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redravin40 · 09-28-2003, 06:33 PM

“Ganj, jack-hole, floaters?” The scrimer’s patter was old enough to be a running joke for the standups on TD. Dred recognized the bent little man as part of a mixed pair that hung on D-ramp. He was a slave to fashion, with the latest in K-suits and dozens of clear micro disks embedded in his skin. Having what looked like open sores all over your body was not Dred’s idea of a decent body mod but Gyle said all the kids were wearing disks. Dred had refused to pay for the op and Gyle had called her names that only a cop’s daughter would know.

“Clip it. I keep all my holes clean.” Char’s answer was velvet razor blades, designed to raise the hair on rude little men who interrupted his lunch. The scrimer’s hair was already pointed so he was a little slow on the uptake.

“Straight edge, I cherish. You want religion? I’ve got Swags, Gettas…”

The knife was only two inches long but it hummed ominously. “If you don’t scrag off, I’ll drill you an extra hole for free.” Char’s voice was still a half whisper but Dred could hear him clearly from the bench where she lay, almost a shop away. Reception was clear for the scrimer, too. Before Char finished his threat the little man was four stores down, hustling a Maori tattooed teenie.

That’s the way to be inconspicuous, Dred thought. Just threaten to skiz anybody who comes near you. Nib-knives didn’t usually kill but they left very nasty burn holes. Fine for Char, he was amping Raj-Put, wired with the warrior ‘tudes to blend in with the Aresheads who ganged the mall. Walnut City Free-Mall was pop because it offered the best weapon shops and wire doctors. Zerkers liked it for the same reason which was why the two cops had a regular stake out in the mall.

Inserting a dirt streaked finger deep in her nose, Dred watched the crowd of psypunks, readers, vags and other civilians who shopped the Free-Mall. Her cover was not as glam as Char’s but it worked. Nobody looked to closely at a barely functioning oldster, rod thin at 45 K, with layers of foul smelling clothes and a ball of snot on her finger. At most they might wonder why the varks hadn’t kicked her.

A bull vark had tried to toss Dred her first day in the mall. She had even refused to input Dred’s ID. Just part of the ongoing battle between real and corporate cops, the effort to privatize police work was an ugly struggle. Free-Malls were part of the plan to revive the countries moribund economy and were under complete control of the corporations who owned them.

The only reason the MUCRATS were allowed was because the varks couldn’t handle zerkers. The vark got a serious butt chewing when Char forced her to check on his partners status but nobody apologized to Dred.

Char was licking the last bits of plum sauce and squid egg roll off his half-gloved fingers. With one hand he bit the top off a sushi package and chewed the edible washabi flavored plastic then dumped a piece of paper thin raw tuna into his mouth. Replete in a skin sight K-suit that matched his blonde on white hair, the only color on Char’s suit was a black triangle showing support for the rebels in Alaska. All Aresheads wore the black triangle but Dred suspected her partner wasn’t only using it as cover.

Sneezing and hacking to cover a check of her equipment and armor, Dred studied each passing face. Some faces covered cracked souls. The cracks came from living through the first war on American soil in over three hundred years, miswire jobs, having a live-in walk out, or losing a job when 40% of the country was unemployed. A monster was growing. A monster that wanted attention and to pass along the pain. Cops had a name for people who used assault weapons on crowds of civilians. They were zerkers and six months after the governor’s son was killed by one, the MUCRATS were created.

Three days out of a six day week, Dred worked the schools, malls, and other public areas. The rest of her time was spent overseeing the other rats and doing neighborhood checks on people the profilers tagged as potential zerkers.
Char’s free hand beat against the cartridge belt looped across his chest. The rats used a version of ASL to have conversations that might disquiet a jury.

“Two SIDs coming up on you. Want to slam?”

Black leather wrapped around her neck making the answer moot. The chip induced English accent was squeaky with puberty. “Got any change, troll?”

