Delta V Plot/Introduction

Introduction:

The dark oppressiveness of the construct surrounded his mind, holding in check his efforts to free himself and return to the wide-open freedom of the Net. His consciousness strained to break through the walls that appeared solid, but that he knew were actually insubstantial -- the virtual representations of the neural-electric signal inhibitors preventing his brain from communicating with his deck. In spite of the courage he considered his greatest attribute, he started to feel trapped, beginning to feel the fuzzy edges of panic trying to overflow the high ground of rational thought.

"Why don't you just do it," the young man's thoughts roared into the opaqueness. "Kill me and be done with it."

"Is that what you really want, boy?"

The response, which seemed to emanate from all sides, surprised him. He had intended his challenge more as a way to soothe his rattled nerves, not as a specific request of anyone.

"Yeah. That's what I really want," the young man's voice resonated with sarcasm. "Look, I ain't got the time for this. If you're gonna do it, then do it. Otherwise let me out of here, 'cause I'm a busy man. Just don't try playin' no games with me, 'cause I ain't in the mood."

"Games," the disembodied voice replied in deep tones that revealed its masculine origin, "now that is an interesting idea. I think you are the one who is playing games. Unfortunately for you, I am an opponent whose abilities you could not possibly have fathomed."

Silence punctuated the statement. In spite of the apparent hopelessness of his predicament, the young man maintained his composure. Losing control meant losing class, and class meant everything to him. If you didn't have class, then you were a nobody, and he'd worked too hard to be somebody. Only one thing torqued him though: dying would mean he had lost, and losing was something he had never done well.

He would fight for his life: a noble undertaking he knew, when his consciousness was imprisoned by a V Empath field. Even though his body remained safe in a subterranean room beneath the Spaten Chemical Works, the fabric of his mind was trapped in the matrix circuits of the Black Sun Corporation. T he ICE he had been trying to slip had done him one better, overcoming his deck defenses and capturing his mind. One simple burst of high amperage current down the Net conduit paths that led to his deck and to the neural jack in his head would burn his mind, killing him instantly. Flatlining held no interest for him whatsoever.

Suddenly, he felt the pressure on his consciousness change. His virtual vision began to narrow, causing him to become disoriented. Signal impulses to the auditory sections of his brain began to fade, leaving him with only the slight ringing of silence. He was sliding into unconsciousness, and some part of him recognized this as odd. A part of his mind acknowledged that he was dying, while another consoled that at least it was happening without pain. Just before he lost all awareness he heard a voice intoning, "Encephalic narcosis complete." What an absurd thing for angels to say to a dying man...

Consciousness returned with a rush like a blast of arctic wind howling around him. Before his mind's eye swirled a charcoal blackness filled with specks of color, the aftereffects of a flash of light in the eyes of a man accustomed to living in the dark. Instantly, he realized that an awareness of his body had been returned to him, and he knew he needed only to raise his eyelids for light to break the darkness and show him the familiar confines of his room beneath the Chem Plant.

As he opened his eyes, his mind started assimilating the sights and sounds of his environment. Immediately, he knew he was racked. He sat in a high-backed chair, smooth leather tangible on the armrests under his hands. In front of him spread a curved desk, its base formed from what looked like one half of a tree split along its diameter. On top of the enormous piece of wood rested a similarly curved slab of black marble that served as the desktop. Behind the desk stood several windows that mirrored the curve of the desk. Beyond those windows stretched a vista of a city he recognized, but had seen only from the darkened alleys and SimStim cantinas. From this height, he could see spires and towers, each one obscuring its own piece of the horizon. Eerily silent, the office was devoid of human or city noises; there was not even the hum of lights or a deck 2-D display to fill the emptiness.

Between desk and windows was a high-backed chair much like his own. Enfolded in the chair's coriaceous embrace sat a man watching him impassively. The man was dressed in a black uniform short-jacket with a short collar, trim, tapered pants, and black boots. A black, blue and orange pin, obviously an emblem, was pinned on the right side of the jacket. On the left side, exactly level with the emblem was another pin with the man's name: Bosco Tasman.

