While contemplating their next move 'Bobbi' responds to Hawa,
"Well since 'Murph' here can talk the nickers off a nun, If and that's a big IF, Niko's reach extends into the Plastic Jungle, then maybe we can contact them, if Murph is willing to negotiate."
'Bobbi' starts up her bike and pulls on her helmet, "Otherwise, I would prefer not to deal with the gangers."
Murphy looks offended for a moment.
"You speak as if I haven't talked a nun into breaking her vows."
A smirk and short chuckle later he nods.
"I'm willing to negotiate, and I know a guy as well, but he probably isn't too well connected. Unless the jungle is next to Ed's slum, he's not going to know too much."
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Then, the crash of '29 wiped out the modern tech industry, and Redmond began its rapid decline.
Now, the area which was once deemed too polluted and damaged to support (meta) human life has become an almost post-apocalyptic Land of the Lost. The bioplastic domes and filtration technology has worked, given the time, and the Jungles yield massive amounts of food and other agricultural products for its inhabitants.
Due to the years and years of neglect, combined with the general lack of concern for Redmond, the district has fractured into tribal states, full of neo-primitives. For the most part, the people live like those of the early 20th century, eking out a living through muscle, sweat, and constant vigilance against threats.
There are several larger established communities within the Jungles, fashioned in the style of frontier forts or walled villages from yesteryear. Here, the people band together to trade their produce, obtain or maintain equipment, or acquire technology which would otherwise be absent.
More metahumans live here than in most other districts, where orks, trolls, and dwarves can utilize their racial strengths and proclivities to their best ability. While racism and hatred still exists, it gets directed more towards outsiders rather than those who look different.
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Hawatari:
"I do know of a guy who does a sort of delivery loop around the area. I think he works for the Irish, in the end, but he mostly deals in electronics and gear with a small sideline in small arms. Goes by the name of Mango, and he typically picks up some outriders from each clique as he passes their turf. Takes payment in barter, sometime services, the like. Basically, he's an old-school Tinker Cart or Romani Wagon; goes from place to place and profits by trading as he goes."
He slides a datapacket over the comm, which includes a picture of an ork in an oddly colored, rumpled business suit with the tie loose around his neck. It includes a simple map with a sketched-on red line indicating his typical route of travel.
"Looks like he swings through Touristville, picks up some protection and anyone who's riding along, hits the Basement then heads north, skirting the Crash Zone and staying on the west of the Snohomish. He finishes up heading west, meeting scavvers at the west edge of the Rat's Nest before going through the Jungles. If anyone is gonna know who's who and what's what down there, he'd be the guy I suggest."
Murphy:
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Kavan: economy is mostly barter based. Nuyen is still useable, but actual cash would likely be more useful than credsticks. Small consumer tech, things like commlinks, lights, medical supplies, and similar gear is what is really in short supply. Anything you can think of that a farmer from the 1900s-1940s would really have loved would be of value as well. Generators, welders, and other machinery could go a long way, depending on your ability to transport it. If you're looking to get paid in kind, expect produce, animal products (like real goat meat, or actual pig-bacon), or hand-made things (carved wood, knitted products, blacksmithed items, etc) instead of nuyen. Obviously, weapons, armor, and ammunition is also highly valued.
Murphy thinks about what he knows about the area and shakes his head before putting a finger to his ear to make a phone call.
"Heeeey Ed, long time no talk. Hey, do you know anybody or any way into the plastic Jungles? I know some of your slums aren't too far away from them. You've probably traded with them before right? Payment? Of course. How about, well you name a price and I'll name a price I think is fair then I'll haggle you down like we always do."
Murphy listens while fiddling with a cred stick in his other hand, flipping it over his knuckles like a coin.
"Now, I'm not getting paid very well for this job so it can't be too much."
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Murphy: "'Oi, chummah. Ain't heard from ya for a whiles like. How's tricks? Still runnin' wit' dem breedahs downtown?" Ed snorts, coughs a bit around his cigar, and hawks a nasty glob of phlegm out onto what must be the sidewalk. You hope, at least.
"Finally broke down and decided ya need a doss, right? Dat's right good, chum, ol' Ed's got ya pegged, no prob." He digs a finger into his ears and roots around for a bit, before seeming to realize what you're asking.
"Da Jungles? Why you wanna be goin' in dere? I knows dey calls ya a dandelion eatah, but dat don't mean ya gotta listen ta dem, right? Nah, serious like, I maybe know a guy. Junk scavver, runs a tradin' post 'tween the Nest and Jungles, barters scrap and tech fer 'taters and hooch. Decent 'nuff Halfer, goes by da name a' Scooter. Least, dat's hows I knows 'em by. Slide me, call it a hundo, I'll pass ya his digits. Let'im know I sent ya, he'll get ya in, if ya want."
