "Ms. Van…."

"Call me Petra," she demanded.

Dallas allowed a faint smile, "Petra. As exceedingly flattered and as thoroughly tempted as I am, I'm afraid now is not the time. I'm working, you see."

She pouted slightly, unused to being denied what she desired - and he did have such lovely bedroom eyes, "Very well, perhaps another time, my little pocket Eros," she shrugged, "If I feel like it."

She turned and sauntered back to her desk, returning to work as if the conversation with Dallas had never taken place. Dallas shook his head briefly and shoved the glasses back in place. He knew Crane would be endlessly amused by the exchange, but he resisted turning off the radio nestled in his ear, you never knew. He dropped back into his seat and returned to his research. It was shaping up to be a very weird day.

Dawson stepped off the elevator and strode down the corridor of the senior executive suite level. He'd done a little exploring since his clearance had expanded considerably since the first day. Pretty much anything from Fielding's apartment on down was open to them now. He found it interesting that Annette's apartment was three levels below her former husbands, but the were ostensibly the same rank - that must have pissed her off. The executive suites, however, were on this level - Fielding's at one end, Annette's at the other. Most of the department chiefs for Fuchi Seattle had offices either on this floor or the one below in fact. Only people like Takahashi and his ilk were nestled above Dawson's immediately available prowl zones.

He spotted the blonde man immediately, he was obviously idling as he waited for someone. He did it with panache if not subtlety. He was the same glossy pretty boy Dawson had seen outside Annette Fielding's office. As Dawson passed, the man fell into step with him.

"What's up, Sparky?"

The young man passed a small, blue, rarely used, interoffice envelope to Dawson, "For you, sir."

Dawson only hesitated about half a second before he took the offering. The glossy boy then veered away immediately and headed down another corridor. Dawson moved over to the wall, locating what he had figured was a blind spot in the security blanket. It was handy there were at least two such spots along each corridor.

Inside the envelope were a bearer stick for 20,000 nuyen and a note in a stylish feminine hand: 'Join me and we'll talk further.'

"Well, frag me," Dawson grinned, "I'm being seduced."

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson rubbed his nose with his finger, mumbling into his cuff-link microphone as he did so.

"Keep your ears open," he said, placing the bearer-stick in his pocket and walking down the hall toward Annette's office. When he got there, he saw the blonde guy sitting at the reception desk. "What's this all about, Sparky?" Dawson asked, walking straight up to the desk.

"Ms. Arno will see you now," Sparky replied, pressing a button on his desk-top. Annette's stylish office doors silently swung open, and Ray regarded them for a moment, curious as to what he was about to get into.

"Thanks Sparky. Keep up the good work," Dawson said, leaving the now crumpled-up note on the desk as he turned and entered Annette's office. As the doors closed, Annette's chair turned to face him, and he could see Annette Arno Fielding peering at him over steepled fingers.

"Please, have a seat," she said, motioning to an empty chair directly across from her. Ray looked at it, then at her, and then sat, crossing his left ankle over his right knee and slouching way down in the high-back chair.

"Comfy," he muttered--apparently to Annette's amusement.

"Do you know why I sent for you, Ray--do you mind if I call you Ray?" Annette began. She leaned forward over her desk, her hands resting beneath her chin. Ray took a pleasant note of the obvious cleavage protrusion she offered him as she did so.

"I'm sure you're going to enlighten me, Annette," Dawson answered both her questions at once, again noting her flirtatious smile.

"You're very observant. I can see why Sawyer hired you," Annette said. "How much is he paying you, by the way?"

It was Ray's turn to smile now. "I believe that's confidential information, Annette." Ray could play games, too.

"What if I were to offer you a substantial increase in pay? Of course, your duties would be more... complicated, but the fringe benefits are infinately more enjoyable." Annette spoke in slow, lusty tones, leaning back and sweeping her hair away from her half-exposed breasts as she did so, raising an eyebrow and licking her upper lip slightly as she said 'fringe benefits'.

"Well, that all depends on what the duties are," Ray said, dropping his foot to the floor and leaning forward, acting interested in what Annette was offering him. He truly was amused at how predictable she was acting; even smiling when she thought Ray had taken 'the bait'.

"First, let's start with the acquisition fee--which you already have--and then move onto the fringe benefits to seal the deal," Annette said in a whispery tone, slowly lowering her low-cut top as she spoke. Ray checked his watch, then looked back at the bounty he was being offered, then grit his teeth and shook his head once.

"I'd love to chat with you more about this, Annette, but I am on duty. Give me a time and place--probably while I'm off--and we can have more time to talk about the fringe benefits of my new position," he said, rising to his feet. Annette pouted slightly, then nodded her agreement.

"Fine. Call this number tonight when you get off," she said, handing him a phone-card. "I'll be waiting," she added, using that lusty voice again, raising an eyebrow.

Ray smiled and left her office, laughing inwardly the whole way. "Did you guys get all of that?" he whispered, once he finally got to Sawyer's car...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

"We're coming down," Dallas' voice crackled in Dawson's ear. He pulled the car over to the elevators and waited the six and a half minutes it took for the express elevator to descend from the executive level to the garage.

Dallas and Fielding got into the back and Dawson took off, "The hospital, Ray," Fielding sounded positively giddy, "Nicolette is much better. She's being moved out of intensive care finally. Once she's settled, I'll be taking the rest of the day off, that means you boys can too."

Ray nodded and shot a glance a Dallas via the rear view - damn it was hard to tell if you'd made eye contact when all the players were wearing dark glasses.

The two men bypassed the front entrance of the hospital and the resident throngs of media folk by the simple expediency of ushering Fielding in through the delivery door behind the cafeteria. The service elevator to the 7th floor netted them only a curious look from an ork orderly and no media attention. It was smooth sailing from there to Nicolette's new private room - then Twenty-three's dark and lovely Theora Oyono ambushed them. Instinctively Dallas and Dawson ducked their heads and put themselves between Fielding and the woman. Then they noticed the camera wasn't on.

"I just wanted to say I'm glad for you and Ms. Sayeva, Mr. Fielding. I don't want to intrude on what should be a happy renunion but if you want to talk later, please keep me in mind as interviewer," she stepped away as the three men brushed past her blank faced.

It wasn't until they turned the corner that Fielding smiled appreciatively, "Damn, she's good. Now I'll have to remember her. Try not to break her arms if she ever does that again, fellas."

Dallas and Dawson waited outside Nicolette Sayeva's door. Fielding had been inside for about twenty minutes. Dallas rolled his eyes at Dawson as the last of the Lone Star people finally left the corridor. Dawson fiddled with his nice new watch and initiated the nifty little white noise generator it doubled as. If he and Dallas stayed within five feet of one another, electronic bugs could not pick up their speech. As it was they spoke almost without sound.

"I thought they'd never leave."

Ray wished fervently for a cigarette, "Uniform humps. I can't believe they did leave."

"Well, they obviously stink at their jobs considering we know there's an APB out on you and they don't."

"So. I'm not Dawson, just like you're not Whitecrow right now. We are who we appear to be."

Dallas smiled tightly, "So what is Mr. Palmer going to do about Annette Fielding's proposition?"

Dawson paused, "I'm not quite sure," then he grinned, "But there is the distinct possibility Mr. Palmer could get laid."

Dallas nodded, "Mr. Palmer getting screwed is indeed a distinct possibility."

Dawson's reply was cut off as Fielding opened the door, "These fellas are our new security team, love," he was saying, "They'll find out who's responsible. Come in gentlemen."

Dawson flicked unobtrusively at his watch and the two men entered the flower bedecked room keeping a respectful distance. The elfin starlet lay against a mound of white pillows. Her skin was so pale she could barley be seen against the linens save for her hair and the hollowed and darkened eyes, but her skin had lost the wax like sheen it had held when Dallas had last seen her. She'd lost weight, something her frame could ill afford, but she was free from machines, and she seemed in good spirits, and she still possessed a certain waif like beauty.

She seemed to study the two men briefly, "I don't care who's responsible, Sawyer," she said at last, "I just want to put it behind us. I don't think body guards are much use either," she finished with a slight bitterness.

Dallas and Dawson stood mute, it was doubtful that she had even seen them that night in the Inferno, let alone remember them after what she' been through. People like her did not remember people like them anyway.

Fielding looked at them almost apologetically, "Wait outside. I'll be leaving in five minutes."

They returned to the corridor and Dawson shrugged. Dallas touched his ear as he moved to the end of the corridor. They left the hospital grounds seven minutes later.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder was a small blue cube again. Personal histories they wanted, did they even have a clue as to how tangled one person’s web of contacts, locations, relatives, jobs, warrants, summonses, credit and pet ownership, among other things, could become – especially when the person in question took great pains to bury the past. True most of the people the Dynamic Duo were dealing with were pretty straightforward, but that Chou guy and, more surprisingly, Nicolette Sayeva ware turning into serious butt pains.

Deciding to save Chou for last, she had been concentrating on Sayeva most of the morning and had come to the not altogether shocking conclusion that that was not the starlet’s original name. The blue cube accessed the SAN at the hall of records and was doing to a meticulous search through the data base for legal name changes. It was not a secure system because all the information was supposed to be public record, but it was poorly organized.

Spyder gritted her teeth and expanded the perameters. Knowing elves, she might have to cover from the last 70 years to get a line on Nicolette. Ah-ha.

