Chapter 2
Welcome To Bonny Scotland
Remy was thankful to get off the sub-orbital. He was glad the flight only took two hours. It could have been longer. It was funny though; they had left Seattle at 1000 hours and it was 2100 local time after a two-hour flight. Strange thing, time-zones. Now he was beginng to miss the flight since he had been waiting in line at the security check for the past hour. Remy almost fell alseep, leaning against his staff.
Finially, a short, fat man with a red beard wearing a security uniform looked at him. "Ok, matey, business or tourist?"
Remy tried to relax as the guard searched his bags. "Tourist, figured I'd take some time from the homestead to see the rest of the world."
The guard didn't reply as he closed up Remy's bag. Remy kept cool. "You got a problem that you need that steel staff with you?"
"Yes, sir, got in a car accident a few years back. Busted up my leg pretty good. Staff helps me get around." Remy smiled. The guard nodded and turned to Sharon who was next in line behind Remy. "Next."
Remy pretended to put most of his weight on the staff to make his story believable and picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
"Brits just love red-tape, wouldn't ya' say?" Michael commented.
"No wonder they don't have any good runners here." Remy replied blankly. "Makes me think why anybody would bother coming to this place."
Sharon made it through the check considerably quicker than Remy. Possible because of her looks than anything else. The guard seemed to let her and Lori by almost at the same time. Without even looking at the cyberdeck Lori had stuffed in her bag and only glancing at their passports. But finally that was the last of them.
With the whole group tagged together, Remy and Shannon lead the way down the access ramp and into the main part of the airport which was filled with massive crowds and a lot of confusion. The noise was almost to much to stand for Shannon who had a cybernetic hearing amplification implanted a few years ago. Hundreds of busy commuters scampered along the floor. The steps that Remy and the rest moved down echoed with the trampling of shoes against the concrete.
"Let's get a move on, don't want to be standing around like a corporate commitee." Remy said as he hurried down the steps.
Alasdair Cameron noticed Remy and Shannon's appearance as they through the doors of the airport lobby and into the cool, foggy Scottish air.
Michael took one look around and sighed. "So this is tourist season?" He commented, seeing the gray color of the sky and lazy atmosphere.
Alasdair walked to Remy and showered him with a vigorish handshake that engulfed his hands in red-furred, shovel sized hands of Cameron. "Remy Corllien? Greetings, sir. My name is Alasdair Cameron, I'm the one hiring you. Wonderful to meet all of ye." Alasdair moved through each of the runners and greeted them throughly even though he was a little fuzzy on all of their names. No one seemed to mind. Cameron had his driver open the door of his limousine and escort each one of Remy's posse in. Cameron made sure he was the last to get in.
"I thought we could talk in my flat," Cameron says quickly. "but I've booked you into the Royal Muirfield Hotel in Castle Terrace. Fascinating place; used to be a theatre, and now the balcony restaurant provides the best prime Angus beefsteaks in the city." He's talking is a little too fast and seems slightly uncomfortable, but that doesn't last long. To be precise, it dissipates after he knocks back two small glasses of malt whisky and offered everybody a drink.
Flucrum was wary as he took a glass and filled it halfway. He would need clear thought and reflexes later, and drinking he considered a mundane thing to do. It helped him to keep a hold on the more common life, thus helping him to understand the magics of his totem better.
Remy made note of the low-rise residential districts as the driver pulled down Queens Street. He was sure that his friends did the same.
Alasdair put an empty whiskey glass down and pointed out the window to a massive rock outcrop. "See that there? That would be Arthur's Seat, on which , as you can see, stands the impressive might of Edinburgh Castle."
As Cameron filled in a history of the castle, Remy was distracted by wondering how someone like Alasdair got to be so large? Cameron was probably cybered in some way. A note to store away for future reference. Though, he did have an obvious datajack. Maybe he was a decker?
As the limousine came to a stop and Cameron's side door opened first, he stood and pointed at his flat. "This is my flat. We can talk inside."
