Suspended In Gaffa (CyberPunk) - Tilted Forum Project Discussion Community

redravin40 · 05-26-2003, 08:32 AM

The legal stuff...
All rights to this story are mine both as myself and redravin40. It is put here for the members of TFP to read and enjoy only. If I find it in anyplace else in any form electric or otherwise, without my express permission, two phone call will be made. The first is to a lawyer who owes me a few favors and the other....
Well let's hope the lawyer finds you first.

<center>SUSPENDED IN GAFFA</center>

The mind take strange turns when confronted by violent death. People new to the experience can go into shock. Staring down at the body of a man with his face burned off, Detective Mildred (Dred) Stratton remembered that she had not taken anything out for dinner.

To be fair, many other thoughts were skipping through her mind. Not the least of which was that Frank Tate had a nice butt. The chief of security for Walnut City’s largest Free Mall was bending over their fourth corpse of the day. One of Frank’s varks had found the body tucked behind a nano-made copy of Barkers steel sculpture Saint George and The Dragon.

The overwhelming odor of scorched flesh made the detective decide not to make chops for dinner. Another line of thought was worry for her partner Detective Charlie (Char) Dinn. The young cop had come very close to being the fifth casualty of what was becoming a really long day. It was not the first time one of them had been hurt. Some MUCRATS spent as much time gelled as they did in the field. Handling zerkers was just that kind of job.

Today’s killer was about average. Dave Guire had a long history of minor run-ins with the law. He had been in and out of various institutions since he was a teenager. The most recent event involved attacking a co-worker with an air hammer. Dave refused to have nanoneurosurgery and apparently his father backed him on that decision with all the clout that owning the largest string of military surplus stores in North Cal provided.

Mr. Guire had shown up in the MUCRAT’s profile system a few weeks before but there had been some questions on how to handle the father so the survey team had been put off. Which meant nobody was watching when Davie had borrowed a Hard-2C flamethrower from one of his dad’s stores and filled his pockets with mini-grenades. Dred had learned all this just moments before running up on David Guire’s attempt to make a mark on the world.

The two cops jumped out of their car knowing the person they were after had killed two heavily armed security guards in order to get into the Walnut City Free Mall. They were also told all customers had been cleared out and that they better not expect back up for twenty minutes. Of course the varks said they would help but the last thing Dred needed was a half trained security guard getting in the way.

When they hit the top of the ramp it was obvious their information was SNAFU. There were dozens of customers hiding behind whatever they thought would protect them from David Guire’s madness. That meant the cops couldn’t use sonic cripplers or foam. You didn’t want a bystanders family suing because grandma had a heart attack or the main wage earner broke most of the bones in his body because he was too stupid to figure out that when you get foamed you stop moving or else. This meant going one on one with Davie boy. Dred wished for the days when cops could just shoot people.

The tape gun worked as well as it always did, which is to say half-assed. The strapping only caught the zerker on one side and that was not the side holding the flamethrower. Grunting and muttering to himself, David Guire tried to use one hand to set the Hard-2C to overload. A trick he had probably seen dozens of times on the Sex and Violence Channel. That particular trick would have burned half the Free-Mall to ashes. Luckily for the two cops, the trick was more difficult than the actors made it look.

Char used a rolling sidekick, came up under the flamer, and knocked the weapon out of the zerkers hand. He also set off two tumbler grenades strapped to David Guire’s body. The young cop was tossed a half-meter or so down the ramp, while Dred was pinned to the wall. The grenades were DF’s (directed force) so a few shop windows busted but all the shrapnel went into David Guire. Dred cracked some ribs and Char was shuttled to one of the Free-Malls best medical clinics, cursing and swearing all the way.

“Looks familiar,” Dred said, taking a closer look at the burnt corpse.

“He’s a scrimer. I’ve had to run the putz off this ramp a dozen times. The only place you can buy brain burning tech in this mall is in the stores.” Frank’s dry sense of humor was one of the things that had attracted Dred in the first place.

