pThere was a calm, gentle darkness above. The violent storm had passed and all there was left now was wind and a gentle drizzle that fell from treetops, roofs and power lines above the street. The glare of headlights shone in a bright glare off the street, though there were few vehicles on the road. A motorcycle turned from a high traffic street on to a quieter avenue, the buildings and cleanliness emanating both a warmth and a foreboding, a sort of selective welcome. The rider was dressed in leather and vinyl as usual, her clothing speckled with the glint of water./p
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pShe pulled over in a garage, stepped into the building's door and rode up the elevator, all the while wearing her helmet. In the elevator the whispering blare of a band nearly a century old was heard from the helmet, a ska band called the Specials. The building was warmly lit. Even in the street it seemed inviting, it was an art museum. It was not nouveau riche or avant garde, merely expensive. The elevator doors slid apart and revealed the soft light of a plush restaurant./p
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pOnly when she was fully inside did she remove the helmet. This was as close to a social grace as she'd ever care to get. Unfortunately, there weren't any easily accessible ten-foot poles. She spotted Coyne sitting, as always, near a window. There was something about wizards she'd never understood fully, they always needed to have an eye on things. She'd figured it was because their talents lied in less fun pursuits like driving along the edge of a building (A bike, of course, not a car. And even then, she tried to use as few tires as possible) or smacking people around, so they evolved a thing about being prepared. Coyne was drinking bourbon today and had ordered her a white sinfandel. (The beauty of having a wizard for a partner is your current drink of choice will be waiting for you in advance, provided he or she is in a good mood. If he's in a particularly good mood, the drink will even be cool when you're late.) She was late./p
pAs usual./p
pHer hair was long and wet, slicked back against her scalp and neck into the inside of her leather jacket. 'Blonde, today.' Coyne remarked to himself as he took another sip. Usually she preferred either a darker, more dangerous, mysterious look or a firey, more dangerous, exciting look. She'd never had to worry about having more fun, as they say./p
pThe Studio was not one of the nightclubs that frequented Seattle, which attracted the young. Its name was not spread around on flyers or commercial ads, in fact those who talked about it chose very carefully whom they spoke about it to. It was, for lack of a more suitable term, safe. There were no drugs except of course alcohol. The clientele were very select and the young lady who had just entered was barely on the good side of acceptable, the same way that a scorpion can be classified as a spider. Here there were no questions because the answers were already known. There was no worry, no danger. There was of course selectivity and a bill and always the prospect of never being allowed in again in the future, but there were no shadowrunners./p
pShe was glad to see the glass was fogged with chill, he must have been in a good mood. A very good mood, because not only was there a chilled white sinfandel, but there was a slice of chocolate cheesecake as well. He was studying his pocket secretary, the computer/datapad/phone/dictation device that so many corporate and business types used. Coyne set the secretary on the table, open, and twisted it until the screen faced her./p
p"I recieved this in the intent that we'd be playing middleman and give the information to Backup.You remember them by any stretch?" She thumped her helmet down, visor first on the table but to Coyne's surprise, didn't begin to shake out her hair in a gorgeous manner that would both entice and moisturize the people around them. She put her fingertips aside her forehead and sat down, closing her eyes./p
p"I'm getting.... a sign."/p
pCoyne rolled his eyes. The ironic part was she actually had a talent in this, though it wasn't as reliable as his own. It did however, make up for its reliability with surprising usefulness at times./p
p"Backup is that thing that cops call for in movies... And!!" she threw a hand up, the exclamation drawing attention from quiet conversations around them. "That cute Scotsman!"/p
pHe nodded, hissing out his words, thinking only pure invisibility could save him this embarrassment. "Sit down! You want to be banned from the Studio?" She sat down, crossed her legs at the ankle, sat up straight, threw her nose upwards and started drinking her wine./p
p"Veddy good sah!" she said quietly. He rolled his eyes and pushed the secretary closer to her. The document was from another company with the emblem of a dragon on it. Oh, there were a few of those so it was no big surprise. This dragon's name was Warnig. The message was authenticated by codes and said only a few words./p
pbFind the Lathe of Heaven, if it exists. If so, retrieve it./b/p
p"What's that?"/p