Sharon looked. "Nice place, Mr. Cameron. Makes me think about Britian."
"Aye." He muttered. "Yet many say this not Britian. Better it be Scotland?" He added, escorting the runners inside and out of the sight of pearing eyes.
The door opened as Alasdair slide a credstick down a maglock. It opened without the slighest creak and smoothly closed.
"Thank you for coming. It's hard to find British, ah, operatives who aren't in the pay of some corporate or official interest. Let me explain why I have called you here in more detail than what my contact has told you.
"I work for a research company called Transys Neuronet, and my boss has gone missing. I need you to find him, but the circumstances are rather odd." Remy shifted his attention as he found a seat like the rest and heard Alasdair out. "He used to go off to the highlands alone on occasion, getting back to nature and all of that, efficiently evading the security force snet to watch over him. He spoke to no one about where he was going or what he was doing. Now he's been gone for two weeks, but he would never leave voluntary for so long without informing the company. I'm absolutely sure of that." Remy made the occasional nodd. "Obviously, the company is doing what it can to find him, and it has a pretty long reach. My boss was a very gifted man, though, and I think there may be people in the company who don't want him back. Just petty jealousy. I can't name names, but it's possible that more than one person might be sabotaging the effort to locate him. I want him back just because I liked him. Quicksilver was an amazing person, very intense, and a complete genius. I don't think he was really close to anyone, but I think he liked me and I admired him very deeply."
This was interesting, Sharon noted. Cameron used his bosses name in past tense. Besides, a few would doubt that he was willing to spend so much money to have Quicksilver back simply because he liked him. Without a doubt, Remy would pick up on that. His senses were probably screaming corporate right now, Sharon thought.
Yet Cameron finished on a sudden note of tenderness, making Sharon fill like he actually cared about Quicksilver. She began to warm this gruff, slightly shy Scot. Lori, no doubt thought the same way.
"I can also give you a set of Matrix ID codes that will get you into the Transys system safely." Alasdair continued. "Quicksilver was a brilliant decker and programmer, and I just can't believe that he didn't leave something in the system that will give us a clue. He was paranoid and secretive by nature, but he always created duplicate, even triplicate files so that he would never lose anything. Whatever is there will be hidden very carefully if my hunch is right. There's no risk for you because you'll have the proper codes to go where Quicksilver probably left his work, but I don't have access to the codes for the system structures where they keep the big nuyen information. I'm taking a real chance with this. I wish I had the skills to check it out myself, but I don't."
"So you need one of us to surf the Matrix; a decker." Sharon concluded. "And the muscle for?"
"I already told you." Alasdair was starting to get uncomfortable. "I fear that people within Transys may try to keep Quicksilver from returning and sabatoging the investigation.
"The only information I have that might help you is that I know Quicksilver had a friend in the Edinburgh University. I know it is a woman, and the relationship was platonic--they talked philosophy, from what I could gather. But that's all I know. As I said, Quicksilver was very, very secretive about himself.
"Albrecht reported that you came to an agreement on the terms of the job. I've booked you into the Royal Muirfield to start which includes your room and meals." A fleeting grin crosses his face. "But I can't handle you ordering twenty bottles of chilled Bollinger a day, all right? If you need more money for traveling or paying someone for information, get back to me." Alasdair reached inside his coat and pulled out a white strip of paper. "Here's my telecom number.
"Oh, and let me give you a picture of Quicksilver."
Remy sighed. "Might be easier to find him if we know what he looks like, no?"
Alasdiar didn't reply to Remy's comment, but went own briefing the runners. Didn't he ever run out of breath?
"He was really tall even for an elf--around two meters." He continued, handing over a small photograph. "He had short silver hair with a small black streak on the left temple. He carried a lot of cyberware, jacks and such around his neck which he used to conceal by wearing a blue silk scarf. He had blue-silver cybereyes, which were pretty distinctive. He also liked black a lot, he usually wore plenty of it, and this year he'd taken to wearing a silver ring on his left index finger."
"Quite the fashion type, so what?" Shannon said.