"Cazimar Connery Enuvian, aka Caz, aka CazCade Failure, aka CazPer the Ghost," Tasman read from an electronic file showing on the display imbedded [sic] in the ebony marbled desktop. His deep voice resonated authority. "Personal Identification Code, number five-oh-one-oh-three-three-seven-two-nine. Born August Twenty-Seventh, Twenty-Two Eighty-Six at Gibson Memorial Hospital, Sterling County, 2nd District, in the Rocky Mountain Urban Area at six nineteen pm. No current record of location after Twenty-Two Ninety-Eight---"

"Am I supposed to be impressed or scared," Caz interrupted harshly, hoping that indignation would disguise his shock at finding his consciousness reunited with his body, in an office many kilometers from the Chem Plant where both had last been together.

"-- InterPol records show two arrests for drug trafficking, one for B&E, and one for attempting to bribe a federal marshal," the voice continued its recitation, ignoring the young man's outburst. "What did you traffic in, Mr. Enuvian?"

"It's Caz. I gave up that other name a long time ago," Caz retorted, spite tingeing his voice.

The man behind the desk flashed an icy glare at Caz, his eyes narrowing to thin slits. Tasman's piercing gaze held a threat that need not be verbalized.

"Uh, the usual. You know, Cephilene Blue, Moon raisins, Sunnies, Copperheads, whatever," Caz finally answered, nervousness now creeping past his outward facade of calm.

"Do you use?"

"Yeah, sometimes... What of it?"

"Reasons, Mr. Enuvian. Are you hooked or are you dry?"

"Go 'line yourself! I don't have to answer to you," Caz shot back, irritated that this man thought he had such power over him.

"Interesting," Tasman responded, pursing his lips. "I'll take that as 'hooked.' Of course you understand Mr. Enuvian that we can't make good use of junkies. And since we can't let you go,... well, I hope you enjoyed your life. Good day, Mr. Enuvian."

As he stood up out of his chair, Tasman pressed a body-heat sensitive panel on the desk display, closing the electronic file. He walked around the desk and toward the door in the back of the room.

"No," Caz said in a strong, clear voice. He knew the man was trying to pressure him, to break him. Unfortunately, it was working. Caz knew he had to play for time until he could figure a way out of this.

Tasman stopped, his hand on the opener plate set into the wall. Slowly, he turned back to face into the room. Unphased, he walked back to his chair behind the desk and sat down. Before turning his attention back to the young man in the chair, he glanced down at the display panel on the desk. The information he saw almost made him smile. Scrolling down the panel were statistics on his subject's brain wave patterns, voice stress level, heart rate, blood pressure, respiration rate, pupillary dilation, and scores of other physiological functions."

"At least you are not lying," Bosco said in a cold, unemotional tone.

Having played this game for over fifteen years, Bosco Tasman knew the young man would give him an answer. They always did, once they realized the futility of their situation.

"Mr. Enuvian, though I am a patient man, please do not try that patience, else things might turn out for the worst."

Tasman leaned forward in his chair and touched the key that would bring his subject's file back onto the display.

"Never convicted, never served time. Hmm..." the voice hesitated, "we'll have to see about deleting any fingerprint, DNA, or brain scan files. We don't like records on subjects we capture.

"Mr. Enuvian, as you can tell, we have ended your attempt to break into the accounting grid of our Corporate matrix. In addition, we captured your mind in a neural stasis construct long enough for our people to retrieve your body from the Spaten Chemical Works. The two were reunited approximately twenty-two minutes ago after three hours of separation."

"Why," Caz demanded, angry at a situation he did not understand and the embarrassment of having been caught and forced into such humiliating circumstances. He did not like losing control, and right now he was in a flat spin with little chance of recovery.

