Well. I never do this, but some people (you know who you are) have been
asking questions lately, like "have you stopped writing?" I guess I've
gotten tired of saying "no, I've got an idea, but I haven't had time to
write it down." (I've usually 2 or 3 ideas, but I don't like to write until
I know where they're going)
So a couple weeks ago, I got this idea. The introduction you see below is
NOT that idea - an entirely different story spun off of that first thought
because of a comment someone made when I ran the original idea past them
(did you get all that?) ^_^
ANYWAY...... just so people don't think I've died, or stopped writing, or
something, below is the first 3 or so pages of the fic I'm currently working
on. BE WARNED: You probably aren't going to know where I'm taking this.
Based on the time-frame setting, though, which you should be able to get
just from context, you should be able to make a pretty good guess.
Any and all comments, public or private, are welcome.
*********************************************
It was over.
It was all over, and I had lost. I guess I shouldn't have tied
everything into this one last shot, one last audition. I was only
looking to be shot down.
As if I ever had a realistic chance to be a star in the first place.
Dance was my life, but it seemed now that devotion does not always
equal success. Maybe I should consider starting another "life."
I sat huddled in the spotlight, spending my last few moments in its
warmth while the Chosen Ones huddled around the Producer, when I
realized I was being watched. I looked up just as a someone stepped
from the dark theater to the edge of the spot shining brightly onto
the stage. Nice shoes, I thought.
I looked up from the red heels to see a tall, dark-haired woman
wearing a red business suit. Not too trendy, but definitely stylish,
in her own way. She took off her dark, wrap-around glasses and smiled
sadly at me.
"Linna Yamazaki?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry. I thought you did very well."
Someone turned off the spot and the stage lights, and the house lights
came up. I got up as well. "Thank you. I guess it wasn't good
enough, though." I was rather proud of myself for not letting it show
just how much it hurt.
She gave me that sad smile again.
Well, not letting it show too much, I guess.
"Ms. Yamazaki, I have a business proposition I would like you to
consider. May we go somewhere a bit more comfortable to talk about
it?"
"A business proposition? What sort of business?" I asked, intrigued
in spite of myself. Finding work this quickly would definitely make
today's misery worthwhile. And give me the opportunity to continue
eating. My bank balance was at a new low.
"I can't really discuss it here," she replied, looking around as the
other dancers began to gather their things and leave the stage. One
or two gave me gloating looks. "Perhaps at the coffee shop across the
street?"
I considered things for a couple seconds. The thought of my nearly
non-existent bank balance forced the decision. "All right. I need to
get my things and clean up. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes,
OK?"
"Fifteen minutes, then," she agreed. Putting her glasses back on, she
turned and made her way back into the theater.
I realized then that I didn't know her name.
*****
"Give me back my gun."
"No."
"Then at least give me my knife!"
"Ms. Asagiri, civilized people don't carry weaponry into public
places."
I did a double take. Ms. High-and-Mighty Corporate Executive-type
runs me down, threatens me, does a full body search, threatens me,
takes my weapons, threatens me, takes me out for coffee, and then
bleats on about civilized behavior? Quite a few things didn't add up.
I was outta here.
"Look, lady, I don't know who you are or who you're working for, and I
don't want anything to do with you *or* your business proposition!"
Once again, I tried to get up, and once again she tightened her grip
on my wrist so I couldn't move.
"As I told you before, I'm unaffiliated. I'm certainly not involved
with Genom or any of the other multinationals." She almost sneered
when she said that. Might be hope for her after all. "Let me have a
few minutes of your time to make my proposition, and then you can
decide if you want to participate or not."
Corporate power suit, dark glasses -- at night, yet -- and she says
she's not working for someone. Right. And I'm King William of
England. "Who do you think you *are*?" If she thought she could buy
*me*, she was in for a surprise.
"Someone who would like to keep certain... organizations from
trampling the rights of the common man. Interested?"
"Do-Gooders Anonymous?" I sneered. "Pass." I got up from the table,
and this time she didn't try to stop me. I guess she realized I
wasn't buying her line one bit. The entire set-up smelled anyway.