"Easy, chum." Remy raised his hand, turning his hand to Alasdair at the same time. "What about Quicksilver, eh, Cameron, what about the chummer's past?"
"Quicksilver joined the company five years ago. His past seems to be a complete mystery. At least, I know the company checked him out and found nothing. He has a British passport, but these things can be forged, as I think you know. The company stopped caring after a while, because he was so damned good at his job. He began working with neural skillsofts, but later specialized in wetware research, biological chips with intrinsic pseudo-intelligence capabilities. He also got involoved with recombinant technologies and smart viruses as elements of wetware. He was the cutting edge of research in that field." Alasdair boasted. "No one knew what Quicksilver was doing until he decided to reveal it. He was a real perfectionist--it took him more than two years to build his cyberdeck, and he always carried it around with him in a battered blue briefcase. He never answered anyone's question's about what it could do."
"Smart viruses?" Lori repeated like a broken record player. "Like the virus that cuased the computer crash all those decades ago?"
Alasdair nodded his head. "Quicksilver would be crazy enough to fool with something like that. I say 'smart virues' referring to--er--programs that are adaptable to different kinds of information and at the same time able to react from past experience."
Lori shifted her weight, pondering.
"You said that Quicksilver took several trips away from the corporate security." Remy said. "Where did he go after evading the security team?"
"The Ilse of Skye." Cameron's reply was a short, simple phrase. "The company owns a couple of hostelries along the east coast. I'm sure the company alerted security to look for him there and followed up all their leads. As far as I know, they came up empty. But he did live in a flat on Marchmont Road, out past Melville Drive. The company has already gone over his flat with the finest-toothed comb imaginalbe, unfortunely. You'll find nothing there that the corporation hasn't already found and removed."
"I have a straight-forward question for you, Cameron." Kyle said. "It's not like one of Remy's mind blowers, mind you. What are we suppose to do about weapons and vehicles? Me, for one, I feel like a target going around unarmed."
Shannon immeadately agreed.
"I'm afraid I don't have any connections for weapons or vehicles." Cameron sighed. "But I can tell you that there is a place called Hamish's bar. It's the best place I can think of to make contacts. Let me warn you, though, that this is not Seattle."
"Noticed that when I saw the buildings still standing." Michael muttered just low enough to be heard.
"As I was saying." Alasdair cleared his throat. "Let me warn you not to carry visible weapons within the Scotsprawl because it's a offense against the law.
"I have a feeling that this...run, will take at least a week or more because one person within Britian is hard to track. Even with Corporate resources. Believe me when I say that I wish you the best of luck. If ye like, I'll have my driver drop you off at the hotel so ye can sleep of the jet-lag." Cameron noticed the condition of a few of the runners he hired.
Remy and Sharon nodded at almost the same time. Sharon provided on last handshake and goodbye though. As soon as they made it into the limo and pulled out to the hotel, Remy visibly relaxed.
"Thought he'd never give it a rest." Shannon complained. "Where are we going?"
"The hotel." Lori supplied.
Shannon showed his disprovel, as trolls often did openly. "I was kind of looking forward to going to Hamish's bar, take in a few malt whiskies." The troll gave a broken toothed smile. "Maybe pick a fight."
"Not a bad idea, bud." Remy said, using his hand to hold his head up.
"Pick a fight?" Sharon repeated.
"No, I meant going to the bar. We need to lay our hands on some weapons and a decent vehicle." Remy looked at the troll whom ushered on. "All right, and a few decent drinks." He admitted. "Fulcrum, what'd you get off of Cameron? He holding something back?"
Fulcrum had been quiet all through the meeting with Cameron and had drunk next to nothing. Mainly because he was concentrating on Alasdair's aura while Sharon and Remy did most of the talking. "I found Alasdair to be quite cool, Remy, except when Transys was brought up. He seemed to worry about what he is doing by giving us the Matrix codes. Other than that, there was nothing."
Remy nodded.
"What now, fearless leader?" Kyle asked comically.