"If you're good, we might get to that..." Bosco responded, his slate grey eyes narrowing as he studied his subject, predator to prey.

Caz shuddered inwardly at the implications of that statement. He would have to play this exactly right. He didn't even want to consider the consequences of failure.

"Who do you work for, Mr. Enuvian?"

"What do you mean," Caz blurted, the question catching him by surprise. They must know I'm an independent, he thought to himself. "No one owns me."

For the first time, Bosco Tasman smiled. "Until now..."

Tasman waited a moment to let the implication sink in. "Mr. Enuvian, do not err in overestimating your importance. Your continued existence is entirely dependent on my patience, which is rapidly wearing thin. Now... why don't I believe that a hyped-up speed baller like you runs solo?"

"I don't know, Mr. Tasman," Caz sneered, tiring of the man's condescension and mockery. "Why don't you just check your little screen there and tell me if I'm lying?"

Behind his desk, Bosco Tasman inwardly smiled. The kid was cocky, and that would make this morning very interesting indeed.

To Caz, the gleam in Tasman's eyes meant trouble. It was the look of a cat playing with its dinner. The man was toying with him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Somehow, he had to regain control of this situation, or his life would be forfeit. Of that he was sure. First, he must figure out what this man wanted. Once he accomplished that, he would have control and could manipulate things to his advantage.

"Look," Caz said in mock resignation, "I work for myself, I always have. I'm low-life, see. I live in the Hole and there ain't no Corporations there, ain't no executives there, hell, there ain't anything there. You do what you can to survive. So me, I run, and I run independent, and I'm damn good at it."

"Good?!" Tasman growled, leaning forward in his chair and stabbing a finger at Caz. "Enuvian, you couldn't run your way into the circuits of a household appliance. I've seen flatliners drive a deck better. Hell boy, you couldn't even get past our outer layers of ICE -- even automated probes can do that. Your reconnaissance flybys scope our matrix. Every single time, we scanned your signal, knew where you were operating from, and with what kind of equipment. We ignored you, because we knew that with an ancient InCyberCom deck and a piss-poor Yatsushita jack, you'd never get anywhere."

Abruptly, Tasman stood up from his chair. Putting both hands on the desktop, Tasman leaned over the desk, bringing his face within a half a meter of his subject's.

"And what kind of idiot tries to run a Corporate matrix without an ICE-breaker? Are you stupid Enuvian, or just retarded?"

Caz stared wide-eyed at the man inches away from him. Things were going wrong, all wrong. He was losing any chance at an edge. I've got do do something, Caz thought. But before he could open his mouth to speak, the man behind the desk robbed him of the initiative.

Tasman straightened himself, an impassive mask sliding back over his face. Slowly he sat back down in his chair, smoothing the fabric of his jacket as he leaned back into the rich leather upholstery. He spoke again, this time in a controlled, quiet voice.

"Mr. Enuvian, you are a waste of my time. Its obvious that you are an independent because no one of any intelligence would hire you."

Tasman touched several keys on the deck console. Immediately, the door at the rear of the room hissed open and two men entered, each clad in black plasmer armor suits.

"Gentlemen, please escort Mr. Enuvian to the Sixty-Sixth floor," Tasman commanded.

"No!" Caz jumped up out of his chair, rage burning from his eyes. "You don't know nothin' about me. You say I'm no good, but I got a rep that says otherwise. I'm one of the best in the Hole, and if you got assets there, you'll know it."

Caz was shaking with desperate anger now, sweat d0otting his brow. The man at whom he was yelling however, sat perfectly motionless, a dispassionate look on his visage as if he was bored by the whole event. Noticing that the security personnel had halted at his outburst, Caz continued, trying to buy any time he could.