The Irish elf gives a thumbs up to the group that he's got a way in. He also sends 100 nuyen Ed's way.
"A hundred Ed? You shouldn't be so generous. Just send me that number and I'll get out of your hair. Say hi to the wife and kids for me. Little rascals gotta be bigger than me by now. But that's not saying much is it."
Waiting for a response he says goodbye to Ed and hangs up.
"Sooooo, I got a number. Anybody else got anything? And does anybody know where we can get some cheap comm links and medical supplies?"
-Posted with Wayfinder
Al glances at Hawatari while setting up for a more protracted Matrix search.
"It's a good first step... but if there's any serious investment in this guy's work then he'll be on a self sufficient private grid. But lets say he is paying for more stable services - power companies use to be either insulated from outside connections or had military grade security. I can check... just don't start counting chickens."
"But if I heard correctly, Dr. Solus' research is partly based around more durable plant life. Frequent brownouts and a lack of resources might as well be part of the experiment rather than a variable to be avoided. If he's doing real out-of-the-box research, then we should probably look for uncommon reoccurring services for the area, like medical/hazardous waste disposal. Or deliveries for similar on-site machinery."
'Bobbi,' who is geared up and sitting on her bike, suggests,
"Why don't we talk about this somewhere more comfortable? At the very least not standing around outside the Yakuza's club house.
"Al, do you have a place you want to jack in to do research or will any bar do?"
To 'Murphy,' 'Bobbi' says,
"From what I understand, we don't need anything to high-tech. Let's just roll up to any Grab-n-Go and load up on ammo, gears, and comms. Should be enough to get us some proper offerings for the locals."
"Let's go shopping and meet up later. Anyone want to suggest a place since I'm new to town?"
"Burners we can get in Touristville," says Hawatari as, a few minutes later, her commlink pings. Mentally checking the message, then eyeing the information contained inside it, she adds, "I have a line on a possible infosource. And ride, come to think of it. Fellow by the name of Mango, does a trade-ship loop sort of thing, carries passengers - and guards. If we're wanting to take this one careful, we might hire on with him as protection - Bobbi, you could be an outrider - and use the opportunity to not only talk to him as we go, but also establish a cover of sorts. Comes through Touristville ..." She frowns, hunting through the rest of the information, and nods absently at Bobbi. "Working from somewhere else would be a good idea. Unfortunately, I'm with Al and Murphy - rideless. And the Spiders' church is a little further away than I want to walk at the moment."
"I know a bar downtown that might make a better setting for a discussion. We can always hail a cab over there. The owner tends to look the other way for certain types of people as long as you settle your tab with a decent tip."
Murphy gets ready to call a cab. Not the finest way around but it would have to do.
-Posted with Wayfinder
: 3 hits.
'Bobbi' will get the address to which ever place we go and follow behind to the bar if Al is OK doing legwork there.
She will do her best to help with research but prolly wont have much to contribute until we meet up with either Hawa's contact or Murphy's.
She'll buy a round of drinks instead.
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There are plenty of "Runner Bars" in Touristville. It's one of the primary draws for the place, serving as a kind of meeting place combined with vendor access for less than legal biz of all kinds.
Just down the street is a more traditional "pub" trying to affect an Irish theme from last century. The (actual paint) fading sign identifies the place as McNerney's and dark windows obscure much else from the street.
Inside, it's everything you'd expect. Beat up, carved-on wooden booths line the walls, while a handful of small wood-and-vinyl tables occupy the center of the room. The bar stretches across the back wall, with a pair of bartenders in black t-shirts pouring drinks. One's a fairly attractive elf woman, with lavender hair tied up and a row of silver piercings down her left ear. The other is an older human man, with a flattened nose and cauliflower ears, wearing a tight buzzed haircut. The elf notices you enter, nods in the genealogy direction of the booths, and foes back to slinging drinks.
Other than your group, there's about 6 or 7 others in here. Noone sports obvious colors, or carries weapons openly, but you're fairly certain those "leather" jackets and "motorcycle racing gear" are really armored jackets. There's a low din in the room, and the booths offer a decent enough amount of privacy from the bar flies at least.
Murphy casually steps up to the bar intending to get the rules and a drink.
Some chitchat, him pointing to his shirt, and a few minutes later, the Irish Elf wanders over to the groups booth with a pitcher of beer and some glasses.