Remy smiled. "Funny you should say that, shorty." The drawf grunted. "Cause you, me, Shannon, and Sharon are going to Hamish's Bar."
"What do you mean me, Remy?" Sharon questioned. "I was counting on getting some sleep. I feel like an illegal alien here in Edinburgh. I can never sleep in a strange place. Especially a place where I am the one out of place."
"Why do I want you to come?" Remy smiled. "Oh, well, to annoy you for one. Second I want a little back up with us in a foriegn country without decent firepower to keep things frosty.
"And Lori?" He continued. "I'm letting you loose on the Matrix. Shaft some quick nuyen. But I suppose you already had that planned didn't you? Fulcrum, you still have jet lag?"
Fulcrum replied. "Nothing a night's sleep wouldn't cure."
"That's good because you and Michael are breaking into Quicksilver's flat." Remy said, folding out a piece of paper that Cameron had given him that had both Alasdair's telecom number and Quicksilver's home address he had written down when Cameron had mentioned it. Remy scribbled down the information on a seperate piece of paper. "Good luck you two, and don't forget that Edinburgh cops don't take kindly to trespassing."
Later
It was amazing to see this side of the Matrix, Lori thought, jacked-in to her Fuchi Cyber-4. The light of hundreds of megapulses of data flooded her path. The horizon of a planet that exsisted within the world she knew. A horizon not covered in fumes or smog or heavan knows what else. To be honest, it was better than the real thing. But Lori could not waste time staring at the stars; so to speak. Remy needed some info and some paydata to get things moving. Information first, money second, she thought as she typed into a billboard section.
Lori activated a browse program and started shifting through the files. Then one came up about Transys. The author's name and number put him in the London area. Before going any futher, she read the file.
Transys? I heard they got a super-duper whizkid working for them, just came out of the blue a few years back. Lot's of rumors where this one came from, you know? I hear they got a big payoff in medical insurance not to long ago, maybe a few weeks. Maybe he had something to do with that? But maybe because Transys and another company called Zeat-ImpChem are racing like hell over some new research data.
The "wizkid" must be Quicksilver, Lori concluded. Popular guy in Britian. She downloaded the file and searched through the
rest for any information on Alasdair Cameron. Sadly there was nothing. She was tempted to call up one of her old partners in Seattle. But Lori didn't really want to hack her way all the way in. Besides, Cameron would pay for the call the same way he was paying for the rooms. Wouldn't he?
In the end Lori figured that whatever information she could find would help. Especially if it was on Transys and since Cameron had provided so little information on the matter. The thought crossed her mind about going into the Transys Matrix. Maybe get some paydata. Help fiance things?
Why not? It's not like she didn't have anything else to do. Britian didn't have an large exclusive net location like Seattle's Shadowlands and Lori didn't have access to many of her regular contacts here in Edinbrugh. Making her job all the more complicated.
She would still need a fence for the paydata. That was a small problem since she could call up a fence in Seattle. Hopefully Remy could find something....
Elsewhere
The light cast uneasy shadows, but for the most part, the darkness provided safety. As long as nobody cruised by with night goggles, that is.
Fulcrum kept an uneasy eye out. He was casting an invisibility spell to keep any neighbors from noticing him and Michael. At the same time, he was running another spell to detect enemies. Needless to say the strain was getting at him. He could have at least conjured a watcher spirit so not all the work would be forced on him.
"Relax, Ful, I used to do this all the time." Michael said as he fiddled with the wires of the maglock. He had already breached the casing within twenty seconds. "Needless to say that a boltlock would have been a lot easier, but that ain't gonna happen here--halfway across the world--now is it?" Michael waited a few seconds for a reply, but none came. "I thought you'd agree."
Fulcrum sighed. "I would appreciate it if you would kindly hurry things up. Keeping us cloaked and watching for danger at the same time is putting me under a strain of sorts."
"Chill, I didn't mean to make your life miserable." Michael replied, just as a wide grin crossed his face as a spark from the key-pad unlocked the door. "Step inside my parlor, make yourself at home," He added, stepping inside the door. "have a freakin' party."