She read the document – in her view of the matrix it appeared as neon on a colorless duraplast sheet. Nicolette Sayeva had her name changed all right, some thirty years previously. But some clever hacker had all ready been there and erased the name she was changing from. Drek! Well, whoever it was wasn’t going to beat her.

She searched for a direction and got the judges name. The blue cube dashed off to visit the judge’s virtual chambers. Luck was with her. When the judge, Carson Weems, died four years previously all of his records were archived and no one had been in to organize them yet. That again made access easy, extraction hard. She found the day she wanted and the court log. There were seventeen possibilities to check out. Armed with the information, the blue cube dashed off again.

Crane was bored. He watched the news, he watched Spyder deck. He’d been confined for a week and a half and was just about ready to risk a little plague if it meant he did not have to be inside the bloody apartment one minute longer.

Spyder had an interesting expression on her face – it wavered between grim determination and nyah-nyah victory. Maybe she was on to something, he gave her a poke.

She frowned. He waited a few moments, then poked her again. She hissed at him, so he desisted. He drank a tumbler of vodka and waited.

It was another fifteen minutes before she finally opened her eyes and jacked out, “I think I got what Dallas was fishing for,” she said with a grin.

“Ah yes, our prodigy. What was it that he wanted then, love?”

Nicolette Sayeva, despite her official history was not from an established elf family ‘prominent in the Tir’. She was born to human parents 64 years ago right here in Seattle.”

“Do tell. Officially she’s only 45, you know. Not that any of them can tell when it comes to us,” he grinned.

Spyder frowned, “You wanna let me tell this? Anyway she had her name changed officially about 30 years ago after the deaths of her parents,” Spyder paused dramatically, “At birth she was given the name Nancy Elizabeth.”

Crane rolled his eyes, “Go ahead, Spydie, I’m all ears. Drop the other shoe.”

“Cosper.”

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson drove Dallas and Fielding back to Fuchi, where Fielding gave them both the rest of the day off. Dawson checked his watch. 1:30. They didn't have to be back 'on the job' until 6:00 the next morning--there was some huge meeting they were supposed to take Fielding to. Dawson shrugged, lighting up a smoke as Dallas returned to the car.

"Well, Fielding's safe and snug in his apartment area," Dallas said as he closed the passenger-side door. Dawson looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You really think it's a good idea to let him wander around unsupervised? He might just lead some more assassins back to Nicollette's room--unwittingly, of course." Dawson blew smoke out his window as he shifted into drive.

"Well, we could put surveillance on Nicollette--but I doubt anybody could get through with all those reporters and Lone Star hangin around," Dallas mused.

"We got in," was all Dawson said, turning left at the next light. Dallas just nodded. "We should split this one, kid. You watch Nicollette, and I'll check out Annette," Dawson said, glancing sideways at the Amerind. He just shook his head, an astonished look on his face.

"You're not--" Dallas began, but Dawson cut him off.

"Look--we need to keep tabs on her somehow. I can't think of any better way than the way she already offered me. It sounds like she wants me to leak information about Fielding to her. Besides, I haven't had really good sex for--" it was Dallas's turn to cut Dawson off, this time.

"Stop. That's more information than I need to know," Dallas said, raising his hand, which drew a chuckle from Dawson. "Go do your thing, man--but be careful," Dallas said, as Ray dropped him off a block away from the parking garage/apartment, then drove back to Fuchi.

Dawson pulled up to a pay trid-phone, and slotted the plastic card Annette had given him. After five rings, her face appeared on the static-filled screen.

"Well, hello, Ray," she said with a seductive smile. Dawson nodded.

"I just got the rest of the day off," he said, glancing around slightly. Annette smiled again.

"Good. I'll clear my schedule and send a car," she began. Dawson interrupted.

"I'll be up in ten minutes," he said, to which Annette smiled again.

"I'll be waiting," she said, hanging up the phone. Dawson pulled the phone-card out and put it in his wallet, then made his way upstairs...

"Ms. Arno will--" Sparky began, but Dawson cut him off by waving his hand in a dismissive manner.

"Thanks, Sparky--I know. Go take a break or something," Ray said as he passed the desk of the blonde-haired guy. Dawson walked into Annette's office, like he had earlier, only this time, the doors closed before the chair spun around. Dawson noted with minor concern that they had indeed locked automatically.

"Hello, Ray," he heard Annette's now-familiar voice saying, seductively. He turned to face her chair, which had indeed turned to face him again, only this time, Annette sat there wearing an excessively skimpy set of extraordinarily revealing lingerie. Ray had guessed at her exquisite figure before, only through her attractive business suits--but what he saw now put his imaginings to shame. Annette stood and strode seductively over to Ray, and gazed into his eyes with lust. "I'm glad you decided to accept my offer," she said, letting her hands play lightly over his chest. She pursed her lips as she felt his muscles, then spoke again, nearly in a whisper, "Shall we discuss the fringe benefits, Ray?"

They didn't make it to her bedroom area for another 2 hours, then didn't leave it again for another 6 hours after that. When Annette finally fell asleep, Ray checked his watch. 10:00pm. He decided to grab a quick shower before joining her again, and so walked across the scattered, tangled, discarded clothing to the bathroom, where he turned on the air-vent and grabbed a smoke. So far, she hadn't slipped up and revealed any info, or even asked Ray to get info for her--but he knew that would change. She had been so wild that it seemed as if she hadn't been 'pleasured' for quite some time--either that or she really was a little wild girl.

As the hot water of the shower washed over him and he became lost in his own thoughts, Ray felt Annette's hands begin to carress his chest from behind, her hands trailing lower and lower. He hadn't even heard the door open, or the shower curtain move.

"Ready for round two, Ray?" she said enticingly as she began to massage him. Ray turned around to gaze at her naked form, and she smiled at him again. "I must warn you, though... The stakes go up from here," Annette said, then pulled Ray's mouth down to hers for a deep kiss. When they broke from that, she whispered in his ear, "And I'm only tame in round one..."

Ray wondered what he'd gotten himself into...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas let himself into the apartment and placed a couple of calls. Neither Fielding nor Nicolette would be out from under surveillance until Dallas told his contractors otherwise. Lucy Manykills and her comrades were as family, they were happy to oblige.

He wandered over to the fridge and took out some left over gumbo. He heated it briefly and consumed it while mulling over Petra Van Wettig. Crud, now Dawson had him doing it. He grabbed a soft drink and made his way up to his bike.

"Who is it?"

"Frag, Crane, it's Dallas, look at the monitor, why do you think it's there."

"Aren't we in a foul mood. You know we're in isolation up here."

"And you know the meta flu isn't the meta plague. Its been two weeks and none of the symptoms the doc told us to look for have shown up, so show a little back bone and let me in."

The intercom went silent for a few minutes. For a moment Dallas thought they were going to leave him in the vestibule, but then the door chimed and he pushed through. Dallas had never really noticed the exaggerated height of the elves before, but the population of this building - almost exclusively elven - almost made him feel like he was walking in a trench. Maybe it was because there were so few metas among the People or among the other Nations, he had just never really thought about meta humanity being fundamentally different.

He tapped on the apartment door and Crane swung it open, in each hand he was holding a different aerosol, one was a disinfectant the other deodorant, both of them were being sprayed on Dallas.

Dallas stepped back, "Does that drek stain?" he asked facetiously, "This is real leather, you know."

Crane ushered him in, "One's to kill any nasties that might be clinging to you, the other is to assure our corpses smell good if the first one fails."

Dallas grinned, "You decided to break your quarantine because you're bored spitless, right?"

Crane smirked, "Think you know me after such a short acquaintance, youngster? Well…you're right. Are we going out to destroy anything or anyone today?"

"I'd love to, we just gotta find out who or what. Spyder available?"

"Yeah, and she's found some lovely tidbits for you."

After Spyder and Crane filled Dallas in, he asked for hard copies and sat studying them for some time. Finally he sat back and stared into the middle distance, as if he were working at fitting phantom puzzle pieces together.

Emile Cosper is a scientist at Aztech who was apparently turned by a Renraku exec -Fujiyama - with strong humanis leanings, something Cosper has himself. Then Fujiyama sicced his agent provocateur on Cosper in the form of Diane Scanlon, right. So then somehow Annette Fielding gets wind of the Aztech-Renraku congress a dips her dainty fingers in to muddy the water. I'm guessing that part of Cosper's price was the hit on Nicolette. What respectable humanis member want a meta sister, even a famous one."

"Especially a famous one."

Dallas nodded, "So Annette apparently usurped Fujiyama's agent to set up the hit via her Mayinga persona at Eastern Herbalist all for …what? What does Annette get out of it?"

The three stared at each other, at last Crane grinned maliciously, "Perhaps, Dawson is finding that out as we speak."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Are you any closer?"

Jack Moore's lips thinned and he tugged absently at a wayward lock of hair. He looked a little hollow eyed, like a man who has done with limited sleep for a while.

"I think so. The test batch performed really well, but…"

Dallas interrupted, "Jack, did you sleep last night?"

"Um, I don't remember. Kind of lost track of the days and nights."

Dallas glanced at the time, "Go to sleep, Jack. Danny, too. What good do you think you'll do if you're too brain fried to see the answer when you finally hit on it. I'll call back in eight or nine hours and you can look at it again, but I want you to sleep even if I have to pay Stosh extra to sit on your chest."