“The Hard-C would have done more damage than this. Anybody see him get it?”

“Not that they’re telling. The tourists have seen the PSA’s. Find cover, don’t gawk and wait for the MUCRAT’s. Not that you helped much when he roasted my men.” There was bitterness in Frank’s voice that went very deep.

“We got here as soon as we could.” Dred knew he was not angry with them. Having made the call on the families of over a dozen dead cops, she understood the anger and sadness Frank was feeling. Looking up she noticed Varks herding a small group of local CD’s away from the scene. The kids were staring at her and Frank in a way that seemed strange.

“What’s the story on that bunch?” she asked.

“Just the usual.” Frank’s eyes dropped to the constant stream of information that was running along the bottom of his I-specs.

“They were watching from the next statue over. Locals know all the best hiding places.”

Dred tried to read the tiny print from her side, not easy since it was upside down and backwards. “Did you do a close scan on them?”

“No reason to. What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know. Maybe this.” She held up a burnt sliver of wood that was hidden between the dragon’s claws.

Frank laughed. It sounded more like a cough. “Should I keep the crime scene pristine for the science crew?”

“Are you going to send for one?”

“And shoot my budget on a scrimer?” After the Privatization Act of 2024 the price for crime scene work came out of the budget of whoever was directly involved with the case.

“OK,” she knew it was a lot to ask. “I’m going to need a copy of the info on those kids.”

“This is a little out of your territory.” Dred had never heard this kind brisk tone from Frank before. She went straight from understanding to pissed off.

“Article 12-B: State of California, Emergency Charter, Sub-section 6: Free Malls must share any information concerning zerkers and their victims. Even in your company town some laws still apply. Now do I have to make a formal application?”

“Look, I didn’t mean to sound like a suithead.” Dred could tell Frank was sorry for pissing her off but not why.

“I didn’t think I would have to put up with gaffa from you.” She turned and walked over to the med-tech who was bagging up the scrimer’s body. He was shaking his head, looking disgusted.

“Something wrong?”

“Oh mon, you speak truth. This boy was foolish extreme.” The accent matched the dreadlocks but the tin skin spoiled the effect. “Plenty of places to get skin disks and he goes cheap.”

“Something wrong with his disks?”

“The cheap burn like a tire farm. That and the skid he used on his hair …” The big med tech gestured wide, “One touch of flame and … Phoenix.”

The tech picked up the body bag one handed and walked away. A thick cloud of ganja smoke followed him.

Dred shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her pea coat. Her face was tense with thought. With a start she realized that Fred was trying to get her attention.

“I can get a copy of the report printed up in my office. We could look it over at the Black Lung.”

“Jam it to my line over at the Rat Hole. I’ve got a wounded partner to check on.” She was being really nasty but if he insisted on acting like a vark she would treat him like one.

Her visit with Char did little to improve her mood. He was gelled so she couldn’t talk to him. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to talk about, anyway: her feelings for Fred, the dead scrimer, the weather, or maybe how tired she was of saving the lives of people who didn’t care.

The Rat Hole had started life as a high school. It was low to the ground and covered with graffiti. The place still smelled of the chemo bomb that cleared out the squatters when the state decided to turn the building into headquarters for the MUCRATS. There had been a lot of talk from Center Office about how having a separate post of operations was a great honor for the MUCRAT’s but the reality was that regular cops wanted nothing to do with them.

Char dropped the sliver of burnt wood off at the lab. Simon treated her like he did everybody else, with rude disdain. He was one of the best CSI scientists in the state but he also had a major PD that made working with him a misery.

Ever since the state of California had made personality disorders a legal handicap it was impossible to fire Simon but they could stick him in a high school chemistry lab and tell him to handle the complete caseload of fifty officers and psychologists. Char just walked away when he started yelling at her.