p"See, that's the thing. I don't know, but Warnig wants it, but doesn't want anyone to know he wants it."/p
p"So?" she asked. What she really meant was 'Why should I care?'/p
p"So," he said, leaning back in his chair with the glass in his hand, "Why in the world would he be so secretive about something nobody's heard of?" She shrugged./p
p"I dunno."/p
p"Look, let me put it to you this way. Warnig is sending us the message, knowing we'll get it but we're supposed to give it to his boys first. Doesn't that give you the idea that he wants to give someone the runaround? Doesn't that also make you think that he's letting this information out for a reason, to select people perhaps? Now why would he do that?" She was looking around the bar, winking at men./p
p"Holding a party and doesn't want riff raff to show up?"/p
p"No, you're not listening. He invited Backup, they were the first guests. The Scot, the Elf, the Japanese woman. They also have another member now, remember?"/p
p"Okay, maybe he does want riff raff."/p
pCoyne was officially exasperated. He leaned over the table and fixed his gaze on her. "Cache, he's found evidence of it existing. Why else go to this trouble? What am I saying..." Both of them knew the saying 'Never deal with a dragon', just like both of them knew that Coyne was the brain of the operation. She was happy just to add her special element now and then when instructed to./p
p"I'll see you tommorrow at the Blue Carafe, down by the harbour about noon." He stood up and left before anything else came up. She watched him all the way to the elevator with a very disappointed look./p
p"But what about my hair?"/p
pThe next day the sun broke over the horizon and sped, in the view of the galaxy, upwards in the sky. Inside the Carafe Coyne and Cache were sitting at a corner table, watching the entrance for their guests. The meet was simple. As usual the Scotsman felt threatened by Coyne, and versed this through various comments in the conversation. Coyne very much felt like 'losing' the message for a few days, but instead made sure to stop by the bar on the way out and order the man a wine spritzer./p
p"So now what?" asked Cache, making a show of her boots as she strolled down the steps and fastened her helmet on her head. She'd bring that motorcycle helmet into the movie theater if she could. She brought it wherever she went, regardless of her mode of travel. It wasn't exactly an accessory though, it had functional uses. It had a smartgun display, a compass and other notifications could be displayed in the visor. It was equipped with a radio which, along with other radios, could transmit and recieve from her motorcycle, which served as a re-transmitter. It was structurally sound too, she'd taken a hammer to it for five minutes and only scratched the surface, when she was bored one day. That was saying something from a woman whose fists could crack pavement. Not many knew why she was as valuable to Coyne first off, but physical adepts use magic in different ways than mages./p
pAside from all these facts, the mystery of why she kept her helmet around still bugged Coyne. As far as he could figure, she thought she may eventually have a use for it when other people may not have brought the thing. He saw it a bit like a gun, a useful tool in some circumstances, but surely not something you'd bring in the grocery store. Cache obviously didn't see it like that. Just ask the man in the produce section. Perhaps she just liked the attention./p
p'Bugger that,' he thought. 'There's no perhaps about it'./p
pThey both stepped into the luxury sedan and sat back into the seat. The voice of Cheech Marin spoke to Coyne from Cache's helmet. 'Oh, right. The voice synthesizer too.' he thought./p
p"So like, where we goin' now man?"/p
p"Oh, who knows." He was exasperated already. Usually this wouldn't happen til afternoon, but the day started early. "I haven't gotten a call yet. Maybe we'll get the day off." This wasn't so unusual, really. Quite often they'd have a week and a half without interruption and time to finally spend some of that well earned money. The problem of working for a corporation in the 'resource management' field was very similar to being in the field of emergency medicine. You never knew what you were going to see, but you had to be prepared for anything. Anything could happen, at any time. You would get called in at all hours of the day, sent to all parts of the city, country, continent or world at a whim. The pay was wonderful, but most high paying jobs rarely let you enjoy the pay long enough to be satisfied in it. The only upside to this job was that you did, on occasion, have time to do what you wished. The chances were limitless. Lately the leaves were turning. Something was happening in the legal system to make people more aware of crime, specifically corporate and political gains and exchanges. Shadowrunners were being turned out of business, so corporate work was more expensive. Of course, with price comes demand of service, hence the long hours. What Coyne really wanted to do right now, was shop. As silly as it sounds, he loved to shop for new suits. Subtle nuances in appearance could make such an important impression in his line of work, he'd ellicit emotions ranging from fear to respect, or even hate. Right now he was radiating a general "man that you don't really need to look at, so don't" aura. 'Oh yes,' he thought 'I have the feeling I need a new suit already.'/p