Jack smiled tiredly, "You're right of course. I really think the last batch performed well, though. We may have something here."

"Good, now go to sleep," Dallas disconnected and looked over at Crane, "Now I'm a wake up service, too."

"Nobody can say the services offered Palmer-Ree aren't eclectic. So wake him at midnight and hope for a miracle. I think we're going to need one."

"Why, what else is there?"

"Chou. He seems to be some heavy duty Triad action out of Hong Kong."

Spyder nodded, "I tracked him to Taipei, to Guam, and then to Kyoto where he got this body guard gig and was sent from Tokyo to Seattle four months ago to back Takahashi, who is not in good standing at home apparently. I still have very little on the details. But where ever Chou goes, meta humans die."

"Joy."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Dallas got back to Dawson's by one, he'd have enough time to get in a quick couple hours sleep before they had to be back at Fuchi to pick up Fielding. He poured a glass of soymilk and polished off the rest of the box of pastries by way of a midnight snack. He kicked off his boots, grabbed the blankets Dawson had set aside for him, and had started to settle in for the night when the door began to open.

Dallas glanced at the bedroom curtain, he hadn't even thought about Dawson's plans for the evening in hours.

Dawson dragged himself inside, spotted Dallas, and leaned wearily against the now closed door, "The woman is a succubus. I had to make a break for it just to get some sleep."

"Drek, you've got bite marks on your neck, Ray. What happened, did she torture you for information?"

"No, I'm guessing this is just the softening up period…." he stopped when he saw the expression on Dallas' face, "Don't start, kid," he warned, but it was too late. Dallas collapsed against he sofa cushions, helpless with laughter.

"A 'softening up period'," he gasped breathlessly, and succumbed to laughter once more.

Dawson looked at the younger man sourly, then shook his head and stalked through the curtains to the bedroom. He fell on the bed and was almost instantly asleep accompanied by the muffled sounds of merriment in the other room.

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

>Chou Sun Di's private suite, Renraku Corp<

THe tri-d phone chirped, rousing the small chinese man from his meditations. He had been kneeling before a small but ornate buddha-shrine, burning incense and reflecting on the situation at hand. He rose, walked over to the phone, and answered it.

"Mr. Matsumuri desires a status report," the oriental face on the phone said in japanese. Chou answered in japanese, as well.

"Fujiyama insists the virus is viable--he seems to be motivated by Takahashi's authority. This is why the original request to kill Takahashi outright has been deemed counter-productive. Once we test the virus, Fujiyama becomes expendable. He has, however, been useful to us thus far," Chou reported.

"What of his sloppiness concerning Dr. Moore and Scanlon?" the operative asked.

Chou smiled. "Believe me--when the time is right, Takahashi will die, and the truth about John Fujiyama will be made known to the public. We will have no ties to the events, and will disappear, secure in the knowledge the disease of metahumanity has been cured. The only thing we need fear from Dr. Moore is the possibility he is working on a cure."

"Then you must find him and kill him. And anyone he has come in contact with. This must be perfect. NO COMPLICATIONS." The tri-d phone went black, leaving Chou staring at the now-blank screen. He smiled, then returned to his meditations. He would find what he needed, and then do what must be done. He chuckled to himself once again, then moved to his computer terminal to begin work...

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Chou Sun Di smiled as the seemingly unrelated bits of information scrolled across his screen. His trace on Moore seemed to end at Eastern Herbalist, where he was rescued by some faction who apparently knew who, what & where he was. Interesting. He called up the closed-circuit video files for the Eastern Herbalist building, and began scanning. Two people could be seen ghosting through the hallways, their faces obscured, but their professionalism and build were enough to hint at an identity...

Chou then accessed the Fuchi data files for Palmer/Ree Security. On initial inspection, everything was fine... But Chou decided to run a full background check on Ray Palmer and Dallas Ree. Oddly enough, they did not exist before 6 months ago. Chou smiled again, then brought up a simultaneous view of the Eastern Herbalist photos with the ID photos for Palmer/Ree... The features weren't distinguishable to the naked eye, but Chou had a few associates with some image comparison and rendering/extrapolation programs. It would only be a matter of time before he had his answers...

Chou then accessed the exterior cameras for Eastern Herbalist, scanning for any suspicious vehicles. He narrowed that down to 4, then ran search parameters on those--calling up Lone Star registration files and license numbers on each one. All but one checked out normal, the fourth one was flagged as stolen, discovered a day later in the Puyallup region--destroyed by fire/explosion. The car had been registered to a James Burke. Interesting...

Chou checked the license ID and registration for James Burke, calling up a photo-file... It was Ray Palmer. Chou smiled. Neither name had any criminal records in the Lone Star database, but Chou decided to cross-reference and check out any photo-related files, anyway. He ran that search, as well.

After about 3 hours, a file was displayed on the screen... A Lone Star personnel file for one Ray Dawson... Decorated several times for meritorious conduct, and actions beyond the call of duty. Chou dug deeper, and found mention of a military record with UCAS--but it was blacked-out as high-security only. Chou flagged the file and forwarded it to his deckers as well.

"So, Ray Palmer... It appears your little secret is out. Why are you working with Mr. Fielding now?" Chou steepled his fingers under his chin, and allowed a slight smile. Once his deckers isolated the images for Eastern Herbalist, Chou would be certain. "You have made your fatal mistake, Mr. Palmer," Chou said to himself. "Soon, you will join all those who have opposed the Golden Dragon..."

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

"Hey! You boys have yours ears on?"

Dallas and Dawson both reached unconsciously toward their ears as Spyder's voice surprised them from their commuter stupor during the drive to the Fuchi arcology.

"What's wrong," asked Dallas.

"Somebody has been poking around in the Palmer-Ree files. Whoever it was was smooth, they slipped around my fire wall and found out Palmer and Ree have no more than a six month life span on the planet. Sorry, guys, but I did warn you it wouldn't stop someone who was determined. I have, however, sprinkled a few nasty boobytraps in there for anyone else who crawls past my borders."

"Do you know who it was?"

"No. But the bloodhound tracer I had guarding the back door followed him home."

"And that's where?"

"Renraku. And not some schlub tech either, the hound hit an ice wall around the exec levels, but he got his nose far enough in before he imploded to tell me that the location didn't exist officially. Somebody with a lot of juice just might have your number boys."

Dawson and Dallas shared a look that spoke volumes, and then the mantle of cold professionalism fell over both of them, "Chou," said Dawson, "I'd bet my ass."

Dallas slide his dark glasses up his nose and looked forward, "All ready done that, partner, both of us."

Dawson nodded, "Thanks, Spyder, this should be a real interesting day," he said as he spun the wheel and sent the car down the ramp into the arcology garage complex.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The two men arrived at Fielding's door before the VP had dressed. Jean-Baptiste, the chef cum valet answered the door and led them to the dining room where a rather rumpled looking Fielding was ignoring the excellent eggs Benedict Jean-Baptiste had prepared. After murmured greetings, Dallas placed the chip containing their week's report on the table and retreated to a chair by the side board. Fielding seemed distracted and preoccupied.

He shot a searching glance first at Dallas, then at Dawson. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it as the chip Dallas had left on the table caught his eye. He put it in his robe pocket, then ignored his eggs some more. Finally, he rose and swept an arm toward the table, "Have some breakfast," he said as he left the room.

Dallas watched as Fielding walked to his bedroom and shut the door. He turned to Dawson, eyebrow raised. Dawson shook his head and shrugged. Dallas frowned thoughtfully, he glanced again at the shut door, then decided to take advantage of the offer of a second breakfast, whatever Fielding wanted to say would get said, and Jean-Baptiste was a great cook.

Dallas had finished savoring two of the hollandaise covered concoctions before Fielding reemerged. He had taken far longer than he usually did, and for once he was not attired in one of his power suits, but in flannels, shirt, and sweater, reminiscent of a 1920's era tennis pro. He studied his two bodyguards curiously for a moment, "I'm glad I read your report this morning," he said at last, "I was ready to dismiss you before I did. That would have been a disappointment, because I'm actually starting to like you fellas."

Neither of the other men spoke but simply waited for Fielding to continue, "Annette does tend to be a very thorough paranoid. She sweeps regularly for all types of bugs in her office, her apartment, her computer, but luckily she is not a good judge of people. She likes Lars' attributes too much for her to consider him suspect, but Lars reports directly to me, " Fielding glanced at Dawson, "You call him Sparky."

Dawson nodded, he should have know that Fielding would have had some kind of line on Annette.

Fielding continued, "But you actually put the contact into your report. My God, honest employees, amazing. I assume you have therefore not fallen under her influence and are still working for me.

Dallas bristled slightly at the idea he could be bought, but subsided immediately. This was not, after all, the most normal of jobs.

Fielding made obvious note of Dawson's high collared shirt and an amused light sparked in his eyes, "I won't ask yet what you hope to gain by this…surveillance of my ex. I do know she has her fingers in most of the pies around here, but let me know if you turn up anything interesting."

"Of course."

Fielding nodded and the matter was closed, "As for today's meeting, I should warn you, I hope to be in and out with the business end of it. I'm going to play squash and save face, not hang out with a bunch of Yakuza thugs who smile and bow in public but privately call me a barbarian. You should see the tattoo work on Takahashi alone. I was once in the steam room with him and John Fujiyama and the art they had between them would do a museum proud."