Fulcrum relaxed enough once inside to drop one of the spells he was sustaining and caste a detection spell. After a few minutes, he dropped that spell too. "No other security devices."
Michael smiled, cracking his knuckles. "Then I wonder what there is to steal." He said joyfully, opening a door that let to a bedroom and quickly looking into the drawers and tapping the wall as he went.
Fulcrum used stubler methods than Michael whom made a living as a thief in Seattle. Being a shaman, Fulcrum paced the flat astrally. Depressingly he found nothing of any living or magical value. Aside from Michael's own astral aura which was bright with yellow, blue, and a shade of red. A steadly flashing glow outlined it that marked the aura as belonging to a physical adept. Silently, Fulcrum shifted his attentions away from the astral plane to the material plane.
"Great." Michael muttered. "Dude didn't even keep any nuyen handy."
"In this country, Michael, they use pounds."
"Pounds?" He questioned. "Pounds of what?" Before Fulcrum could reply, Michael held his hands up. "Just kidding." He added as he walked over to the kitchen. "So, who wants to raid the frig?"
Fulcrum made a groan of annoyance. "I'll take a look behind door number three, if you don't mind."
Michael shrugged. "Suit yourself." He added as he dissappeared behind the kitchen doorway.
Michael spent a few minutes reviewing the contents of the room. But he knew better than to disturb anything. He considered taking one of the cutting knifes from the table. Hey, a blade's a blade. No, he wasn't that desperate for a weapon. Yet.
Michael left the kitchen without disturbing anything. To tell the truth, he was disappointed that Quicksilver--being in league with a corporation and having a steady paycheck--would have something here. Other than what few items remained that told about his job. Nuyen. Pounds. Whatever the currency was in the country. Michael would feel a lot better, however, if he were back home in Seattle. There he knew enough people to get by. That's not true here. He had never even been out of the Seattle area before. Traveling halfway around the world was a little much for him. Still, he puts on a bright pose and goes on with life.
"Find anything, Fulcrum?"
Fulcrum went through a few more papers before answering. Probably because he liked making Michael wait impatiantly. "No, Alasdair Cameron was correct when he said there was nothing here. Transys got here first. If there was anything to begin with, they got it out before we got here."
Michael nodded from the hallway. For some reason, he felt a little different. Something had changed. It made him remember yesterday in Seattle after they were leaving the resturant, there was a woman. She walked in a screamed because she had lost her purse. Her purse contained everything about her life, her family. Without it, she was nothing. Now as Michael scanned the shifting shadows made by the passing cars, he couldn't help his imagination start to run away with him. The woman lost her purse, and she had lost herself. She was nothing. The shadows shifted again and a strange, cool breeze came over Michael.
"Uh.." He started. "Hey Fulcrum, there's nothing here. What's say we go, ok? I mean, like, we're just wasting our time--right?"
Michael moved a step back as Fulcrum entered the hallway. He looked at him for the briefest of moments. "I suppose you are right. Let's leave."
And still the shadows danced across the rooms, like ghosts in the night.
Elsehwere
All things considered, it was just what the day needed. For Shannon, he looked like he was in troll heaven at Hamish's Bar. The bartender was also the bars owner, Hamish Macleod, a big ork who promises eithty-two different kinds of malt whiskies. And Shannon was going through them by the numbers. Sharon had to resist touching the tables because they looked like they were made of real wood. Plus the bar was quite full, considering the time. A music band on the stage provided for most of the noise. Many of the tables and bar seats were full of paying customers. There was also the occasional sound of breaking glass. Remy couldn't help but notice the large Claymore--a two-handed sword--that was strung above the bar within arms reach of Hamish.
Shannon was just getting settled in when he started thinking about the bartender. Bartenders often knew the people who hung out for a drink in their places. Maybe he knew someone or something. He paid occasional attention to Remy's and Kyle's conversation while Sharon seemed to be doing some kind of astral survalliance of the bar because it looked like she was rarely paying attention to her surroundings.