The question floated in a cloud of soy ale. There was no minimum drinking age in this Free-Mall. Flexing her wrist, Dred felt the comforting weight of the snoozer.

“Please don’t hurt me. I’ve got credit. I can give you some. Just don’t hurt me.” Dred worked hard to get the right degree of tremulousness in her voice. They were supposed to blend in and if that meant putting up with a little strong arm, so be it.

“I’m bleeding well bored. Let’s kick ‘er round a bit.” The second voice was older and a lot nastier. Best to bring this to a quick end, even if it meant blowing cover. Dred was in no mood to play zip ball for a couple of middle class kids who preferred a suicidal junkie’s personality to their own. The varks wouldn’t show up before she started bleeding. A little violence was accepted in the Free-Mall, it kept the tourists amused.

Slowly, so as not to spook her attacker, Dred brought her hand up. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed the bulb. Counting to ten while the arm loosened and dropped away, Dred hoped the other kid was close enough to get a whiff. A yell of surprise shattered that hope.

“What the ‘ell did you do to Jonith, bitch?” The SID’s voice was like knuckles across a cheese grater.
Looking up, Dred saw the kid digging in his coat pocket. Whatever the psypunk was looking for couldn’t be healthy. Sweeping aside her duster and rolling off the bench, Dred pulled a stunner out of her boot. She had other weapons but the stunner was in character. They might be able to keep their cover after all if the varks behaved.

The tip of the stunner left a black spot on the SID’s jacket and sprawled him over his buddy. Dred gave the thumbs up signal to her partner only to see three more clowns pushing their way through the crowd. Dressed in the SID uniform, black leather jacket, torn shirts, plaid pants, and Doc Martins, they had probably spent what Dred made in a year on clothes and wire to look poor and stupid. So much for psydecks improving mankind. Their knives hummed too.

Char let out a war whoop of pure joy. The kid closest to him had time to half turn before the young cop’s Striker boot slammed into the boys face. With chip and practice precision, Char followed through on the kick with a forward somersault. The move brought him within striking distance of the second psypunk, a girl who easily outweighed Char by sixty kilos. Not only big nut quick, her nib-knife missed Char by only mm’s.

Using the SID’s momentum , Char pushed the knife arm out of it socket. High on chip courage and soy ale, the girl slammed her other hand into Char’s nose. Licking the blood that ran down his face, Char pivoted and drove his knee into the girls stomach then raked down to catch an exposed kneecap. Dred recognized the move as one that Kathy Rocket used on the SV channel’s NSF Championships. The Street Fighting champion’s slim build was similar to Char’s so her fighting style printed easily.

Dred’s attention locked on the third member of the gang. A ferret faced kid, shorter then his cohorts, had pulled a chip clip off his belt and was replacing the SID chip. The nasty glitter that filled his eyes when the chip placed made Dred shout a warning.

“Waster….five o’clock!” Wolverine and shrew chips were illegal as hell but available from scrimers in most mall but Disney’s. Most people just weren’t stupid enough to use them. Wired with the instinct of an animal that could kill carnivores ten times it size, the kid was dangerous to everyone, even his friends. This wasn’t tourist entertainment anymore, it was business.

Dropping the stunner, Dred popped the tapegun from it‘s hiding place. With a quick prayer that the damn stuff would work, she aimed and fired. Restricting filaments, tested at 200 K break point, sped towards the SID. Snarling, the luscus grabbed the tape out of the air and began to bite at it. Not good.

It was up to Char now, if they wanted to keep things non-lethal. He had a difficult attack---deliver a knock out and not get caught in the swirls of coptape. Not something Kathy Rocket ever did on the Sex and Violence channel. He went in smooth and came out broken. Dred could hear ribs cracking over the mall’s MUZAK.