Dawson and Dallas shared a quick glance, some ties were stronger than corporate ties, they knew. But if that organization had reached across corporate ties to institute the meta plague conspiracy, how had Annette become involved? Westerners, particularly women, were not the usual choice for operatives. They two men remained busy with their thoughts as they helped Fielding prepare for departure. As usual, Dawson was sent down to the car first. Alone and thoughtful during the descent, he made a decision, then called Spyder.

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

"Spyder," he said, touching his earpiece to activate it. "Move the docs."

"Why?" she asked surrepticiously, causing Dawson to shake his head.

"If Chou traced Dallas and me, I'm sure he'll be digging deeper. My gut tells me he's involved with the meta-plague on a higher level than we first thought. If he's after us, he's gonna want to get rid of the docs--"

"To ensure the plague doesn't have any cure," Spyder finished, interrupting Dawson's train of thought. "By the way, he'd be too late. Dr. Moore informs us that he's got a successful test batch. He says he's working on making it live longer than a week." Dawson nodded.

"Good. Move him, and have him get back to work. You know where to reach us..."

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

<Meanwhile, at the 'Safehouse'...>

The black-clad figure watched from a distance as the tubby dwarf idled along the sidewalk, mumbling about something and scratching at his beard. As the dwarf got to the dilapidated doorway, the figure signalled to some unseen associates. Just as Yakov got the door to the 'safehouse' open, three of the hooded ninjas silently descended on him from the roof. Swiftly and silently, a monofilament garrot was placed around the unfortunate dwarf's neck, and before Yakov had known what happened, his bearded head was rolling on the sidewalk.

The ninjas shadowed into the front door, now numbering five as the original figure was joined by another hidden associate from behind a dumpster...

Stosh grumbled as he hung up the phone--babysitting human doctors wasn't in his 'independent contract' with Dawson. Besides, the way-too-perky elf had interrupted him from tweaking his latest electronic device. He picked up the small motorized gizmo and turned it over in his chubby hand, when he heard the faintest of scuffling noises. He normally would dismiss such a thing as rats or other vermin--but that would have been accompanied by a smell. And with the recent warning Spyder had given him, he decided to be cautious.

"Yakov, that you?" the dwarf asked into the dimness of the cluttered safehouse. No response. He pressed the silent alarm as he reached under the desk, and pulled the assault shotgun from its harness, checking the chamber. It was loaded. Just as he was about to look up, a searing pain stabbed into his left shoulder, and he winced. He could barely make out the shadowy, black form standing in the doorway. It was enough. He fired, the muzzle-flash highlighting the dark room in a surreal eruption, and Stosh saw what looked to be a ninja fall backwards, out the door to his office.

<In the makeshift lab:>
"Jack, you see that?" Danny asked, pointing at the blinking red light above the doorway. Both doctors nearly jumped out of their skins when the shotgun blast erupted just 2 floors above them.

"What should we do?" Danny asked. Jack thought for a moment, then started collecting the test-tubes containing the cure candidate.

"We bug out," Moore answered, hurriedly collecting notebooks and data-chips, stuffing them in a napsack...

<Stosh's office:>
"Ninja, eh?" Stosh spat, pulling the star-shaped projectile from his shoulder. "Ye'll hafta do better than that to kill 'ol Stosh!" he shouted heartily as he charged to the doorway. He thought he glimpsed a second shadow to his left, and he fired at it, satisfied to hear a pained grunt. He moved as fast as his stubby legs would carry him, and saw the fallen ninja grasping at his thigh. Stosh levelled his shotgun and blasted the intruder in the head, watching him drop.

<In the makeshift lab:>
Jack and Danny hurriedly packed up whatever they could, fearing for their lives as the second shotgun blast echoed through the ceiling. Jack, in a moment of lucidity, picked up the phone and dialed the emergency number.

"Hoi!" Crane's voice answered cheerfully.

"We're in trouble," Jack said, his voice shaking. "Send help!" He hung up the phone and continued packing.

<Stosh's office:>
Stosh knew he'd made a mistake when he felt the stabbing pains in his back. 3 more stars. Grimacing through the pain, he spun around and blasted again, catching a third ninja as he tried to duck into Stosh's office. Again, Stosh lumbered to the doorway, and levelled his gun to finish off the assailant. Just as he was about the pull the trigger, an unseen leg kicked the barrel up and the shot fired harmlessly into the ceiling.

Not wasting a moment, Stosh gripped the captured ninja star firmly in the middle, and slashed to the side with it, satisfied to feel it sink into flesh. He dropped the shotgun and pulled out his 14-inch Bowie knife, resembling a short sword next to his squat form. He stabbed it straight at his other hand, still grasping the lodged ninja star, and ended up plunging the blade firmly into the ninja's side.

Stosh felt the burning-cold sensation pierce through his middle, his legs suddenly becoming numb as the ninja-sword stabbed through his thick mid-section. He spun, more out of surprise than anything else, and wrenched the blade from the surprised ninja's grasp. He glanced down to see the blade protruding from his guts. Stosh spit blood in the ninja's exposed eyes, then lunged at the black-clad figure, hoping to impale him on his own sword. The shotgun blast took him by surprise, and also launched him forwards--off his feet. He had almost forgotten about the ninja he'd wounded earlier, as well as the discarded shotgun. He silently cursed himself for his clumsiness, then resolved to at least take one more ninja down with him.

Stosh reached into his pocket and pulled out the 'emergency' grenade he always kept. This certainly qualified as an emergency, in his book. Even before he fell on the temporarily blinded ninja, he pulled the pin, letting the spoon fly free.

"Lo there, do I see my father," he said, starting to recite an old dwarven death-song, as he began beating the pinned ninja with his clenched fists. "Lo there, do I see my brothers and my sisters. Lo there, do I see the line of my people, stretching back to the beginning." The ninja counter-attacked, head-butting Stosh but breaking his own nose. Stosh jammed his left hand around the ninja's throat after pulling the mask free, then started jamming the grenade into his opened mouth. "Lo there, do I see them, beckoning me to join them--in the halls of Clangeddin, where the brave shall live--FOREVER."

The grenade exploded, just as Stosh hugged the ninja tight, driving the sword blade deeper into the assailant's stomach... The ninja in the office dove behind Stosh's desk, and was relatively shielded from the blast, but was bleeding profusely from the gunshot wound to his leg. He would have to abort and try again.

Chou would not be pleased with him...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

It had been quiet for about four minutes. The two scientists had frozen staring at the ceiling at the sound of the explosion and had yet to move again. There were duraplast boxes full of test tubes, petrie dishes, notes, and chips spread out across their work surface which showed every sign of hasty packing. Each man had frozen with his hands full of more of the same. Both men wondered if they were going to be the next to be engulfed in an explosion. Reluctant shadowrunners, neither had any misconceptions about their fates were they to fall again into the hands of the corps.

The door to the makeshift lab swung slowly open. Both men swiveled their heads to stare at the new threat, but neither moved otherwise. It was as if they were animals caught by spotlight hunters. The first thing they saw was the barrel of an assault shot gun as it preceded the wielder into the room. Danny gasped.

"Are you Jack Spratt and Danny Bobanny?" asked a voice from the darkened hall.

Danny swallowed audibly, but Jack, voice cracking shot back, "Who's asking?"

A chuckle that seemed to emanate from the bowels of the Earth bubbled up from the invisible inquisitor, "I'm Barge, Crane sent me."

The speaker moved into the room. He was immense; a troll of perhaps nine and a half feet. One tusk protruded from the right side of his mouth, while a single horn curled up from the left side of his head. It was decorated with what appeared to be dozens of charms. With him were two others; a smaller female troll, and an emaciated looking human male with wispy whiskers, and tiny black eyes.

"You guys better grab what you're taking and follow us. The dwarves are dead and so are four ninja type jokers. One of the drekheads got away, left a blood trail, but Crane said getting you two out was first priority."

"Where are we going?" asked Jack trying to get the quaver in his voice under control.

The troll grinned, "Underground. Leilani and Bertram here will lead the way. I'm going to do a little cleaning up."