Her plans for a hot shower were pretty much shot when she walked into the locker room to see Jeth Michaels holding court. The big cop had hooked up with the MUCRAT’s after a very nasty shoot out with a zerker. His partner died that day and Jeth started his time in the MUCRAT’s convinced he had a license to wreak every zerker he could get his hands on. After two close calls with excessive force charges, Jeth seemed to have mellowed out a little bit. Instead he had decided to be the voice of the common cop.

“I’d like to see one of these fucken politicians try and take down a full core zerker with coptape.” Jeth was on a roll. “Has this craptape ever worked the way it’s supposed to? Charlie was almost killed because of this dreck.” He shoved the tape gun in Dred’s face.

That was too much. Dred didn’t care for the way every experimental program or tool was foisted off on them but he wasn’t going to use Char to prove his little point. Doing a classic disarm, she popped the tape gun out of his hand and fired. The cop tape worked properly this time, wrapping the brawny cop from head to toe. Even with the detangle spray he would be loosing hair from some pretty sensitive places.

Ignoring the stares of her fellow cops, Char turned and walked to her locker. Great, once again she had proved her reputation as loose cannon. Still, it was better to have shut him before he got started on the plugs. An extra head hole that reminded you that someone was always looking over your shoulder.

The psych squad was supposed to be full members of the MUCRATS. Their primary job of profiling and identifying zerkers had saved more then one street cops life. Still, knowing that they could see and hear everything you did was so invasive that there was automatic resentment. The former vets would give the other cops gaffa if they yelped. It was only for your eight hour shift, try living with it 24-7 like they had in the military.

Dred changed into her off duty-suit, a hand-tailored Armanie that had set her back three weeks salary, and headed for the monitoring room. She waved to the monitor techs and found the rack of her disks. Pulling the adapter out of its pouch, Dred attached it to the feeder wire. Her daughter thought the old plug was ugly and harped on Dred to have it upgraded. There were some things she didn’t ever plan on changing. Closing her eyes, Dred keyed the duty time and her code form.

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

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>

redravin40 · 09-28-2003, 06:35 PM

It took Dred almost two hours to locate the antique shop that carried the matches but when she did the descriptions matched. Frank was waiting for her. He had left the glasses clear and wore a K-suit she had picked out for him. His smile disappeared quickly.

"It's a farmers match. Lights on anything. They sell them in the Cozy Candle Antique."

"This match wouldn't be enough to burn his face off. Why are you following this? We wrapped it. Nobody cares."

"My husband was killed by a zerker. The victims are special to me. This was something else." She realized the truths of what she said as she spoke. "Don't you want to know if it was a separate murder?"

"You do. That's enough for me. I gave you the information you wanted. They didn't have anything that would burn somebody's face off."

Instead of answering, Dred pulled a straw from her pocket. It was loosely packed with coffee whitener. Lighting the match she had bought at the antique store
she blew the powder into the air. A curl of fire filled the area between them The smell of burnt hair floated on the air.

"The SIDs knew who sold the Devil chip."

Frank's shoulders dropped. "Maybe."

"That's all you're going tot say?"

"Good work." he said softly.

"Good work! Those kids killed somebody. I don't care if he was a scrimer. The set his skin on fire."

"Tough to prove."

"Help me. We can nail them."

"This isn't your case, it never was. We handle any crime not directly related to the zerkers on site."

"YOU KNEW!"

"I suspected. The girl's father could have told her about the flammable disks. It doesn't matter. Their parents would protect them and we would get nowhere."

"And you might lose you job. That's what this all about. They pay you to do more then enforce the law, don't they?"

"I can't stop you from seeing it that way. My sister cut herself to pieces because a scrimer sold her a bad chip. The kids took justice into their own hands."

"And because their parents own you, you'll let them. I'm leaving. From now on we're strangers."

"I'm sorry."

"Gaffa."

Dinner that night was ugly. She yelled at Gyle and over-waved the casserole. As Dred stood in the shower to wash away a blinding headache, she realized that this was the same feeling she got from killing somebody.