"What we are in need of, Remy--in case you have forgotten--is a someone that can get us weapons and a vehicle." Kyle said, gestering with his mug and spilling a little of it's contents on the table. "The problem is, how we going to get the nuyen for it.
"In speaking of nuyen, we need to start changing over some of it to whatever the currency is here." Kyle added as an after-thought. "We start showing nuyen to everybody, that going to stick us out as outsiders."
"Pounds." The troll added off hand.
"What?" Kyle looked at the troll who was wearing his dark shades again. "You want pounds of whisky now? A keg maybe?"
"No, you short shrimp, pounds as in the currency here." Shannon replied, making a friendly insult that the two of them seemed to have an endless supply of. Either way, it was good for a laugh out of both of them.
"I knew that! I thought all trolls were suppose to be big and dumb." Kyle snapped back. Nearly falling out of his seat. "What do you think I am, Shannon, maybe--"
"Short and stupid?" He supplied.
"Better than being a troll who keeps hitting his head on the ceiling!" He laughed. Shannon did the same, then exchanged glances with Hamish at the bar.
Remy saw what Shannon had in mind. "You know, Shannon, bartenders do know a lot about what goes on in these cities."
"That's exactly what I was thinking..." He paused, gathering his drink. His sentence dragged off into nothing leaving an uneasy pause in its wake.
Kyle laughed again. "He's got to think of the rest of the sentence."
"Wait, I remembered it!" Shannon boasted as he got up and found another seat the bar. And added the last word to his sentence. "....of."
Remy took a drink from his mug and realized that the stuff was starting to kick in. "What do you think about it, Sharon?" Noticing that she now had he eyes wide open and looking around wildly.
"I think that Shannon is more comfortable being here than any of us." Sharon replied, not even directly looking at him. "But, Kyle, you were right about one thing." Kyle grunted probably thinking 'Only one thing?' Sharon looked directly at Remy this time. "What are we going to do for...funds? Have you ever heard the old saying, it takes money to make money?"
Remy nodded his head as he put his mug down on the table. Propping his tired head on his arm. "I haven't forgotten about that little problem. I believe that my ace-in-the-hole will come through. I made sure to tell Lori to dig up some paydata we can move here in Britian for some quick nuyen once we find a good contact. Of course, she could always use on of the one's back in Seattle."
"Pounds." She corrected
"Whatever."
Remy and Sharon both looked over at the bar--responding to a noise of sudden laughter--while Kyle buried his nose in a glass that was impossibly too big for him. The noise actually came from a troll and an ork in what appeared to be a drinking contest at the bar. A small crowd of a few people had gathered around both Hamish and Shannon as the two of them started putting down mugs of whisky instead of small glass.
The troll lefted a finger and pointed as straight as he could and bursted into a roar. "Heh-heh! I put it down and I can still raise my finger and point at you. That's got to be worth something."
Hamish smiled, he liked someone who could hold their drink and not throw-up on his bar. "Alright...what was yer name?"
He supplied. "You call me Judge."
"Looks like Shannon has picked his first alias for Britian." Kyle said quietly. Then he raised his glass and spoke almost to himself. "I'll drink to that."
"Alright then, Judge, what would ye like as a prize?" Hamish asked, being a friendly as he could.
Shannon smiled. "I just want to know a little something about someone who might have come in here. Ya' see, he's an old friend of mine and I'd like to get in touch with him again."
"Got a name?"
"Yes, I just called him Quicksilver, but so did everybody. He was like me and didn't like using his full name much."
"Ah, Quicksilver...oh yes." The ork replied. "Weirdo. Takes a very, very occasional drink here. No one dares to lay a hand on him, though, they all respect him. Not real sure why. I've heard he's fey, born to faeries in the Highlands."
"Enough of talk about faeries." Shannon said. Shannon was a good size larger than Hamish. Of course, Shannon was big, even for a troll. "What about a fellow name by Alasdair Cameron? He was one of Quicksilver's chummers? Anything to say about the likes?"