Leilani looked as formidable as Barge, she was carrying an AK, a Desert Eagle on her hip, and a bandoleer of grenades. She also looked very young. Bertram just looked disreputable. But he also had a string of fetishes hanging around his neck and mysteriously bulging pockets in the greasy topcoat her wore. Leilani jerked her head at the two men and moved out. Jack and Danny scrambled to grab everything they needed and followed breathlessly, Bertram took up the rear, then they began to descend.

~~~~~~~~~~

Chou was on the skeet range when Niban walked up and waited to be acknowledged. A cowering dwarf threw another pigeon into the air. Niban was mildly surprised they were using real pigeons instead of the clay variety usually encountered out here.

Chou pulled the trigger and the bird exploded in a cloud of blood and feathers. Before the last of its remains hit the ground, he called "Pull!" again, and another pigeon met the same fate.

Chou broke open the shot gun and pulled out the shells, "One must train one's hand and one's eye. One must understand the many and varied roads to death," he said looking at no one in particular.

Niban bowed, "They have returned."

"Allow them in."

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Gobei looked up at Niban from his position on the plastic-covered couch. The pressure bandage he'd wrapped around his right thigh was soaked through with blood--and the two suited yakuza 'soldiers' did not wish to anger Chou further by bloodying the furniture.

"You will be seen now," was all Niban said, as he gestured to the now-open door. Gobei bowed his head, then weakly stood, limping through the doorway. The two soldiers carefully folded the plastic up, and followed Gobei through the door. Niban closed it behind them.

Chou was facing away from the trio as they entered, having obliterated two more pigeons. He spoke as he reloaded the shotgun, without even turning to regard them. "I trust you have brought me pleasant news."

Gobei hobbled forward, bowing. "Master, the doctors still live. Johei, Gan--" Gobei was cut short by Chou, as he spun around, using the butt of the shotgun to club him square in the head. Gobei staggered backwards from the force of the blow, landing on his back on the blood-covered plastic the soldiers had laid out behind him. Gobei looked around, surprised.

"So, you come here ready to list excuses for your failure? I care little for excuses--you have become corrupted by the weak-spined westerners. You know the price for failure, do you not?" Chou was again at full composure, only his eyes betrayed the welling rage within him. Gobei nodded his head. "I did not hear you. Answer me," Chou said evenly, his smile only adding to his sinister countenance.

Gobei dropped his head obediantly, almost barking as he said, "Hei! The price of failure is death."

Chou smiled again, handing the shotgun to the dwarf, then looking at one of the two suited soldiers who had followed Gobei out here, extending his hand as if waiting to receive something. The soldier nodded, then trotted to one side, fetching the wakizashi from the ceremonial stand in the foyer, and bringing it back to Chou. Chou took the sword, then kneeled before Gobei, offering it to him ceremonially.

"I present you with my blade, that you may die with honor, and erase the stigma of failure from your name," Chou said, mockingly bowing his head in a sign of 'respect' for Gobei. Gobei accepted the blade, knelt in the appropriate position, spoke the proper japanese prayer, then unsheathed the blade and rammed it into his own midsection. Chou stood up, smiling again, as he grasped the hilt of the sword firmly. Gobei's face was contorting with pain as Chou slowly twisted the sword around, gouging the fatal wound even larger.

"You do remember that to scream is an even greater dishonor, don't you?" Chou asked, finally wrenching the wakizashi from Gobei's intestines. Gobei grunted, clenching his teeth firmly, and by will alone remained silent. Chou smiled again, then slashed across Gobei's midsection with the sword, causing his already-loosened innards to spill out messily on the plastic. Gobei collapsed on his hands, barely conscious, looking up pleadingly at Chou, his eyes begging for the mercy of death.

Chou turned away from Gobei, holding the bloody sword out, blade down, as one of the soldiers collected it with a rag and began to clean it. Then each soldier grasped a corner of the plastic tarp, which was now quite messy with blood and gore, and began dragging it off, Gobei huddled up, trying to hug his intestines back into their proper place, whimpering like a little child.

"Inform me when he dies," Chou said, as he hefted the shotgun once more and nodded at the dwarf. "Pull."

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

"Hey guys, I got a heads-up for ya," Spyder's voice crackled over Dawson & Dallas' earpiece radios, causing both to touch their ears. Sawyer Fielding looked on as Dawson approached the meeting site.

"Go ahead," Dawson said quietly as he scanned for a parking spot in the car-port of what looked to be a multi-billion nuyen stone mansion-house. Armed men were everywhere--the place looked more like a rich fortress than anything else. They'd passed through the automatic, electrified gate about 5 minutes ago, and had been climbing up a thickly wooded, twisting drive ever since.

"You were right about the docs," Spyder informed. "Yakov and Stosh are dead--along with 4 ninjas. Danny and Jack are fine--we got 'em stashed in the underground." Dawson nodded.

"Thanks. We'll be in touch," he said, removing his hand from his ear.

"What's up?" Fielding asked from the back seat, eyebrow raised.

"Sports scores. Nothing important," Dawson said, pulling up to the front door, finally. "We're here. Dallas, you're on." Dawson put the car in park, and watched as a valet came over to take the car to a spot. "Thanks, Skippy, but I think I can manage," Dawson said, handing the guy a credstick. The red-vested guy nodded, then waved his arm, indicating the back parking lot. Dallas and Fielding got out, and made their way to the front door, which was flanked by 4 guards in suits, armed with assault rifles. "Dallas, you got Fielding. I'm gonna snoop around and see what I can see," Dawson said from the relative privacy of the now-parked car. "I'll be in touch." Dawson checked his Predator, counted four spare clips, then got out of the car, straightened his suit, and headed for the back door...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

“What’s up?” murmured Fielding to Dallas as they approached the massive entryway.

Dallas shook his head once and answered just as quietly, “Possible direction for trouble. No worries you and Nicolette are covered.”

Fielding nodded briefly, more satisfied with Dallas' answer than the earlier brush off, he wasn’t a shrinking violet after all.

“How do you want me to play these guys?” asked Dallas as they neared the four hulking guards at the door.

Fielding slid a sidelong glance at the little man beside him, and smiled faintly, “As brassy as you think you can manage.”

Dallas started sizing up his potential opponents, “Gee, boss, can’t you hear the clank when I walk?” he deadpanned under his breath.

Fielding cut off a chuckle and put on his best disdainful expression as the pair stopped before the guards. Dallas was stone cold, “Mr. Sawyer Fielding, Fuchi. We’re expected.”

One guard moved forward after propping his weapon against the door frame, the others remained in place, arms crossed casually across the stocks of their weapons. Their postures were relaxed, none of the other three were even looking at Dallas and Fielding.

“You’ll be searched,” said the guard in a bored monotone.

“No.”

The one guard stopped moving, but the others continued their desultory conversation, paying no attention. Dallas opened his coat, “I’m not holding. My employer will not be so insulted. Open the door.”

The guard, one of the two westerners in that position, looked Dallas up and down. The guard was about 6 foot 5 and weighed in about 250; Dallas knew exactly what the man was thinking. The guard’s face twisted contemptuously and he took a step forward.

Very quietly Dallas said, “Put one finger on me or Mr. Fielding and you’ll lose it.”

The guard didn’t even hesitate, his hand dropped heavily on to Dallas’ shoulder, then he was on his knees, clutching at a bleeding hand. The other guards looked up startled, but saw only Dallas standing as calmly as before, his hands clasped on front of him. Fielding was a little wide-eyed and appeared to be displaying signs of impatience.

Fielding moved to the door, and stared coldly at one of the remaining guards until he moved to open it. Dallas moved smoothly to his employer’s side and casually dropped something into the ash tray beside the door. Fielding glanced briefly at the man’s finger lying in the ash tray before walking through the door.

The heavy door swung closed behind the two men, and Fielding began to chuckle softly, “You’ll find a speed bonus in your paycheck this week, my friend, I never saw anything like that before. Damn but you’re quick.”

“That’s why you pay me the bucks, Mr. Fielding. Now where to, saving face or playing squash?”

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

"Main entrance is up front," said one of the white-jacketed oriental men as Ray approached what looked like the kitchen door. 3 guys were out here, generally wasting time while catching a smoke. Ray pulled out his own smokes and lit one up.

"You guys mind? My boss is a real tight-wad about allowing his employees to smoke in his presence," Ray said nonchalantly, causing the other 3 to smirk and shrug.

"Be our guest," said the lead guy, returning to his former chatting. These 3 would be easy to slip past. In fact, once a decent conversation was started up, Ray just mentioned that he needed to hit the john, they told him there was one just inside the door--just don't be too long. Yeah, sure. There was a brief foyer with industrial-strength bathrooms on either side, wall lockers and coat-hooks lining the walls between the bathroom doorways.

Once Ray got inside, he checked the coat-hooks, and surprisingly enough, found an entire row of the white, double-breasted waiter's jackets hanging there. He pulled the fake mustache out of his pocket and affixed it to his upper lip as he donned the coat. He neatly folded up his other jacket, and tucked it above a wall-locker near the door. Finally, he pulled the gold-framed glasses from his former jacket, and placed them neatly on his nose. His disguise complete, Ray drifted into the main kitchen area, grabbing a tray of shrimp cocktail as he went. Kitchen staff was maybe 25 people--mostly men, mostly busy. He'd have no trouble using this as his entry/exit point if things got too hairy. Still, just to be safe, he pulled out a watch-face sized lump of C-12 and stuck it behind the main stove, with a remote radio detonator sunk into it. Nothing wrong with having a little insurance.

The main area of "the club" resembled a pricey country club, rich carpeting, highly polished wood and brass fixtures, exposed wooden beams, stonework... Really nice. Gave Ray the chills. High-powered executives sat around the room, chatting and drinking champaigne. Running into Dallas and Fielding in here would be like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack, so Ray decided to let at least Dallas know that he was in.