"So, what's everybody plannin'? Also check it out, got a number from the cutie at the bar. Eh, maybe when we finish the job based on Hawa's look."
Placing the glasses on the table, he pours himself a glass and drinks deeply before surfacing for air and to talk.
"So we got a place, a couple of ins, some cash, and a job. What's next?"
-Posted with Wayfinder
Al plops down where everyone is comfortable setting up.
"This could take a few hours. I don't expect you to hunker down and meditate - just be aware of who's walking in and out of here."
Al jacks into the local grid, Hot-Sim.
(4 hits)
(2 hits)
(2 hits)
Hawatari looks ... amused, perhaps (though only faintly), at Murphy's number-getting. "Did you ask about whomever your contact told you about? Or Mango the Trader? Or was it just the number you were interested in?" She eyes the beer, then suggests to Murphy, "Let's go back and have a few words with our bartenders. Talk with your crush, and I'll speak with the boxer." With that, she gathers up her glass and heads over to the human male, to show him the holo of Mango she'd been sent, and ask for a glass of water, offering to pay the price of a beer for it, as well as for useful information on Mango - especially a way to connect with him.
: 4 hits.
"Only way I'm finding anything out about this number is if AL looks it up, or I call it."
Imbibing from his beer once again, Murphy kicks back and relaxes for a bit.
"Ed doesn't screw me over when he does have info. Well he hasn't in the past, so I'm willing to just call the number but I'd rather have AL check it out just to be on the safe side."
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Al: After a few hours of work (technically an extended test for these matrix searches, but it's easy enough work) you find a few bits of intel.
Firstly, Dr. Solus has apparently worked for the University of Chicago, UCAS National Science Institute, and most recently University of Washington: Seattle. He has never been attached to a commercial research project, at least not publically and with his own name.
The Plastic Jungles, as you may expect with the Barrens in general, has no centralized infrastructure in place. Power, water, trash disposal and the like simply doesn't exist on an official basis. There may be individual organizations (like the Cutters did in the Bargain Basement) that facilitate these resources, typically charging for the service and demanding fealty from the locals.
Hawa: The slim elven bartender looks at the display and happily takes the nuyen. "Yeah, I've seen him around. Far as I know, he handles biz face-to-face. Best guess would be to hang out round here or on his route and wait, unless someone gives you a tip where the train's running past. Feel free to ask the folks, guy's known, probably someone's done work with him in the past."
Snapping his head forward momentarily, Al shares what he's learned about Dr. Solus and that the local business connections were as they anticipated.
"I'm going to see what kind of hoops I'll have to jump through to access the Doctor's Washington Uni account. If he's like any student, he wouldn't have bothered doing much housekeeping of his message folders."
(4 hits)
Hawatari will nod, pay for the 'beer' along with a minor (20¥) tip, then begin circulating amongst the clientele, searching for anyone who has had recent (past 2 weeks) dealings with Mango, and especially who has knowledge of his current or soon-to-be location so that she and the team can link up with the guy.
Murphy slides the number he gets to AL.
"Hey, can you do a preliminary check on this number. Guy supposedly sells scrap to these people. Could be our way in if we play our cards right. Bobbi, do you have anybody to call?"
-Posted with Wayfinder
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Al: The matrix facade of the University of Washington strongly resembles its physical presence, if a bit brighter and laced in neon. The color palette is green and white, and all the surfaces gleam as if newly polished or maybe slightly damp. Knowing Seattle's climate, that's probably not TOO far from the truth there.
The public access host is easily accessed, offering you plenty of assistance in the form of generically faceless humanoid "student guides" in UW t-shirts. They have all sorts of tool-tip like pop-ups on such subjects as "Did you forget your Student ID or Password" or "Here is how you can gain a mark to enter the host."
Breezing past the newb-guides, Al zips into the host proper. Inside, it takes the form of a large classical library, with huge stacks of "books" and many, many persona icons working on things. Looking around, there are clearly labeled "zones" with names like "Personnel Directory" "Campus Maps" "Student Library Catalog" and the like. Popping over to Personnel, you pull a book from the stack with Dr. Mordin Solus in gold lettering along its spine.
Instantly, you get the good doctor's public bio, basically a rehash of info the Johnson previously gave you, along with a sizeable list of research papers he had written or contributed to. The links seem to bring up the prospecti of the individual pieces, where you could gain more access with Student, Instructor, Guest Researcher, or Administrator credentials. Student and Guest Researcher have buy-in links directly attached.