05-26-2003, 08:32 AM	#1 (permalink)
redravin40 Loser Location: With Jadzia	Suspended In Gaffa (CyberPunk) The legal stuff... All rights to this story are mine both as myself and redravin40. It is put here for the members of TFP to read and enjoy only. If I find it in anyplace else in any form electric or otherwise, without my express permission, two phone call will be made. The first is to a lawyer who owes me a few favors and the other.... Well let's hope the lawyer finds you first. <center>SUSPENDED IN GAFFA</center> The mind take strange turns when confronted by violent death. People new to the experience can go into shock. Staring down at the body of a man with his face burned off, Detective Mildred (Dred) Stratton remembered that she had not taken anything out for dinner. To be fair, many other thoughts were skipping through her mind. Not the least of which was that Frank Tate had a nice butt. The chief of security for Walnut City’s largest Free Mall was bending over their fourth corpse of the day. One of Frank’s varks had found the body tucked behind a nano-made copy of Barkers steel sculpture Saint George and The Dragon. The overwhelming odor of scorched flesh made the detective decide not to make chops for dinner. Another line of thought was worry for her partner Detective Charlie (Char) Dinn. The young cop had come very close to being the fifth casualty of what was becoming a really long day. It was not the first time one of them had been hurt. Some MUCRATS spent as much time gelled as they did in the field. Handling zerkers was just that kind of job. Today’s killer was about average. Dave Guire had a long history of minor run-ins with the law. He had been in and out of various institutions since he was a teenager. The most recent event involved attacking a co-worker with an air hammer. Dave refused to have nanoneurosurgery and apparently his father backed him on that decision with all the clout that owning the largest string of military surplus stores in North Cal provided. Mr. Guire had shown up in the MUCRAT’s profile system a few weeks before but there had been some questions on how to handle the father so the survey team had been put off. Which meant nobody was watching when Davie had borrowed a Hard-2C flamethrower from one of his dad’s stores and filled his pockets with mini-grenades. Dred had learned all this just moments before running up on David Guire’s attempt to make a mark on the world. The two cops jumped out of their car knowing the person they were after had killed two heavily armed security guards in order to get into the Walnut City Free Mall. They were also told all customers had been cleared out and that they better not expect back up for twenty minutes. Of course the varks said they would help but the last thing Dred needed was a half trained security guard getting in the way. When they hit the top of the ramp it was obvious their information was SNAFU. There were dozens of customers hiding behind whatever they thought would protect them from David Guire’s madness. That meant the cops couldn’t use sonic cripplers or foam. You didn’t want a bystanders family suing because grandma had a heart attack or the main wage earner broke most of the bones in his body because he was too stupid to figure out that when you get foamed you stop moving or else. This meant going one on one with Davie boy. Dred wished for the days when cops could just shoot people. The tape gun worked as well as it always did, which is to say half-assed. The strapping only caught the zerker on one side and that was not the side holding the flamethrower. Grunting and muttering to himself, David Guire tried to use one hand to set the Hard-2C to overload. A trick he had probably seen dozens of times on the Sex and Violence Channel. That particular trick would have burned half the Free-Mall to ashes. Luckily for the two cops, the trick was more difficult than the actors made it look. Char used a rolling sidekick, came up under the flamer, and knocked the weapon out of the zerkers hand. He also set off two tumbler grenades strapped to David Guire’s body. The young cop was tossed a half-meter or so down the ramp, while Dred was pinned to the wall. The grenades were DF’s (directed force) so a few shop windows busted but all the shrapnel went into David Guire. Dred cracked some ribs and Char was shuttled to one of the Free-Malls best medical clinics, cursing and swearing all the way. “Looks familiar,” Dred said, taking a closer look at the burnt corpse. “He’s a scrimer. I’ve had to run the putz off this ramp a dozen times. The only place you can buy brain burning tech in this mall is in the stores.” Frank’s dry sense of humor was one of the things that had attracted Dred in the first place. “The Hard-C would have done more damage than this. Anybody see him get it?” “Not that they’re telling. The tourists have seen the PSA’s. Find cover, don’t gawk and wait for the MUCRAT’s. Not that you helped much when he roasted my men.” There was bitterness in Frank’s voice that went very deep. “We got here as soon as we could.” Dred knew he was not angry with them. Having made the call on the families of over a dozen dead cops, she understood the anger and sadness Frank was feeling. Looking up she noticed Varks herding a small group of local CD’s away from the scene. The kids were staring at her and Frank in a way that seemed strange. “What’s the story on that bunch?” she asked. “Just the usual.” Frank’s eyes dropped to the constant stream of information that was running along the bottom of his I-specs. “They were watching from the next statue over. Locals know all the best hiding places.” Dred tried to read the tiny print from her side, not easy since it was upside down and backwards. “Did you do a close scan on them?” “No reason to. What are you looking for?” “I don’t know. Maybe this.” She held up a