"I'm in. Gimme your location when you're settled--we'll play it from there," Ray muttered into his wristwatch. He kept moving among the execs, serving up the tasty seafood snacks, waiting for Dallas' reply...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas and Fielding passed through a massive lounge peopled with casually dressed power brokers. Fielding spared not a glance, and headed down one of the vault like corridors. It was a short hallway with perhaps six sets of huge double doors leading off it. The first pair of doors was open and Fielding headed in without hesitation. Dallas scanned the room automatically, it was a large conference room done in deep reds and rich browns. A substantial oblong table of teak and glass stood at the center. A double dozen executive types clustered in small groups speaking quietly, bodyguards were in a stolid array against the walls.

Fielding turned to face Dallas, "Once the meeting begins none of the bodyguards will be allowed to remain. This is just a show of muscle for these yahoos."

Dallas looked around, "Sorry not to be more showy."

Fielding grinned, "Are you kidding? I'd be real surprised if the news of your demo out front didn't beat us here. You gained me a lot of face, my boy," he sobered slightly and continued, "So, when they signal, you should just go and get yourself something to eat. The meeting shouldn't last much more than an hour, I'll page you when we break up. I'd love to test your speed on the squash courts," he mused.

Dallas shook his head slightly, "The only thing I know about squash is its what you do to bugs."

Fielding chuckled and moved away to mix with the others. His height and strawberry blonde coloring made him a stand out in a room that leaned heavily toward the Asian genotype. Dallas received Dawson's transmission without the slightest change of expression. He also noted that neither Annette Fielding nor Senji Takahashi had made an appearance yet. He glanced surreptitiously at the time, in four minutes, they'd be late.

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

>Senji Takahashi's private conference room, at the Club<

"You are an ambitious woman, Annette," Chou said, translating for Takahashi as he spoke japanese. "However, your division's performance in the last 2 quarters has been... Less than satisfactory. Can you explain this to Mr. Takahashi?"

Annette straightened her skirt, then slid the report across the table. She then proceeded to speak directly at Takahashi--in fluent japanese. "As my report makes readily apparent, the past two quarters have indeed dropped below expected projections for profit-gain. However, if you look solely at the net intake, the braindance division has been steadily increasing its total revenue earned. Gentlemen, I took the liberty of compiling the personnel files for all the employees in the division, and as you can see salaries have increased almost three-fold in the past year. Profits have decreased because our overhead has increased," Annette said smartly.

Chou held up a hand, stopping Annette. "Ms. Arno, something else has come to our attention," he said, this time not translating. Chou slid a file folder across the table, which Annette opened to see a photo of Ray, with some information on him. "You seem to have taken a--personal--interest in this man. What can you tell us about him?" Annette looked slightly confused.

"His name is Ray Palmer. He's on Sawyer's new security team. I'm using him as a contact to gather dirt on Sawyer," Annette replied.

"Ahh, yes. Your ex-husband. I doubt Mr. Palmer will be giving you any information on him. If you look into that file, you will see he has quite a decorated history with Lone Star," Chou countered.

"So? Everyone has their price," Annette said, smiling.

"And what is your price, Annette? How much do you think you're worth?" Chou said quietly, leaning forward as he spoke. Annette drew back slightly, only now seeing the direction this meeting was taking. She looked at Takahashi, who seemed to be almost -afraid- of Chou.

"What are you driving at, Chou?" Annette said, overconfidently. "You're just a bodyguard and translator. You have no authority over me."

"I speak for Mr. Takahashi," Chou said, a slight contortion of anger on his face. "And you will show me the respect you show him. How badly do you want to keep your job? Give us what we ask of you, and you'll remain in good standing. Consider it job security," Chou said, growing calmer as he spoke. "Now, do I have your attention?" Annette nodded. "Good. Give us Ray Palmer. There are some questions that only he can answer," Chou said, standing. "This meeting is adjourned, Annette. We'll look forward to seeing you in the other room, for the main meeting." Chou left the room, leaving Takahashi and Annette behind to contemplate what just happened...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas walked the room observing and listening. The windows were large and heavily alarmed, there was access to the room out a smaller back door as well as the main double doors, and Fielding was gathering glances and comments both respectful and spiteful - about right for any highly placed exec. He saw Chou enter and scan the room, though the man showed no reaction, Dallas knew he'd not only been spotted but had been at least one of Chou's objectives in the first place. The man then left without waiting for the arrival of Takahashi several minutes later whom Annette closely followed.

Dallas wondered if Chou had made a mistake or if he was advertising that his role of simple bodyguard was simply show. A gentle gong sounded and all the bodyguards turned to leave as the meeting was called to order. Dallas dawdled and was the last of the group to leave the room. He noted that neither Annette of Takahashi looked too comfortable. He stood in the hall while the rest of the guards filtered away and the doors were closed. When alone he quietly informed Dawson of his status. As far as Dallas was concerned, the ball was in the air.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

For a long moment Dallas stood quietly in the now empty hall trying to chase down the disquiet he felt. Something was happening or was going to happen, of that he was sure. It was almost like the feeling he'd had years ago when he and his brothers had gone to beard the wendigo in its lair. The feeling that something malevolent knew where you were and was watching, waiting to pounce. He gave the closed and bolted doors of the conference room one last look then decided to circle around the room, find out about that back door - which he knew was also locked from the inside, but he didn't feel like taking chances.

He padded catlike and wary through down the hall and through the main lounge. He didn't see Dawson, but then he really wasn't looking for him either and the room was full of people. He located a likely looking corridor, and after a swift glance around, started down it. There were three standard doors on the right hand side, an emergency exit at the end of the hall, and two doors with markings indicating that they were restrooms on the left. All in all this seemed to be a far more utilitarian passage than the one he had just left.

He started at the end of the hall, but the exit door had not been tampered with, and the two restrooms were just that, although he marveled at the plush decor in rooms that still served the same purpose as those done in white porcelain. If he had it figured right the first door inside the hall corresponded with the back door of the conference room. He placed one hand on the dagger that on his belt appeared as the buckle, and pushed open the door. It swung free, bounced off the door stop and came to rest at about half open. The room was empty but Dallas gave it a once over anyway. It was a smaller version of the conference room where he'd left Fielding - table, six or eight chairs, windowless - there was no place to hide. Probably mini-meetings spun off into this room from the main conference. Dallas guessed the other two doors on this hallway were similar. He listened briefly at the connecting door and heard nothing, the sound proofing here was very good. He left the room and headed toward the next door, may as well be thorough.

He repeated his door opening performance and found another empty room. He stepped forward for a look around and felt rather than heard the thrown weapon buzz past his head. He dove into the room, tucking and rolling. When he sprang to his feet, the monowhip was in one hand, a knife in the other and in the door way were three men. Two of them were advancing on him, each was armed with a tonfa, the third, who stopped to close the door, had a pair of fighting knives. They moved well, very skilled, no stupid moves, just silent and deadly. It also appeared that the knife fighter was wired. Drek. Their intent was obviously murder not talk. Dallas guessed that they were Triad buddies of Chou's, understanding now both his unease and Chou's obvious behavior. Of course if the thrown knife had hit him, it would have been a hell of a lot easier for them to beat him to death with their sticks and he would have soon been a little bit of Cheyenne flavored paste on the floor.

He showed his teeth and put a corner at his back, today was a good day to die.

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Ray wandered around in the main lounge, stopping near important-looking people in order for them to take one of the snacks he carried on the large tray. Where the frag was Dallas? He kept moving around, scanning for the indian, when he spotted Chou standing near the entrance to a hallway, leaning on the corner, arms crossed, smiling. Ray was only a little alarmed at this. The little man seemed to be smiling every time Ray saw him. Only when Chou approached him, did Ray get even slightly nervous.

Chou walked directly up to Ray, nodded courteously, then took a shrimp from the tray and dipped it in some cocktail sauce, savoring it as he ate the seafood delicacy.

"My commendation to the chef," said Chou, smiling, placing his hand on Ray's shoulder. "Tell me, Mr. Dawson--when did you start working here at the club?" Ray's countenance sank, and Chou almost seemed to chuckle before turning to walk away. Almost as an afterthought, Chou turned, then said something very disturbing. "You may want to collect your friend and leave. I despise getting blood on my carpetting--especially Indian blood."

Ray's mind went into hyperdrive, as he began trying to contact Dallas with the earpiece radio, while at the same time trying to keep an eye on Chou, who seemed not the least bit concerned.

"Dallas? You okay? What's up? Talk to me, buddy," Ray kept muttering into his wristwatch. For a very long time, there was no response...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas had positioned himself well, he could not be surrounded nor could all three opponents attack at once without getting in one another's way. The tonfa wielders were in the lead, Dallas wanted to take out one maybe both of them as quickly as possible. Good as they may be - and Dallas had no doubt that they were very good indeed - in fact they too moved with abnormal speed, but since one had other obvious cyberware he knew they were not adepts, they just had less wiring than the knife fighter; and he was most concerned with the speed-wired fighter. He had never had to fight a man who was wired to the gills before.