br
pShe pulled over in a garage, stepped into the building's door and rode up the elevator, all the while wearing her helmet. In the elevator the whispering blare of a band nearly a century old was heard from the helmet, a ska band called the Specials. The building was warmly lit. Even in the street it seemed inviting, it was an art museum. It was not nouveau riche or avant garde, merely expensive. The elevator doors slid apart and revealed the soft light of a plush restaurant./p
br
pOnly when she was fully inside did she remove the helmet. This was as close to a social grace as she'd ever care to get. Unfortunately, there weren't any easily accessible ten-foot poles. She spotted Coyne sitting, as always, near a window. There was something about wizards she'd never understood fully, they always needed to have an eye on things. She'd figured it was because their talents lied in less fun pursuits like driving along the edge of a building (A bike, of course, not a car. And even then, she tried to use as few tires as possible) or smacking people around, so they evolved a thing about being prepared. Coyne was drinking bourbon today and had ordered her a white sinfandel. (The beauty of having a wizard for a partner is your current drink of choice will be waiting for you in advance, provided he or she is in a good mood. If he's in a particularly good mood, the drink will even be cool when you're late.) She was late./p
pAs usual./p
pHer hair was long and wet, slicked back against her scalp and neck into the inside of her leather jacket. 'Blonde, today.' Coyne remarked to himself as he took another sip. Usually she preferred either a darker, more dangerous, mysterious look or a firey, more dangerous, exciting look. She'd never had to worry about having more fun, as they say./p
pThe Studio was not one of the nightclubs that frequented Seattle, which attracted the young. Its name was not spread around on flyers or commercial ads, in fact those who talked about it chose very carefully whom they spoke about it to. It was, for lack of a more suitable term, safe. There were no drugs except of course alcohol. The clientele were very select and the young lady who had just entered was barely on the good side of acceptable, the same way that a scorpion can be classified as a spider. Here there were no questions because the answers were already known. There was no worry, no danger. There was of course selectivity and a bill and always the prospect of never being allowed in again in the future, but there were no shadowrunners./p
pShe was glad to see the glass was fogged with chill, he must have been in a good mood. A very good mood, because not only was there a chilled white sinfandel, but there was a slice of chocolate cheesecake as well. He was studying his pocket secretary, the computer/datapad/phone/dictation device that so many corporate and business types used. Coyne set the secretary on the table, open, and twisted it until the screen faced her./p
p"I recieved this in the intent that we'd be playing middleman and give the information to Backup.You remember them by any stretch?" She thumped her helmet down, visor first on the table but to Coyne's surprise, didn't begin to shake out her hair in a gorgeous manner that would both entice and moisturize the people around them. She put her fingertips aside her forehead and sat down, closing her eyes./p
p"I'm getting.... a sign."/p
pCoyne rolled his eyes. The ironic part was she actually had a talent in this, though it wasn't as reliable as his own. It did however, make up for its reliability with surprising usefulness at times./p
p"Backup is that thing that cops call for in movies... And!!" she threw a hand up, the exclamation drawing attention from quiet conversations around them. "That cute Scotsman!"/p
pHe nodded, hissing out his words, thinking only pure invisibility could save him this embarrassment. "Sit down! You want to be banned from the Studio?" She sat down, crossed her legs at the ankle, sat up straight, threw her nose upwards and started drinking her wine./p
p"Veddy good sah!" she said quietly. He rolled his eyes and pushed the secretary closer to her. The document was from another company with the emblem of a dragon on it. Oh, there were a few of those so it was no big surprise. This dragon's name was Warnig. The message was authenticated by codes and said only a few words./p
pbFind the Lathe of Heaven, if it exists. If so, retrieve it./b/p
p"What's that?"/p
p"See, that's the thing. I don't know, but Warnig wants it, but doesn't want anyone to know he wants it."/p
p"So?" she asked. What she really meant was 'Why should I care?'/p
p"So," he said, leaning back in his chair with the glass in his hand, "Why in the world would he be so secretive about something nobody's heard of?" She shrugged./p