burnt sliver of wood that was hidden between the dragon’s claws. Frank laughed. It sounded more like a cough. “Should I keep the crime scene pristine for the science crew?” “Are you going to send for one?” “And shoot my budget on a scrimer?” After the Privatization Act of 2024 the price for crime scene work came out of the budget of whoever was directly involved with the case. “OK,” she knew it was a lot to ask. “I’m going to need a copy of the info on those kids.” “This is a little out of your territory.” Dred had never heard this kind brisk tone from Frank before. She went straight from understanding to pissed off. “Article 12-B: State of California, Emergency Charter, Sub-section 6: Free Malls must share any information concerning zerkers and their victims. Even in your company town some laws still apply. Now do I have to make a formal application?” “Look, I didn’t mean to sound like a suithead.” Dred could tell Frank was sorry for pissing her off but not why. “I didn’t think I would have to put up with gaffa from you.” She turned and walked over to the med-tech who was bagging up the scrimer’s body. He was shaking his head, looking disgusted. “Something wrong?” “Oh mon, you speak truth. This boy was foolish extreme.” The accent matched the dreadlocks but the tin skin spoiled the effect. “Plenty of places to get skin disks and he goes cheap.” “Something wrong with his disks?” “The cheap burn like a tire farm. That and the skid he used on his hair …” The big med tech gestured wide, “One touch of flame and … Phoenix.” The tech picked up the body bag one handed and walked away. A thick cloud of ganja smoke followed him. Dred shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her pea coat. Her face was tense with thought. With a start she realized that Fred was trying to get her attention. “I can get a copy of the report printed up in my office. We could look it over at the Black Lung.” “Jam it to my line over at the Rat Hole. I’ve got a wounded partner to check on.” She was being really nasty but if he insisted on acting like a vark she would treat him like one. Her visit with Char did little to improve her mood. He was gelled so she couldn’t talk to him. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to talk about, anyway: her feelings for Fred, the dead scrimer, the weather, or maybe how tired she was of saving the lives of people who didn’t care. The Rat Hole had started life as a high school. It was low to the ground and covered with graffiti. The place still smelled of the chemo bomb that cleared out the squatters when the state decided to turn the building into headquarters for the MUCRATS. There had been a lot of talk from Center Office about how having a separate post of operations was a great honor for the MUCRAT’s but the reality was that regular cops wanted nothing to do with them. Char dropped the sliver of burnt wood off at the lab. Simon treated her like he did everybody else, with rude disdain. He was one of the best CSI scientists in the state but he also had a major PD that made working with him a misery. Ever since the state of California had made personality disorders a legal handicap it was impossible to fire Simon but they could stick him in a high school chemistry lab and tell him to handle the complete caseload of fifty officers and psychologists. Char just walked away when he started yelling at her. Her plans for a hot shower were pretty much shot when she walked into the locker room to see Jeth Michaels holding court. The big cop had hooked up with the MUCRAT’s after a very nasty shoot out with a zerker. His partner died that day and Jeth started his time in the MUCRAT’s convinced he had a license to wreak every zerker he could get his hands on. After two close calls with excessive force charges, Jeth seemed to have mellowed out a little bit. Instead he had decided to be the voice of the common cop. “I’d like to see one of these fucken politicians try and take down a full core zerker with coptape.” Jeth was on a roll. “Has this craptape ever worked the way it’s supposed to? Charlie was almost killed because of this dreck.” He shoved the tape gun in Dred’s face. That was too much. Dred didn’t care for the way every experimental program or tool was foisted off on them but he wasn’t going to use Char to prove his little point. Doing a classic disarm, she popped the tape gun out of his hand and fired. The cop tape worked properly this time, wrapping the brawny cop from head to toe. Even with the detangle spray he would be loosing hair from some pretty sensitive places. Ignoring the stares of her fellow cops, Char turned and walked to her locker. Great, once again she had proved her reputation as loose cannon. Still, it was better to have shut him before he got started on the plugs. An extra head hole that reminded you that someone was always looking over your shoulder. The psych squad was supposed to be full members of the MUCRATS. Their primary job of profiling and identifying zerkers had saved more then one street cops life. Still, knowing that they could see and hear everything you did was so invasive that there was automatic resentment. The former vets would give the other cops gaffa if they yelped. It was only for your eight hour shift, try living with it 24-7 like they had in the military. Dred changed into her off duty-suit, a hand-tailored Armanie that had set her back three weeks salary, and headed for the monitoring room. She waved to the monitor techs and found the rack of her disks. Pulling the adapter out of its pouch, Dred attached it to the feeder wire. Her daughter thought the old plug was ugly and harped on Dred to have it upgraded. There were some things she didn’t ever plan on changing. Closing her eyes, Dred keyed the duty time and her code form. <center>. . . . . . . . </center> Last edited by redravin40; 09-28-2003 at 06:37 PM..