The tonfa fighters approached cautiously, Dallas shook out the almost invisible line of the whip and waited for them to come to him. When they advanced, they came together, very proffesional. Dallas snapped his arm in an X figure, slashing at the man on his right. The whip caught the man in the face on the up stroke, shaving off a quarter of his jaw and the man stumbled but kept coming. On the down stroke, the fighter blocked with his tonfa, the whip wrapped itself around the other weapon, cutting deep into the wood but it maintained purchase long enough for it to be ripped from Dallas' grip. Dallas let it go, knowing it would not be good for in fighting anyway. Dallas launched his belt dagger at the other man and saw it sink into his enemy's forearm which he had snapped up in a block. Both were now wounded, but amazingly they ignored the injuries and pressed the attack.

Dallas countered blows from fists, feet, and tonfas for several seconds before seeing an opening for a killing blow. He ducked a tonfa and blocked the second strike with his forearm. He channeled all the energy of his magic into a blow, and plunged a stiff fingered hand into Bleeding Jaw's midriff. Dallas felt his hand punch through flesh and into the warmth of the man's internal workings. Dallas hooked fingers around whatever was handy then pulled out in a lightning fast move. Bleeding Jaw stiffened, looked at the yard or so of his intestines that now hung outside his body, and toppled to the floor lifeless.

Wounded Arm ignored his partner's demise and took the opportunity to swing viciously at Dallas' head in a blow intended to kill, the Indian dodged enough to avoid death but not injury. He felt the moment of pain as the stick grazed his skull and his scalp split open, but then shoved it away and returned the attack, he was not consciously aware of the blood that was flowing freely from the scalp wound and down his neck to soak into the shoulder of his shirt.

He dropped to sweep Wounded Arm's feet from under him, the man was quick, but Dallas was faster, he boxed the man's ear as hard as he was able and was rewarded by a gush of blood which spurted from the fighter's nose and suddenly bloodshot eyes. The fighter howled and swung at Dallas who snatched at the dagger lodged in the man's arm, freeing it, he drove it through Wounded Arm's temple in a fierce backhanded strike.

Dallas let the man fall taking the dagger with him, it would he knew, take longer to free than he had time to spare. He cartwheeled away from the fallen bodies to give himself some room, landing on his feet about a yard from the knife fighter. Dallas snapped his wrists and the knives secreted in sheaths up his sleeves filled his hands. His squarely built Chinese opponent smiled then attacked with dizzying speed. Both men moved so quickly that a bystander would have been hard pressed to see more than a blur where their arms should have been.

Knives clashed ringingly in the confines of the room. Knife struck upon knife so constantly that the ringing became a continuous drone in their ears. Dallas knew he had hit flesh and been hit several times, but not seriously. Neither man could gain the advantage, each was looking for an opening, a weakness. The Triad had one plus on his side, though, his knives were heavier, tougher. If the fight went on as it was Dallas risked losing his weapons to breakage. Dallas risked a sweep and found it countered. The Triad tried a low disemboweling strike that Dallas countered. They danced in a tight circle, attacking, blocking, and inflicting minor wounds on each other but neither gaining.

After what seemed like hours though Dallas knew it had only been minutes, his right hand blade shattered under the abuse, even Triad seemed surprised at the break in the pattern and faltered slightly. Dallas spun forward, planting the broken blade at the base of Triad's neck. Triad riposted by sinking one of the heavy bladed knives into Dallas' thigh. The young Indian danced away before Triad could retrieve the knife, he only hoped it had not hit the femoral artery. In the time it took for them to square off again Dallas had debated about the wisdom of removing the knife, he decided for a weapon in hand.

The two men circled each other for a moment each assessing the other, then almost as if there had been an unspoken agreement to end it, they leapt at each other. They crashed together in midair, Dallas slammed his forehead into Triad's nose, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone as they dropped back to the ground. Both men spun around each other, each looking for an opening to kill. Triad swung left as Dallas swung right, the Indian felt his blade punch through the Triad's chest just as he felt the Tirad's blade lodge in his ribs. The two staggered apart, Dallas quickly wiped at he blinding blood that had run into his eye from a split eyebrow, while the Triad looked at his own knife hilt protruding from his chest with great surprise. He tried to speak, but nothing emerged, Dallas guessed he'd hit the lung. He whipped his left hand knife across the short distance between them and caught the Triad in the eye. The man staggered again, fell to his knees, then crashed to the floor.

Dallas surveyed the fallen from where he stood, checking for signs of life. He was breathing heavily, and he knew he'd been hurt. He knew he should gather his weapons, he knew he should contact Ray, he knew he should see if the knife in his chest was really hung up on a rib or if he was about to join his ancestors too, but he couldn't seem to focus, so did none of these things. He took two steps toward the door before blood loss, shock, and the adrenaline crash converged on him. He sat down on the floor hard and wondered if he was concussed again. He allowed his head to drop down between his knees, he'd be all right in a minute....

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

"Dallas. Come in Dallas," Ray kept repeating, as he strode from doorway to doorway in the massive hall. He was only peripherally aware that Chou was still somewhere behind him. Ray tried door after door, swinging each open and peering in, one hand resting on his holstered gun. The third door was locked. Ray glanced around to see if he was indeed alone, then checked the ceiling areas quickly for any obvious surveillance measures. "Dallas, you there?" Ray tried again over the radio. He was answered with a groan.

All bets were off now--stealth be damned. Ray pulled his gun as he leaned back, then lurched forward in a massive kick to the door-handle. The door flew open, and Ray was inside, scanning the room from behind his Predator. There were 3 bodies, Dallas slumped in the center of them, sitting in a pool of blood. Ray lifted Dallas' head slightly, and saw that the indian was only barely conscious. He also saw the gaping wound in Dallas' thigh, as well as the knife which was lodged in his chest.

"Come on, Dallas. Time to go," Ray muttered as he lifted the indian over one shoulder, then stood up, turning to face the door. Chou was standing there, calmly looking at the bodies of his former men. He was playing with those damn beads again.

"Your friend is a most impressive fighter. These were 3 of my best," Chou said, stepping into the room and lifting one's head with the toe of his shoe. Ray could clearly see one of Dallas' knives lodged in the man's eye socket. Chou looked up at Ray, and smiled again. "I could let you leave," Chou said, as he moved to close the door. He stopped, examined the door-frame where the latch should have been, then straightened up while shaking his head at Ray. "Really, Mr. Dawson--such vandalism is totally unnecessary."

"Get to the point Chou," Ray said, his gun never wavering as he aimed at Chou's head.

"I have some questions to ask you. Cooperate, and I promise you that you won't have to find out what your left testicle tastes like," Chou said menacingly. Ray nodded, grinning slightly.

"I didn't think you had it in you, Chou--but I gotta admit," Ray said, trying not to chuckle, "you really do have a deviant streak, don't you?" Ray took a step toward Chou, who just stood there, glaring at him. "I've got a better deal. I walk outta here with my friend, and your maid rents a steam-cleaner to get your brains out of the carpet."

Ray was only about 4 feet from Chou when he pulled the trigger, watching in disbelief as Chou's body moved like a snake into some inhumanly low to the ground stance, then spring up with blinding speed. Ray felt 2 impacts on his chest and realized he was no longer holding his gun. He shook his head to get his bearings, and realized he was no longer holding Dallas, or even standing up. Chou packed quite a punch. Ray checked for his gun--seeing it across the room. Chou was standing above him, arms behind his back, that same, self-assured expression on his face.

"Really, Mr. Dawson. I had expected more from you. I am disappointed," Chou said, as Ray stood up, his head still a little fuzzy. Ray nodded, then brought his fists up into a defensive position.

Chou moved without sound or warning--the only indication of his attack being the fire in his eyes as he exploded towards Ray. Ray was ready this time, however, and managed to side-step Chou's initial lunge, bringing his left hand up into an uppercut to Chou's midsection. Chou moved with the impact, allowing himself to flow around Ray's punch, and brought his right leg back and up, planting the heel squarely in Ray's face.

Ray staggered back as Chou pressed the attack. Chou's fists moved blindingly fast as Ray tried his best to block. Chou was unbelievable, landing every third blow, despite Ray's best efforts to block. Ray swept his left arm to the outside in a middle-block, hoping to knock Chou's hands away, then launched a front-kick to Chou's midsection.

Chou felt his arms get swept to the side, and was about to roll with the spinning motion, when Ray's foot caught him in the ribs, sending him backwards a few paces. Chou had figured Ray to be more of an upper-body fighter, and so had foolishly ignored Ray's feet.

He would not make that mistake twice...

Chou pressed the attack again, moving with a speed and fluidity Ray had seen only in old kung-fu movies. Ray blocked Chou's left hand, with his own left, tried a punch with his right, only to have it slapped aside, with Chou's right flying towards Ray's face. Ray ducked his head while bringing his right leg up for a roundhouse, only to have Chou check the leg with his own left, before launching it into Ray's chest. Ray staggered backwards, tucking his hands defensively before his face (like a boxer) in anticipation of Chou's next attack.

Chou grabbed Ray's arms with both hands, thinking to throw the larger man, but Ray countered by untucking his arms and wrapping his larger hands around Chou's elbows, locking them upwards into a double arm-bar. Chou countered this by literally running up Ray's body--left foot to Ray's knee, right foot to his groin, left foot again to the chest, right foot on Ray's shoulder, left foot snapping to the right, into Ray's temple. Ray let go, falling onto his back and rolling away.

Ray got up, in pain, but grit his teeth, knowing he had to somehow beat Chou. He'd been studying Chou's movements--nothing was telegraphed or given away. Everything seemed to be perfection of motion. Ray had a tactic he thought just might work... Be unpredictable. Chou moved again, only this time, Ray didn't block. He let Chou hit him, then swung a haymaker right into Chou's head. The smaller man staggered to Ray's left with the blow, just in time to catch Ray's left hook to the jaw. Chou's head snapped around, his body lifting into the air, spinning behind it. Ray thought Chou was done, but in the next instant, Chou's kick slammed into Ray's head, knocking him to the ground again.