Purple veins stood out from the psypunk’s face and foam flecked his mouth. Strands of plastic snapped and shredded, pulling away chunks of flesh. The boy’s scream made Dred’s eyes hurt. Her partner’s face settled into a mask of pain blockers, as he prepared to strike again. The luscus charged at the girl Char had just put down.

Holding her arm, the big psypunk staggered away from her maniacal friend, pleading with him to recognize her. She didn’t see the planter of ferns that tripped her because she was looking into his hells gate eyes. Luckily, her head hit the edge of the planter so she was unconscious when the crazed boy started biting and tearing at her.

Char managed to get his baton around the boy’s neck, dragging him away from the still, bloody form. Char would not be able to hold the luscus long but he hadn’t planned to. Spinning away, he yelled, “Clear!”

A red dot appeared like a pimple on the boy’s bloody forehead. The laser sigh was attached to a 90mm fletcher, held rock steady in Dred’s bony hand. Angry and disgusted, Dred pulled the trigger. One hundred razor sharp fletchettes ripped through the boy. Having no choice didn't make it any easier.

"Undercover police acting in cooperation with mall admin." Char and Dred clicked on their holo badges. Now the circus would start. Handling people was Char's job, he enjoyed it. Dred was not good at crowd control or being nice to varks and ghouls. Hunting zerkers was like brain surgery. Char was the laser and she was the bone saw.

The one nice thing about being monitored was not having to fill out a lot of paperwork. Everything you did was recorded and when the case went to court all the prosecutor had to do was hit play. The rats had a 92% conviction rate. The down side was being insulted by fellow cops and having ghouls follow you around.

"Looks like a Taz chip." The security guard walked up on Dred while she was reloading. He wore a ribbed K-suit that was two years out of style. Strange days when Kevlar was a fashion statement. Most of his face was covered with green lensed Red-Te glasses. They were plugged into his socket and Dred knew he was tracking every level of the mall even as he was talking to her. This must be the supervisor who had romped on the vark. The man's limp and graying mustache set him apart from the other varks who were all young and glowing with health.

"Know where he got it?" she asked.

"Probably down the hall. I would love to download it on the scrod who sold it." There was venom in the man's voice. "I lost my little sister to bad wetware."

"His partners in crime probably know." Can we sweat them?" It was strange talking to a vark like a real cop.

"Not even. The one you conked has three parents on the Board and the girl's father is a reconstructive doc at the BIO3000 franchise."

"Get a face for the future."

"Stupid ads but a lot of clout in this mall. It would be hard enough explaining why Daddy has to patch up his little girl." He ran his hand through thinning hair. "My crew is supposed to be able to handle anything even if they don't fund us properly. We were lucky you were here."

"Some might say it was out fault."

"And they would be wrong. He would have used that chip sometime and most of my crew would have waited to shoot and then probably taken out a few bystanders. Who knows how many people would be eaten by then." Data was scrolling along the bottom of his shades but Dred could tell he was studying her face. "I've got your police file but I'm sure I recognize you from somewhere else."

Normally Dred would have blown away a line like that but it had been a while since she had talked to anybody but cops or her daughter. "Your age is showing. I was one of the first computer direct plugs."

"Mildred Stratton. That's right, you had epilepsy and they split your brain to stop the seizures. The plug integrated the two sides."

"Close, it was narcolepsy and everyone calls me Dred." She wanted to be annoyed that he was telling her who she was but his easygoing style made it difficult.

Ben Stratton had the same kind of personality. No matter how angry she was her husband had always been able to talk her down. A flashing series of memories ripped through years of scar tissue. Gyle wrapped in a Winnie-the-Pooh blanket. A picnic basket and champagne to celebrate the end of the war.

The CPA from Stockton with two dead sons and an L-7 assault rifle. Ben's voice, soft and convincing. Doing his job at the risk of his life. His dead weight in her arms. Ben's off duty gun in her jerking in her hands as she killed her first zerker. Her daughter and her job were the only things that kept her from swallowing the barrel of her own gun sometimes.