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..

09-28-2003, 06:35 PM	#3 (permalink)
redravin40 Loser Location: With Jadzia	It took Dred almost two hours to locate the antique shop that carried the matches but when she did the descriptions matched. Frank was waiting for her. He had left the glasses clear and wore a K-suit she had picked out for him. His smile disappeared quickly. "It's a farmers match. Lights on anything. They sell them in the Cozy Candle Antique." "This match wouldn't be enough to burn his face off. Why are you following this? We wrapped it. Nobody cares." "My husband was killed by a zerker. The victims are special to me. This was something else." She realized the truths of what she said as she spoke. "Don't you want to know if it was a separate murder?" "You do. That's enough for me. I gave you the information you wanted. They didn't have anything that would burn somebody's face off." Instead of answering, Dred pulled a straw from her pocket. It was loosely packed with coffee whitener. Lighting the match she had bought at the antique store she blew the powder into the air. A curl of fire filled the area between them The smell of burnt hair floated on the air. "The SIDs knew who sold the Devil chip." Frank's shoulders dropped. "Maybe." "That's all you're going tot say?" "Good work." he said softly. "Good work! Those kids killed somebody. I don't care if he was a scrimer. The set his skin on fire." "Tough to prove." "Help me. We can nail them." "This isn't your case, it never was. We handle any crime not directly related to the zerkers on site." "YOU KNEW!" "I suspected. The girl's father could have told her about the flammable disks. It doesn't matter. Their parents would protect them and we would get nowhere." "And you might lose you job. That's what this all about. They pay you to do more then enforce the law, don't they?" "I can't stop you from seeing it that way. My sister cut herself to pieces because a scrimer sold her a bad chip. The kids took justice into their own hands." "And because their parents own you, you'll let them. I'm leaving. From now on we're strangers." "I'm sorry." "Gaffa." Dinner that night was ugly. She yelled at Gyle and over-waved the casserole. As Dred stood in the shower to wash away a blinding headache, she realized that this was the same feeling she got from killing somebody.