Chou and Ray looked at each other from the blood-soaked carpet, both shaking their heads from the last volley of blows. Chou grit his teeth with determination, then leapt to his feet yet again. Ray stood as well, knowing he would probably lose. It was time to even up the odds just a little. Chou leapt into the air in a spinning kick, hoping to catch Ray's head again, but Ray stepped into the assault, jamming Chou's technique and grappling the smaller man. Ray kept moving with his momentum, pinning Chou to the wall with all his weight. Chou started boxing Ray's ears in an attempt to loosen Ray's grip on him.

Ray slammed his forehead into Chou's nose. Three times. Ray's ears were bleeding, but Chou's nose was destroyed. Chou tried bringing his knee up for a groin-strike, but Ray had him firmly pinned around the midsection. Chou still had his hands free, and in one motion, pulled a steel cord from his wooden prayer beads and looped it around Ray's neck, adding one twist before pulling.

Ray immediately let go of Chou, bringing his hands up in between Chou's elbows, then slamming them down onto Chou's collarbone. Ray only had a few seconds before he knew he'd pass out, and with his last ounce of strength took a firm grasp on Chou's own windpipe, digging his fingers around and behind it. Chou immediately released his garrot, grabbing Ray's thumb with one hand and pulling it back, while the other hand flew into Ray's nose with a palm-heel strike. Ray fell backwards, his own nose bloody and broken, gasping for breath.

Chou spoke through his own labored breathing. "I commend you, Mr. Dawson. You are living up to your reputation. We will meet again." After Chou said this, he darted silently through the door, leaving Ray gasping for air, a bloody, bruised, and broken mess. Ray shook his head once before getting up and retrieving Dallas' limp form.

Ray staggered out of the club, Dallas over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, and proceeded to the car. Ray then went back into the club, walked right throught the gathered execs, who looked on in astonishment, and trudged right up to the door of the main meeting room. He was about to attempt to kick it in, when it opened, and the executives inside started coming out.

"Mr Fielding," Ray said, straightening himself up as best he could, "time to leave." He collected Fielding, and escorted him out to the car amidst even more looks of confusion and murmurs of disapproval. When Sawyer Fielding got to the car and saw Dallas, he glanced up at Dawson.

"What the hell happened, Ray?" Sawyer asked in astonishment.

"Rough day," Ray said as he started the car and started driving to the nearest hospital...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas simply refused to allow unconsciousness to take him. He had watched Ray and Chou beat the crap out of one another, he thought he could have given a hand if they'd have stayed at longer than five minutes. He figured it would have take another five for him to pull his drek together. But when Chou retreated, Dallas stopped trying, he allowed Ray to take him to the car. He waited in a semi-anxious state until Ray returned with Fielding, then allowed the reserve of resistance to slowly disolve.

"Nice fight, Ray," he murmmered.

Dawson looked at him, surprised that he was still conscious, "Not so bad yourself, kid."

"He broke your nose, pal. I'm still pretty," Dallas commented with a ghost of a smile.

"You gonna be okay, kid?"

"Hell, yes. There were only three of them, but Chou is madder than hell at us and he won't quit...."

"Quiet you two, after you get treatment, I'll want to know what went on," interrupted Fielding, "But for God's sake, Ray, my private clinic is two miles east along here. Be there now."

"No argument, sir."

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson drove as fast as the back roads would allow but it still seemed to take both no time and forever before he bounced the front tires of Fielding's Westwind over the sidewalk of the oh, so tastefully landscaped and posh Diamond Care Clinic. Ray blinked, feeling a little woozy himself, then hauled himself out of the car. Four attendants had rushed out of the building and Fielding directed two of them to them to assist Dallas. The young warrior refused to be carried, however, allowing them to act as his crutches only. His progress was slow but dignified. Another attendant rushed to Dawson's side, but Ray brushed him off, taking the opportunity for a quick smoke before he entered the clinic. The fourth attendant was delegated to valet duty and the Westwind was soon out of sight.

When Dawson made it through the doors, he saw Dallas seated in a gurney folded in a chair like formation, a doctor and a shaman were both giving him the once over. Fielding was laying down the law and running roughshod over administrative objections, and a nurse was headed straight for Dawson with a wheel chair. One look at her iron maiden countenance, and he figured sitting down would be the safest bet.

Dallas was pretty much ignoring the doctor and he and the shaman kept flashing hand signs at one another, but the kid looked unutterably weary. As Dawson was wheeled away with his coterie of nurses and doctors in attendance, he heard the shaman announce that Dallas had marks of protection on him - some people held all the cards.

Dallas was pushed into a softly lit room at the far end of the corridor that looked nothing like a treatment room. In was redolent with burned sage and was remarkably similar in feel to a medicine lodge. The shaman, Rafaela Santiago, prepared herself, then went to work on Dallas.

Dawson was cleaned up by a nurse and checked by a physician, "You've got a hell of a lividity mark around your neck, fella, another twist, and if you'd have lived, it would have been a nice scar. I can't do much for your nose but set it. It isn't wrecked but it is broken. You want a shaman?"

Dawson blinked, all of the information had been delivered rapid fire without a pause for breath. He had never been treated by a shaman before, but if it would put him on his feet a minute quicker, he was all for it, "Sure."

The doctor nodded, used the intercom and left. A tall, thin woman wearing a mottled brown body stocking entered the room. She had strange unblinking eyes that seemed to see right through him, "I'm Sidra," she said at last, "I will attempt to assist you."

They'd been in Diamond Care for about ninety minutes. Dawson and Fielding were sitting in the lounge, neither man spoke as they waited for Dallas, or word of him. Dawson sported tape across his nose and two black eyes that had already faded to a nasty yellow-brown color, thanks to Sidra's ministrations. Finally a rather wan Dallas, limping slightly, but moving under his own power, entered the room.

Dawson rose quickly, surprised at how relieved he felt, "How you doing, kid?"

Dallas nodded, "Not too bad all things considered. They missed the femoral, but took a nice divot out of one of my ribs, and I got yet another concussion. Dropped almost a pint and a quarter of blood though. Going to be perfect again in about 48 hours or so."

Dawson shook his head, "Damn, kid, you gotta stop leading with your skull."

Fielding stood; his gaze was steel, "Time to tell the tale, boys."

Dallas and Dawson shared a glance that seemed like a shrug, "We're gonna need someplace very private, Mr. Fielding."

Fielding stared for a moment, then nodded and led the way outside. Dallas and Dawson followed, each working out a heavily edited version of events, each trusting the other to cover just enough to satisfy a paranoid corporate, but no where near all there was to tell.

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

<Annette Fielding's office, 24 hours after the meeting...>

The phone chirped, and Annette picked up the receiver, without looking up from the file folder Chou had given her yesterday. There was a great deal of educational material concerning one Ray Dawson contained within it.

"Hello?" Annette said absently, only slightly surprised to hear Chou's voice reply.

"It is time to uphold your end of the bargain, Ms. Fielding," Chou said with a slight arrogance. "Deliver Mr. Dawson to us--tonight." Annette nodded, and Chou's image flickered off. Annette returned to her reading, not bothering to hang up the phone, and poured herself a fifth glass of bourbon.

Not much about Ray's childhood was in the dossier, but he had apparently joined the UCAS military to escape gang violence at the tender age of 18. He graduated top of his class in basic, advanced, and special ops training, with an entire list of military specialties attached to his profile, including demolitions, firearms, covert operations, counter-insurgency, hand-to-hand, and intelligence. On his 19th birthday, he was admitted into the Ghostrider squad, an elite shadow-ops team consisting of 10 highly trained specialists to take out high-profile targets quietly. His military record would normally be blacked out from this point onward, but Chou's deckers were top-of-the-line...

Ghostrider squad was in operation for 6 years, during which it was responsible for over 100 assassinations, Ray was personally responsible for nearly 20 of these. Ghostrider squad was disbanded under suspicious circumstances, most of the members disappearing without a trace, only to turn up dead a few months to a year later. There was a major UCAS investigation into the funding of the operation, and eventually, all those responsible for it were brought to justice...

Major Ray Dawson was officially listed as MIA on the military report Annette was looking through, however, the Lone Star report directly underneath it seemed to pick up where the first report left off...

Ray Dawson joined Lone Star at the age of 25, and spent the next 7 years on the force. His application showed he had had military experience, and all of his test scores were in the top 1% of all trainees. He again graduated at the top of his class, and was soon made a part of the Shadowrider special crimes unit, responsible for tracking and bringing to justice shadowrunners of all sorts. He had a fine career, and made detective in 2 years. He was decorated several times for performing above and beyond the call of duty. He'd personally saved the life of the mayor of Seattle, as well as several other high-level executives while investigating a group of shadowrunners who were hired to assassinate them.

And then, as if his luck had run out, Ray Dawson was caught with his pants down...literally. He had been accused of the murder of the mayor's daughter, since there were copious amounts of Ray's 'genetic material' all over the crime scene. He was suspended pending investigation by IA, and quietly retired. He was acquitted and exhonerated 6 months later, but decided to remain 'retired' and became a private detective.

A third folder sat beneath the other two, and seemed to be awards and ranks he'd accumulated during his career(s). He held a black belt in Goju-Ryu, Shotokahn, Kenpo, Issin-Ryu, and Kendo. He had been decorated with a Bronze Star with Cluster for valor, Combat Infantry Award with Wreath, Air Assault Badge, and held Instructor status for rifles, pistols, hand-to-hand, demolitions, and knife-fighting. He had received commendations from all of his superior officers, and had participated in over 15 separate armed conflicts during his career...

Annette closed the file folders, a stone-cold gaze on her face, as all the information settled into her brain... Ray Dawson was going to be difficult to 'deliver' for Chou.

But Annette would get the job done...