p"I dunno."/p
p"Look, let me put it to you this way. Warnig is sending us the message, knowing we'll get it but we're supposed to give it to his boys first. Doesn't that give you the idea that he wants to give someone the runaround? Doesn't that also make you think that he's letting this information out for a reason, to select people perhaps? Now why would he do that?" She was looking around the bar, winking at men./p
p"Holding a party and doesn't want riff raff to show up?"/p
p"No, you're not listening. He invited Backup, they were the first guests. The Scot, the Elf, the Japanese woman. They also have another member now, remember?"/p
p"Okay, maybe he does want riff raff."/p
pCoyne was officially exasperated. He leaned over the table and fixed his gaze on her. "Cache, he's found evidence of it existing. Why else go to this trouble? What am I saying..." Both of them knew the saying 'Never deal with a dragon', just like both of them knew that Coyne was the brain of the operation. She was happy just to add her special element now and then when instructed to./p
p"I'll see you tommorrow at the Blue Carafe, down by the harbour about noon." He stood up and left before anything else came up. She watched him all the way to the elevator with a very disappointed look./p
p"But what about my hair?"/p
pThe next day the sun broke over the horizon and sped, in the view of the galaxy, upwards in the sky. Inside the Carafe Coyne and Cache were sitting at a corner table, watching the entrance for their guests. The meet was simple. As usual the Scotsman felt threatened by Coyne, and versed this through various comments in the conversation. Coyne very much felt like 'losing' the message for a few days, but instead made sure to stop by the bar on the way out and order the man a wine spritzer./p
p"So now what?" asked Cache, making a show of her boots as she strolled down the steps and fastened her helmet on her head. She'd bring that motorcycle helmet into the movie theater if she could. She brought it wherever she went, regardless of her mode of travel. It wasn't exactly an accessory though, it had functional uses. It had a smartgun display, a compass and other notifications could be displayed in the visor. It was equipped with a radio which, along with other radios, could transmit and recieve from her motorcycle, which served as a re-transmitter. It was structurally sound too, she'd taken a hammer to it for five minutes and only scratched the surface, when she was bored one day. That was saying something from a woman whose fists could crack pavement. Not many knew why she was as valuable to Coyne first off, but physical adepts use magic in different ways than mages./p
pAside from all these facts, the mystery of why she kept her helmet around still bugged Coyne. As far as he could figure, she thought she may eventually have a use for it when other people may not have brought the thing. He saw it a bit like a gun, a useful tool in some circumstances, but surely not something you'd bring in the grocery store. Cache obviously didn't see it like that. Just ask the man in the produce section. Perhaps she just liked the attention./p
p'Bugger that,' he thought. 'There's no perhaps about it'./p
pThey both stepped into the luxury sedan and sat back into the seat. The voice of Cheech Marin spoke to Coyne from Cache's helmet. 'Oh, right. The voice synthesizer too.' he thought./p
p"So like, where we goin' now man?"/p
p"Oh, who knows." He was exasperated already. Usually this wouldn't happen til afternoon, but the day started early. "I haven't gotten a call yet. Maybe we'll get the day off." This wasn't so unusual, really. Quite often they'd have a week and a half without interruption and time to finally spend some of that well earned money. The problem of working for a corporation in the 'resource management' field was very similar to being in the field of emergency medicine. You never knew what you were going to see, but you had to be prepared for anything. Anything could happen, at any time. You would get called in at all hours of the day, sent to all parts of the city, country, continent or world at a whim. The pay was wonderful, but most high paying jobs rarely let you enjoy the pay long enough to be satisfied in it. The only upside to this job was that you did, on occasion, have time to do what you wished. The chances were limitless. Lately the leaves were turning. Something was happening in the legal system to make people more aware of crime, specifically corporate and political gains and exchanges. Shadowrunners were being turned out of business, so corporate work was more expensive. Of course, with price comes demand of service, hence the long hours. What Coyne really wanted to do right now, was shop. As silly as it sounds, he loved to shop for new suits. Subtle nuances in appearance could make such an important impression in his line of work, he'd ellicit emotions ranging from fear to respect, or even hate. Right now he was radiating a general "man that you don't really need to look at, so don't" aura. 'Oh yes,' he thought 'I have the feeling I need a new suit already.'/p