From a cursory glance, you do not see any corporate sponsored projects listed in Dr. Solus's bibliography, and none of the titles seem to indicate a particular direction of practical application. It really does seem like he's a pure-science researcher, focusing on botany, agricultural improvement, and ecological adaptation of metahuman-useful plants or agri-tech. He does have an office number, commcode, and office location listed on the bio.
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Hawa: Chatting up the folks in the bar, you quickly realize these are all professionals of fairly decent caliber. Most have a collection of scars and/or 'ware, and everyone seems to be wearing discrete armor of some variety or other. You'd wager they all are packing heat, as well, despite the fact that no-one is telegraphing as such.
One group of people, a trio of humans wearing dark leather motorcycle gear and heavy plasteel-toed boots responds to your queries. Two men and a woman, they all wear their hair short, with one guy sporting a crew cut, the other with an undercut mohawk and bun, while the woman has what can only be described as a flat-top buzz.
The woman speaks up as the men nurse their beers.
"We ran with Mango about a month back. Straight enough shooter, if a bit greasy in style. Brought us on as outriders on his pack, watching for strays and folks looking to pick off his ware. Thinking 'bout signing on, running some 'links and pipes and batteries around fer 'taters and beer on return? Pay wasn't super great, but at least the chow was good, and he let us make our own deals on the side, null persp."
Al switches over to VR to convey mostly what everyone already knows. Seeing the number from Murphy, he adds it to the list.
Back in AR, he sets off to find the icon associated with the publicly listed commcode for Dr. Solus.
I'd kick myself if I didn't try the obvious. Might just find his home or campus office. A little B&E might be a good first step.
(4 hits)
Waiting for AL, Murphy twiddle his thumbs for a bit feeling awkward. Thinks for a minute and opens his mouth.
"Sooooo, since we got a minute to catch our breath anybody want to share anything? Like what you do, or why you are here. Great example, I'm former military. Supply officer, not front lines. Explains some of the spells I've picked up. I know we are supposed to act all professional but we aren't. We're expendable to a lot of the people who hire us. But I don't think that way."
Sipping some more, he asks the question that's been bugging him for a while.
"Hawa, you don't seem to be the type to crawl around down here. In the shadows i mean. How far did you fall? Not gonna ask from where nor is this a cheesy pickup line because you'd shoot me for that."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Hawatari's dealt face-to-face with dozens - hundreds - of mil and ex-mil in her past, thousands of runners over the years. Her current problem is that all those memories, all those finely-honed techniques in dealing with them, are not much more than instinctual hints served up by her half-fried brain. Finally, though, she manages to find someone.
The woman speaks up as the men nurse their beers.
"We ran with Mango about a month back. Straight enough shooter, if a bit greasy in style. Brought us on as outriders on his pack, watching for strays and folks looking to pick off his ware. Thinking 'bout signing on, running some 'links and pipes and batteries around fer 'taters and beer on return? Pay wasn't super great, but at least the chow was good, and he let us make our own deals on the side, null persp."
"Something like that," she agrees with the woman. "Right now the tough job seems to be finding out where the man's going to be so that I and my associates can discuss such arrangements. Do you know where he'll be within the next, say, twelve to twenty-four?"
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When she returns to the handful she's currently associating with, she settles down and puts the glass of water on the table. As Murphy talks, she starts running her forefinger slowly, very lightly, around the rim. Those who are watching will, sooner or later, notice a slight but persistent trembling in her hand's supernally graceful movement.
"Hawa, you don't seem to be the type to crawl around down here. In the shadows I mean. How far did you fall? Not gonna ask from where nor is this a cheesy pickup line because you'd shoot me for that."
"What makes you think I fell?" she rhetorically asks, her own eyes upon the slight shaking in her hand. "I've been working amongst the muck and deadbeats for almost thirty years. To be fair, I've also worked amongst the key players, the top movers and shakers, during that time. Russians, most recently, though much to my shame ... well, I am having some significant memory issues. But always quietly, always in the back rooms, in the alley, in the servers' hallways. Always in the shadows." She shrugs, her gaze lifting to look at Murphy without her head moving. "Sometimes you're on top of the elephant, sometimes the elephant is on top of you. Right now ... the elephant is, how shall we say, ascendant. My difficulty right now is finding the mahout. Once I do ..." Her eyes return to her hand's slight trembling, which has started to move up her wrist to her arm; she lowers it back to the table to rest.
"Then it will be time to convince them to take their elephant elsewhere, eh?"
Thinking in it, Murphy answers the question raised him.
"Well, I think you are a different person than you used to be. You used past tense when speaking about clothes you've worn. I'm not too bright, but I can see that it's personal. Whether that was a lifetime ago or 10 weeks ago before we met, it doesn't matter does it?"