The ork studied a moment. "Name doesn't ring a...wait a minute. I've heard of that chap. He does research for that Transys bunch. Just a company man, I think. Reliable and dull."
"Thanks Hamish," Shannon said as he turn around and headed for the table again. "Keep cool now."
"What'd he say, Judge?" Kyle asked.
"He's says that...well he didn't say nothing in particular. Except that Alasdair was reliable and dull, but I guess we found that out for ourselves. He said though that Quicksilver did take a rare drink around here."
"So there's a chance he met some here after all." Remy reflected.
As, almost by habit, Remy spotted a small, rat-faced man coming over to their table. There always seemed to be such an individual in a bare. Remy instinctively reached for a pistol that wasn't there. But he did have some spurs to fall back on. Isn't technology wonderful?
"Hi-ya, mates. Mind if I have a word with ye?" He asked, pulling up a chair. He ws wearing the most god-awful kilt in existance. Irish? He didn't look it. So he was probably faking the accent.
Shannon eyed the short man like he was a steak he could tear apart. But Shannon was always like that toward strangers who sat down without waiting for an answer and wore the damned hideous kilt in the whole Edinburgh sprawl.
"Names Duncan, lads." He supplied his name cheerfully. "Some people here call by a useful source becuase of what I offer. Some even go a step further to call me a fixer, but that's not important, is it lads? My point is that my survices are aviable for a price. For the right price, I can get you whatever you need. You need info on the streets of Edinburgh? I got it. Need an edge on the street? You got the cash, just tell me when, where, and how many. I can get you vehicles too. Not cheap cars either. I'm talking off-road gear here, lads and lass. Ye just give Duncun here a chance ta' prove himself."
"What?" Shannon started. "You like hearing yourself talk or something."
Duncun looked sheepish. "I must have took it for granted that ye were too out-of-the-woodwork to know your way around, troll."
"You take nuyen?" Sharon asked.
Duncun nodded.
"Then what does two-hundred get me?" Remy asked.
"Two-hundred nuyen get you a lot," He pulled a small, folded piece of paper from his outside coat pocket. "Locations and information for one."
"What about vehicles?" Kyle asked.
"Ah, that's cost yer another two-hundred nuyen."
"You trying to con us now?" Shannon looked down on him. The big troll inchs from popping his cyberspurs.
"Okay, big and ugly, a hundred nuyen." He termed. "But I need cash flow first, lad."
"For three-hundred we get locations and vehicles?" Remy wondered.
"Well, not vehicles, but a...establishment where you can get the cheapest and best vehicles in Edinburgh."
Remy grimaced, and then reached into his coat and pulled a shiny credstick. "Let's talk biz, eh Duncan?"
"Whatever ye say, lad." Duncan replied as he passed Remy he folded piece of paper. "The locals are good. For vehicles, go to Stewart's Hyperdrive down by Leith Walk. Find Jackie Stewart and tell him that Duncan sent you."
Kyle smiled.
"Well, Duncan, I find that--no matter where you go--the streets just aren't safe anymore. Perhapes you know someone who can make us feel like we were back at home?"
"I see, you mean you want some, whats the word you Americans use? Heat?" Duncan smiled again. Remy only stared at him questionably. "Well British Red Tape is awful tight these days, ye see? Say, the info's worth maybe three-hundred nuyen to you?"
Shannon looked at him with a broken tooth grin.
"Or maybe two-fifty."
Remy liked that price a little better. Still, he was going to have to change some of the money sooner or later. "You got your two-hundred and fifty nuyen, Duncan."
"Good, I know a gent by the name of Angus MacNab." He revieled. Eyeing the credstick in Remy's hand that still kept it out of his reach. "He deals in..expensive hardware. If ye work through me..."
"We'd rather deal with Angus, chummer." Shannon barked. Remy was interested either of having Duncan taking any cut in anything that purchased in the form of gear.
"Okay, ye can meet him at a bar called the Arbroath Somkie at practically anytime. The place is just down along the Northern Infermary Hospistal. Heh-heh, get it?" He nudged Shannon. Maybe he didn't get it.