"Yeah, I ran your matrix with no breaker. But it wasn't 'cause I'm stupid. I use my talent, 'cause down in the Hole there ain't no breakers unless you got cash and lots of it. I don't have no office like yours, with tech all over the place like its something given out for free. I use whatever junk I can steal or build, and yeah, it's trash. I ain't got a construct to crash a grid, and I ain't got a lot of things to give me an edge. But I've got talent. I know the backdoors and shortcuts of the Net like nobody else. I've seen stuff your high-powered jocks ain't never seen cause I'm right down in the cybermuck. I gotta do everything the hard way, and I still get in places I ain't supposed to be. You show me somebody else that could do the things I've done with the lo-tech garbage I use and you can kill me right here on the spot. If doin' what I do as good as I do it is stupid, then I'll be an idiot any day."

Breathing hard now, Caz paused his tirade, letting his challenge hang in the air between him and Tasman. His throat was raw from all the yelling, and he could feel adrenaline pumping into his body giving him a rush that he had only felt when Netrunning. Finally, seeing that Tasman intended no response, Caz spoke again in a somewhat calmer voice.

"Two months ago I melted a U-NEX R&D grid. Last week I punked a Polity Intelligence sub-matrix. I did both of those with no breaker, just skill. I'd like to see you do any better. You give me a good deck and access to breakers, I could flash any matrix in the Net."

"Are you asking for a job, Mr. Enuvian," Tasman asked, finally breaking his silence.

"Yeah," Caz dared. "Why not? If I don't cut it, you can always frag me. But I ain't worried, 'cause I know I'll be the best runner you've ever had. Besides, what have I got to lose?"

"Intriguing," Tasman said blandly. Silence followed his response, spilling into the room as each second passed.

The quietness stretched for minutes. Caz could feel his heart pounding, knowing that this man's next words would determine his fate. A bead of cold sweat slid down his back, and he shuddered. The wait became interminable, and Caz wanted to yell at the man to give him an answer.

"I accept your offer of service," Tasman finally said. He heard his subject exhale loudly, and read the relief that glowed on his face. Gotcha, Tasman thought, a smile threatening to reveal itself. Carefully, he held it in check, displacing it with a scowl. 'But if you so much as blink wrong, I will personally spike you."

"Fine," Caz responded, not bothering with any expression of thanks. "When do I go?"

"Tomorrow morning," Tasman answered. "Oh-seven-thirty. Report to a runner called Daenar Quade. He'll set you up."

Bosco Tasman looked away from his subject to the two security personnel who stood just inside the door.

"Take him to Zufa on Floor Thirteen... Mr. Enuvian, you are dismissed."

Alone in his office, Bosco Tasman finally had the opportunity to smile and reflect on the proceedings of the past hour. It had gone well, and he was pleased with the results. Only rarely did a subject fail to comply, and that, Tasman told himself, always reflects poorly on my skills. It almost always goes according to plan, Tasman thought. These egotistical young men were so easy to manipulate -- just wreck their ego, then back them into a corner. The response was always the same: 'Just give me a chance and I'll show you.' Once you had them desperate, then you could bring them in on your own terms, and they would remain loyal to you, grateful that you didn't exterminate them like so much vermin.

"Computer... Voice recognition, Tasman, Bosco. Corporate ID Tango Zulu 117." The command was spoken as Tasman lit up a cigar -- a little celebratory habit he had acquired back in the days when he cowboyed the Net.

"Voice print analysis positive. You have access, sir."

"Subject: Casimar Connery Enuvian. File number M1065. Interrogation successful,. no known contact with any hostile Corporation or entity. No previous employment. No known chemical dependencies. Subject is verified acceptable. Subject has decided to cooperate with Black Sun on a trial basis. Pending successful demonstration of talent, the subject will be held at the Corporate Matrix facility. Failure of the test will require the subject's expedient demise. Authorization for any necessary action is approved on my command code."

"Information Updated. XPD authorization verified and logged."

Bosco Tasman smiled and inhaled deeply from his cigar.

"Next subject..."

[End of File]