Finishing his first and pouring himself a second, the Irish Elf continues.
"You talk about the elephant in the room like you want to talk to it. There are always other ways, like using an elephant gun. You get a nice trophy, but then you can never go back and fix what you've done. Although, something tells me that when you do fix that problem, you'd rather not look back."
-Posted with Wayfinder
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@Hawa: Your newfound 'friend' thinks for a moment, then shrugs. "Dunno about the next day or two, but I do know he always hits up Touristville & The Nest. They're like the two ends of his loop - score a buncha junky 'links, some supplies, meds, that stuff here, bring it out east to the scavvers. Grab metals, fabbed stuff, and scrap from them, trade it to the growers in the Jungles, then sell that stuff for cred in the real world. Least, that's how it worked when we ran with him - who knows if he's changed it up since then, but I doubt it. Good luck, omae"
@Al:
You easily find the commcode listed to Dr. Solus, linked through the UW host, it looks like a window pane version of his ID badge, with name, office location, email and voice-code attached. You can easily place a call or send a message through it, although you are confident the administrators will be able to view it either through review or possibly in realtime.
Hawatari nods, thinking for a second, then adds, "You know who his usual supplier - or buyer - for his stuff happens to be?"
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Shaking her head slightly, she gives Murphy a thin smile. "Most of my old gear - including clothes - is gone; if I'd been a minute earlier, I would have probably been gone with it. Trustworthy allies have seen to my having been declared dead, so that the ... mahout, let us continue to say ... is no longer actively hunting me. A few other items survived, but they are ... unique. Being seen with them would, one way or another, mark me, and that is three entirely different kinds of trouble I do not need to possess at the moment.
"Could I have retreated behind high walls and iron gates, relying on powerful allies and hired guns to find and stop the mahout? Certainly. But he holds one who is very close to my heart, one he not only should not have been able to seize, but also whom he should not have been able to hold. So as long as he holds this one, I must continue to move quietly, act carefully, plan thoroughly; it is not something I will have a second chance with."
Inhaling, the Japanese elf fem leans back in her chair, to stare at the ceiling for a moment. "And talking will likely take place, yes. Speech, however, is not likely to be the beginning of the conversation - or the end. Thus, I strive to regain my capabilities."
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@Hawa: "Junkers buy what they can, all kinds pour out with scrap and salv, trade for bullets, batteries, chips, tools. All what have you. All the Jungle tribes kinda form a little market thing - they bring out their stuff, or booze, or what they made. Plenty a cute little crafty things in there, wood, leather, bone, ya know. Then he offloads the produce Ghost knows where, and starts back 'round. Fragger was joking about being some kinda Marco Polio or somesuch, some kinda ancient history trader guy thing. Thought it was clever." Her harumph at the end shows you just how clever she thought the joke was.
"I meant around here," Hawatari replies dryly. "I don't expect he picks up two dozen twenty-nuyen commlinks and a bunch of medkits from the local salvagers. Who does he buy from around here, in Touristville??"
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@Hawa "Oh. Right, my bad chummer. All the local shops must know him, he had stacks o' drek outside and loadin' up when we came by. Dunno names or nothing, but seems like the kinda thing ya call up and order, special pickup like ya know. Didn't have no Stufffer Shack boxes, now that I think of it. They were all separate logos and regular flimsyboard,not really Corp ya know. I bet ya sling a few creds out ta the kiosk folk hawking stuff ta tourists, someone'll get ya what ya wanna know."
"Thanks," Hawatari replies to the woman, dropping her a ¥35 info-tip, then offers her hand. "Hawatari," she introduces herself. "Nice doing business with you."
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Back with the others, she continues. "The lady over there," nodding her head towards the flat-top fem, "said that Mango tends to go with a lot of off-brand low-end tech merchandise when he picks up stuff on his way through Touristville. She suggested we might spread some fiscal appreciation through the kiosk-hawkers outside," because, after all, they're in Touristville now, "and we'd probably have a good chance of finding where he is, or at least where and when he's scheduled to make a pick-up."
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Gracias, chica." The woman gratefully accepts the nuyen, then waves to the bartender for another pitcher.
"Name's Sally, but these scrubs call me Blue. Catch ya round the neighborhood, chummer. Good luck."
She nods at Hawatari before turning back to her drinking partners as their pitcher of Soyweiser arrives.
Not willing to pry further without a solid layout of security, Al leaves the digital domain to see where everyone stands.
"Our chances of finding a matrix footprint go up significantly if we're inside his office or home - a few less hoops to jump through, anyway. What's surfaced on your end while I was under?"