"This is none of my business but how did you ...."

"Wind up a MUCRAT?" Dred used a wetnap to wipe the fake grime off her face. "Long story. I became a cop during the war when they were desperate for able bodies and it stuck. I'm used to the plug and being monitored is a slide. The rest of the rats are vets but combat monitoring is different from having everything you say and do recorded." Damn, she was starting to babble.

Dred could see that Char was watching them with a nonplussed expression. It might have upset if she hadn't noticed the varks looking downright hostile.

"I haven't introduced myself, Frank Tate." He offered an ungloved hand. He wasn't strapped which was unusual since most varks used gun size as an indication of rank. The limp seemed to rule out a MARS chip.

"You're not the standard issue va.... security expert."

"Vark? Earth pig? Mall cop? No worries. It's a new line for me. I used to teach refugee camp administration. While I was working the Woodstock camp, I picked up FED-70. I spent six months gelled while they regenerated my skin. The docs felt I needed to find a less stressful job or I might have a relapse."

"This is relaxing?"

"Everything is relative. Have you ever been to a Joad camp?"

"They have more then their share of zerkers."

"We could have used you in New York. Had to take out a couple every day, twice that many died in suicides and even more in 'suspicious accidents'." Glancing over the crowd, he shook his head. "Looks like the ghouls are here. Want some espresso? Best in the mall."

Dred recoiled at the sight of a dozen indies with eyecams and two floating monitors from the networks heading their way. They were trying to interview Char and getting only vituperative replies. She would be next.

"Give me a few minute to change."

"Don't worry. You will fit right in at the Black Lung. Only place in the mall with a tobacco license."

"Yuck. Isn't there a ganj shop you like?" Dred signed her intentions to Char. His reply was raised eyebrows and two quick signs.

"Your funeral."

Frank pulled his plug. The shades went clear, revealing dark blue eyes. Sweeping aside the stiff wing of white streaked hair that covered her socket, Dred did the same. They were officially off duty.