Remy put the credstick down on the table where it belonged for the moment.
"Thanks, chummer." Remy condoned, reaching into his wallet and pulling out some more nuyen. The balance on his credstick was already taken up. "Now I one-hundred and fifty nuyen for some general information. You know a elf named Quicksilver?" Remy laid the nuyen notes on top of the credstick. "I hear he might have met someone in this bar on occasions. I need a name and a description."
"Aye, I remember seeing Quicksilver around here a few times, not that many times at that." Duncan explained. "Most of the times he came by he always used to sit and talk with this other elf..her name was...Fionnghuala? Aye, that was it. Fionnghuala Colquhoun. Now that girl may look young, but she is really twenty-eight. So don't let her looks throw you off. She's a tall, slender elf; born and raised in Edinburgh, I think. Even though I don't see her here tonight. Long, brown hair and the like." He said, looking around. "I'm postive she will come by tommorrow because that's her usual night. By the way, she firmly believes in getting back to nature and all that. What's the word? Nature-lover?"
Sharon and Remy both exchanged glances.
"Thank you, Duncan, you have been most helpful." Sharon supplied. "Unfortunatly we must be leaving now, but I hope we can stay in contact."
"Aye, of course." Duncan said, grabbing his earnings like a dog would a food dish. "I hope to stay in touch too, lass."
As the four of them headed out the door, Sharon was the first to notice Remy's uneasyness.
"Problem, Remy?"
"No, Sharon, not really. That name, Angus MacNab. I've heard that somewhere before." He thought. "Just can't place it."
"I'm supprise you can still walk, Remy." Kyle commented as he called a taxi. "What's our plan tommorrow, of fear-less leader?"
Remy responded. "We take care of biz and find this Fionnghuala. I want Fulcrum and Lori watching for her at Hamish tommorrow, so remind me to tell them."
Sharon nodded.
"Sharon, you with the rest of us. We are going to get us a vehicle and some gear. But first we are going to find out what Lori as found in the Matrix and what Fulcrum and Michael found at Quicksilver's.
"Simple enough?"
Shannon put his hand to his hand as the cab pulled up. "Yeah, but could you repeat the middle part?"
Sometime Later
By the time the four of them made it back to the hotel, it was nearly three in the morning. Lori had long since found some paydata and fenced it through a contact back in Seattle to give the team 45000 nuyen to blow. Not bad for a few hours decking. Fulcrum and Michael had just returned from their little escapade, and were out like the dead when they hit their rooms. Needless to say none of them were happy when Remy came pounding at the door.
"What'd you come up with?" Remy questioned Fulcrum and Michael. Both of their rooms had joining doors that were left open. Michael's room also connected with Remy's room and Fulcrum's. As Fulcrum's connected with Michael's and Shannon's.
Michael found a pillow and threw it at where he thought Remy was standing. "GO BACK TO SLEEP!" He snapped.
"Nothing, Remy." Fulcrum answered. "The place was empty. Lori said not to wake her up, but she told me she managed to fence enough data to give us 45000 nuyen to lose down here." He muttered between the sheets.
Remy stood in the doorway. "We'll be needing to change that nuyen to pounds, Fulcrum."
Michael mumbled something from the other room that Remy could barely here through the door. "Fine, we do it tommorrow, now turn off the light."
"Okay, okay." Remy replied as he turned off the light and shut the door.
Sharon looked at him. "Aren't they cheerful?" She said, mainly to herself as she unlocked her door across the hall. "It's strange sleeping in a place like this, Remy. Most of it's made of old stone, like Cameron said, it used to be a theatre or something like that?"
"Theatre. Castle." Remy supplied. "If you don't like sleeping alone, Sharon, I'd be--"
She smiled sheepishly. "Good-night, Remy."
Remy grimaced as the door closed. "I was just going to say I'd be across the hall."
Kyle and Shannon both stared at him. "Of course you were, Remy, we all know what you planned to say." Shannon remarked as he opened his door and went inside.
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