I had started to walk away when she said, not loudly, but loud enough
that I could hear, "Don't you want your revenge, Priss? Look what
they've done to your family. Your lover. Your entire life. Think of
what you had, and what you have now. This is your big chance to get
back at them without throwing what's left of your life away. The only
chance you'll ever have." I turned around and stared at her. She
gazed calmly back, eyes hidden by the shades.
Unwelcome scenes from the wreckage of my life flashed before my eyes.
It was all still too fresh, too raw. "You bitch," I whispered under
my breath, feeling the dampness on my cheeks. "You goddamn bitch."
"Sit down, Priss." She asked, this time. "I really think you'd be
interested in what I have to say." She paused for a minute, then took
a sip from the cup of coffee that had sat untouched since it was
delivered. "Besides," she said into the cup, "you might find that you
and I have more in common than you think."
I sat. "But what if I'm not interested, after I hear you out?"
"I'll deal with that then."
*****
"So you need a hacker to help you take Genom down?"
"That's not what I said, Ms. Romanova."
"No, but it's what you meant." I grinned. I love putting people off-
balance, and my "kawaii act" certainly sets them up for it. This lady
was no exception: the look on her face was priceless. "Why me?" I
asked, my question echoing her expression.
She just sat there for a minute, as if she was considering something.
Then she sighed, and said "Of those who managed to crack the code
embedded in my electronic message, you are one of the few who met the
additional requirements necessary for the position."
"What additional requirements?"
She stared at me again. Dead end question, I guess. Then she changed
the subject. "There will be some field work involved, and--"
"Cool! I get to be a spy!" Her sigh sounded a little exasperated to
me, so I decided I'd better tone it down a bit. "All right, all
right. What else?" I asked, holding my hands up in what I hoped was a
placating gesture.
"You will need to improve your physical conditioning. You'll be
required to carry some of your equipment with you, and that will
require both strength, stamina, and agility."
OK, I thought, I need to go on a diet anyway. I nodded for her to go
on.
"A certain amount of personal danger is also involved."
Whoa! *Personal* danger? What does a hacker do that's personally
dangerous? Nothing, that's what. I like to dream about it, but I
guess I'm not really cut out for a life of danger.
"And you're going to have to get a new job."
"But I like the job I have right now!" I complained. This business
proposition was sounding worse and worse.
"Working behind the counter at an ice cream parlor is not convenient."
"Hey! It's convenient for me!"
"But not for me, and not for the business at hand." She got a very
serious look on her face, and took her dark sunglasses off. I've
always heard the phrase "steely blue eyes." Hers were brown, but the
same thought applied.
She put the glasses into her bag, and her hand remained in the bag.
That scared me. "Who *are* you?"
"Don't misunderstand me, Ms. Romanova. This is not a game. Perhaps
I've told you too much as it is. I need a decision from you. Now."
What had I gotten into? "If I say yes," I asked anxiously, "can I
leave if I change my mind?"
"It will be dealt with, if you change your mind."
I didn't like the sound of that. On the other hand, she had me
cornered, in all meanings of the word. I thought about it for a
minute. I had thought this was a joke, but it had gotten way out of
hand. And I couldn't see any way out.
"All right. I'm in. What do you want me to do?"
The hand came out of her bag, and in it was a plain card, with a
handwritten address on it. "Be there tomorrow night, 10pm." Then she
handed me an envelope. "And be *here* tomorrow morning, at 7am, for
your pre-employment baseline testing and evaluation. The details are
in the envelope."
Pre-employment baseline testing? I guess my confusion must have shown
on my face, because as she stood to leave, she smiled. Very
slightly, but it *was* a smile. I think.
"Welcome to the AD Police, Nene."
*AD Police*?!
I was dead.
Jeanne Hedge
jhedge@wwa.com ======================= jhedge@compuserve.com
Never mistake endurance for hospitality.
-- Unknown
============== http://www.accsyst.com/jhedge/ ==============