<center> . . . . . . </center>

09-28-2003, 06:33 PM	#2 (permalink)
redravin40 Loser Location: With Jadzia	“Ganj, jack-hole, floaters?” The scrimer’s patter was old enough to be a running joke for the standups on TD. Dred recognized the bent little man as part of a mixed pair that hung on D-ramp. He was a slave to fashion, with the latest in K-suits and dozens of clear micro disks embedded in his skin. Having what looked like open sores all over your body was not Dred’s idea of a decent body mod but Gyle said all the kids were wearing disks. Dred had refused to pay for the op and Gyle had called her names that only a cop’s daughter would know. “Clip it. I keep all my holes clean.” Char’s answer was velvet razor blades, designed to raise the hair on rude little men who interrupted his lunch. The scrimer’s hair was already pointed so he was a little slow on the uptake. “Straight edge, I cherish. You want religion? I’ve got Swags, Gettas…” The knife was only two inches long but it hummed ominously. “If you don’t scrag off, I’ll drill you an extra hole for free.” Char’s voice was still a half whisper but Dred could hear him clearly from the bench where she lay, almost a shop away. Reception was clear for the scrimer, too. Before Char finished his threat the little man was four stores down, hustling a Maori tattooed teenie. That’s the way to be inconspicuous, Dred thought. Just threaten to skiz anybody who comes near you. Nib-knives didn’t usually kill but they left very nasty burn holes. Fine for Char, he was amping Raj-Put, wired with the warrior ‘tudes to blend in with the Aresheads who ganged the mall. Walnut City Free-Mall was pop because it offered the best weapon shops and wire doctors. Zerkers liked it for the same reason which was why the two cops had a regular stake out in the mall. Inserting a dirt streaked finger deep in her nose, Dred watched the crowd of psypunks, readers, vags and other civilians who shopped the Free-Mall. Her cover was not as glam as Char’s but it worked. Nobody looked to closely at a barely functioning oldster, rod thin at 45 K, with layers of foul smelling clothes and a ball of snot on her finger. At most they might wonder why the varks hadn’t kicked her. A bull vark had tried to toss Dred her first day in the mall. She had even refused to input Dred’s ID. Just part of the ongoing battle between real and corporate cops, the effort to privatize police work was an ugly struggle. Free-Malls were part of the plan to revive the countries moribund economy and were under complete control of the corporations who owned them. The only reason the MUCRATS were allowed was because the varks couldn’t handle zerkers. The vark got a serious butt chewing when Char forced her to check on his partners status but nobody apologized to Dred. Char was licking the last bits of plum sauce and squid egg roll off his half-gloved fingers. With one hand he bit the top off a sushi package and chewed the edible washabi flavored plastic then dumped a piece of paper thin raw tuna into his mouth. Replete in a skin sight K-suit that matched his blonde on white hair, the only color on Char’s suit was a black triangle showing support for the rebels in Alaska. All Aresheads wore the black triangle but Dred suspected her partner wasn’t only using it as cover. Sneezing and hacking to cover a check of her equipment and armor, Dred studied each passing face. Some faces covered cracked souls. The cracks came from living through the first war on American soil in over three hundred years, miswire jobs, having a live-in walk out, or losing a job when 40% of the country was unemployed. A monster was growing. A monster that wanted attention and to pass along the pain. Cops had a name for people who used assault weapons on crowds of civilians. They were zerkers and six months after the governor’s son was killed by one, the MUCRATS were created. Three days out of a six day week, Dred worked the schools, malls, and other public areas. The rest of her time was spent overseeing the other rats and doing neighborhood checks on people the profilers tagged as potential zerkers. Char’s free hand beat against the cartridge belt looped across his chest. The rats used a version of ASL to have conversations that might disquiet a jury. “Two SIDs coming up on you. Want to slam?” Black leather wrapped around her neck making the answer moot. The chip induced English accent was squeaky with puberty. “Got any change, troll?” The question floated in a cloud of soy ale. There was no minimum drinking age in this Free-Mall. Flexing her wrist, Dred felt the comforting weight of the snoozer. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ve got credit. I can give you some. Just don’t hurt me.” Dred worked hard to get the right degree of tremulousness in her voice. They were supposed to blend in and if that meant putting up with a little strong arm, so be it. “I’m bleeding well bored. Let’s kick ‘er round a bit.” The second voice was older and a lot nastier. Best to bring this to a quick end, even if it meant blowing cover. Dred was in no mood to play zip ball for a couple of middle class kids who preferred a suicidal junkie’s personality to their own. The varks wouldn’t show up before she started bleeding. A little violence was accepted in the Free-Mall, it kept the tourists amused. Slowly, so as not to spook her attacker, Dred brought her hand up. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed the bulb. Counting to ten while the arm loosened and dropped away, Dred hoped the other kid was close enough to get a whiff. A yell of surprise shattered that hope. “What the ‘ell did you do to Jonith, bitch?” The SID’s voice was like knuckles across a cheese grater. Looking up, Dred saw the kid digging in his coat pocket. Whatever the psypunk was looking for couldn’t be healthy. Sweeping aside her duster and rolling off the bench, Dred pulled a stunner out of her boot. She had other weapons but the stunner was in character. They might be able to keep their cover after all if the varks behaved. The tip of the stunner left a black spot on the SID’s jacket and sprawled him over his buddy. Dred gave the thumbs up signal to her partner only to see three more clowns pushing their way through the crowd. Dressed in the SID uniform, black leather jacket, torn shirts, plaid pants, and Doc Martins, they had probably spent what Dred made in a year on clothes and wire to look poor and stupid. So much for psydecks improving mankind. Their knives hummed too. Char let out a war whoop of pure joy. The kid closest to him had time to half turn before the young cop’s Striker boot slammed into the boys face. With chip and practice precision, Char followed through on the kick with a forward somersault. The move brought him within striking distance of the second psypunk, a girl who easily outweighed Char by sixty kilos. Not only big nut quick, her nib-knife missed Char by only mm’s. Using the SID’s momentum , Char pushed the knife arm out of it socket. High on chip courage and soy ale, the girl slammed her other hand into Char’s nose. Licking the blood that ran down his face, Char pivoted and drove his knee into the girls stomach then raked down to catch an exposed kneecap. Dred recognized the move as one that Kathy Rocket used on the SV channel’s NSF Championships. The Street Fighting champion’s slim build was similar to Char’s so her fighting style printed easily. Dred’s attention locked on the third member of the gang. A ferret faced kid, shorter then his cohorts, had pulled a chip clip off his belt and was replacing the SID chip. The nasty glitter that filled his eyes when the chip placed made Dred shout a warning. “Waster….five o’clock!” Wolverine and shrew chips were illegal as hell but available from scrimers in most mall but Disney’s. Most people just weren’t stupid enough to use them. Wired with the instinct of an animal that could kill carnivores ten times it size, the kid was dangerous to everyone, even his friends. This wasn’t tourist entertainment anymore, it was business. Dropping the stunner, Dred popped the tapegun from it‘s hiding place. With a quick prayer that the damn stuff would work, she aimed and fired. Restricting filaments, tested at 200 K break point, sped towards the SID. Snarling, the luscus grabbed the tape out of the air and began to bite at it. Not good. It was up to Char now, if they wanted to keep things non-lethal. He had a difficult attack---deliver a knock out and not get caught in the swirls of coptape. Not something Kathy Rocket ever did on the Sex and Violence channel. He went in smooth and came out broken. Dred could hear ribs cracking over the mall’s MUZAK. Purple veins stood out from the psypunk’s face and foam flecked his mouth. Strands of plastic snapped and shredded, pulling away chunks of flesh. The boy’s scream made Dred’s eyes hurt. Her partner’s face settled into a mask of pain blockers, as he prepared to strike again. The luscus charged at the girl Char had just put down. Holding her arm, the big psypunk staggered away from her maniacal friend, pleading with him to recognize her. She didn’t see the planter of ferns that tripped her because she was looking into his hells gate eyes. Luckily, her head hit the edge of the planter so she was unconscious when the crazed boy started biting and tearing at her. Char managed to get his baton around the boy’s neck, dragging him away from the still, bloody form. Char would not be able to hold the luscus long but he hadn’t planned to. Spinning away, he yelled, “Clear!” A red dot appeared like a pimple on the boy’s bloody forehead. The laser sigh was attached to a 90mm fletcher, held rock steady in Dred’s bony hand. Angry and disgusted, Dred pulled the trigger. One hundred razor sharp fletchettes ripped through the boy. Having no choice didn't make it any easier. "Undercover police acting in cooperation with mall admin." Char and Dred clicked on their holo badges. Now the circus would start. Handling people was Char's job, he enjoyed it. Dred was not good at crowd control or being nice to varks and ghouls. Hunting zerkers was like brain surgery. Char was the laser and she was the bone saw. The one nice thing about being monitored was not having to fill out a lot of paperwork. Everything you did was recorded and when the case went to court all the prosecutor had to do was hit play. The rats had a 92% conviction rate. The down side was being insulted by fellow cops and having ghouls follow you around. "Looks like a Taz chip." The security guard walked up on Dred while she was reloading. He wore a ribbed K-suit that was two years out of style. Strange days when Kevlar was a fashion statement. Most of his face was covered with green lensed Red-Te glasses. They were plugged into his socket and Dred knew he was tracking every level of the mall even as he was talking to her. This must be the supervisor who had romped on the vark. The man's limp and graying mustache set him apart from the other varks who were all young and glowing with health. "Know where he got it?" she asked. "Probably down the hall. I would love to download it on the scrod who sold it." There was venom in the man's voice. "I lost my little sister to bad wetware." "His partners in crime probably know." Can we sweat them?" It was strange talking to a vark like a real cop. "Not even. The one you conked has three parents on the Board and the girl's father is a reconstructive doc at the BIO3000 franchise." "Get a face for the future." "Stupid ads but a lot of clout in this mall. It would be hard enough explaining why Daddy has to patch up his little girl." He ran his hand through thinning hair. "My crew is supposed to be able to handle anything even if they don't fund us properly. We were lucky you were here." "Some might say it was out fault." "And they would be wrong. He would have used that chip sometime and most of my crew would have waited to shoot and then probably taken out a few bystanders. Who knows how many people would be eaten by then." Data was scrolling along the bottom of his shades but Dred could tell he was studying her face. "I've got your police file but I'm sure I recognize you from somewhere else." Normally Dred would have blown away a line like that but it had been a while since she had talked to anybody but cops or her daughter. "Your age is showing. I was one of the first computer direct plugs." "Mildred Stratton. That's right, you had epilepsy and they split your brain to stop the seizures. The plug integrated the two sides." "Close, it was narcolepsy and everyone calls me Dred." She wanted to be annoyed that he was telling her who she was but his easygoing style made it difficult. Ben Stratton had the same kind of personality. No matter how angry she was her husband had always been able to talk her down. A flashing series of memories ripped through years of scar tissue. Gyle wrapped in a Winnie-the-Pooh blanket. A picnic basket and champagne to celebrate the end of the war. The CPA from Stockton with two dead sons and an L-7 assault rifle. Ben's voice, soft and convincing. Doing his job at the risk of his life. His dead weight in her arms. Ben's off duty gun in her jerking in her hands as she killed her first zerker. Her daughter and her job were the only things that kept her from swallowing the barrel of her own gun sometimes. "This is none of my business but how did you ...." "Wind up a MUCRAT?" Dred used a wetnap to wipe the fake grime off her face. "Long story. I became a cop during the war when they were desperate for able bodies and it stuck. I'm used to the plug and being monitored is a slide. The rest of the rats are vets but combat monitoring is different from having everything you say and do recorded." Damn, she was starting to babble. Dred could see that Char was watching them with a nonplussed expression. It might have upset if she hadn't noticed the varks looking downright hostile. "I haven't introduced myself, Frank Tate." He offered an ungloved hand. He wasn't strapped which was unusual since most varks used gun size as an indication of rank. The limp seemed to rule out a MARS chip. "You're not the standard issue va.... security expert." "Vark? Earth pig? Mall cop? No worries. It's a new line for me. I used to teach refugee camp administration. While I was working the Woodstock camp, I picked up FED-70. I spent six months gelled while they regenerated my skin. The docs felt I needed to find a less stressful job or I might have a relapse." "This is relaxing?" "Everything is relative. Have you ever been to a Joad camp?" "They have more then their share of zerkers." "We could have used you in New York. Had to take out a couple every day, twice that many died in suicides and even more in 'suspicious accidents'." Glancing over the crowd, he shook his head. "Looks like the ghouls are here. Want some espresso? Best in the mall." Dred recoiled at the sight of a dozen indies with eyecams and two floating monitors from the networks heading their way. They were trying to interview Char and getting only vituperative replies. She would be next. "Give me a few minute to change." "Don't worry. You will fit right in at the Black Lung. Only place in the mall with a tobacco license." "Yuck. Isn't there a ganj shop you like?" Dred signed her intentions to Char. His reply was raised eyebrows and two quick signs. "Your funeral." Frank pulled his plug. The shades went clear, revealing dark blue eyes. Sweeping aside the stiff wing of white streaked hair that covered her socket, Dred did the same. They were officially off duty. <center> . . . . . . </center> Last edited by redravin40; 09-28-2003 at 06:36 PM..