ÖÄÒÄ· Ò ÖÄÒÄ· . Ö¿ . Ö ÄÒÄ ÖÄÄ· ÖÄÄ· Ä· º ÇÄ· ÖÄ· º º º Ò ÖÄÄ × Ò Ä×Ä ÖÄÄ º ÖÄÄ ÖÄÄ · · ÖÄ· × × × × º Ð ½ ½ ÓÄÄ Ð Ð Ð ½ ÄĽ Ð ½ Ð ÄĽ ÄÐÄ ÄĽ ÄĽ ÓÄÐ ÓÄÄ ÓÄĽ ÓÄĽ ÄÐÄ ÄÒÄ Ö ÖÄÄ· Ò Ò Ä· ÖÄÄ· ÖÄÄ· ÖÄÄ· º · · º · · × × ÓÄÄ× º ÓÄĶ ÓÄĶ ÖÄĽ ÓĽ ÓÄÐ Ð ÓĶ ÓÄĽ Ð 9 ÄÐÄ ÓÄĽ ÓÄĽ ÓÄÄÄ Ä½ ÄÒÄÄ· . Ö . Ò Ö Ò ÒÄ· º º Ò ÖÄÄ Ä×Ä ·Ä· Ò ÇÄ· · · Ä×Ä ÖÄ· ÖĶ ÇÄз · · ß ÄÐÄĽ ½ ÄĽ Ð Ð ½ ÓĽ ÓÄÐ Ð ÓÄÄ ÓÄÐ ÐÄĽ ÓĶ ß Ä½ ÒÄ· Ö . Ö Ò . ÒÄ· Ò ÇÄз º Ò Ä×Ä ÄÄ· Ç/ ·Ä· Ò ÖÄ· ÖÄÒ ÇÄз ÇÄ· ÖÄÄ ÐÄĽ Ð ½ Ð ÓÄÄ ÐÀ Ð ½ ÓÄÄ ÓĶ ÐÄĽ ÓĽ ÄĽ Ľ ÖÄÄÄ ÖÄÄ· ÖÄÄ· Ò Ò ÖÄÄ· ÖÄÄ· ÖÄÄ· ÖÄÄ· ÖÄÄ· ÖÄÄ· ÓÄÄ· × × ÖÄĽ ÄÄÄ ÓÄÄ× ÓÄĶ ÓÄĶ ÄÄÄ ÇÄĶ ÓÄĶ ÄĶ ÄĶ ÓÄĽ ÓÄĽ ÓÄÄÄ Ð ÓÄĽ ÓÄĽ ÓÄĽ ÓÄĽ ÓÄĽ ÓÄĽ ÖÄ· Ò Ò Ò ÒÄÄ· ÖÄÄ· Ö Ò . ÖÄÄ· Ò º º º º º ÇÄĽ ß º ÖÄ· º · · ÒÒÒ ÇÄ· Ò ÖÄ ·Ä· º ÖÄ· Ç/ ÖÄ· Ð ÓĽ ÓÄĽ Ð ß ÓÄĽ ÓĽ Ð ÓÄÐ ½ ½ ÓĽ ½ ÓÄÁ ½ ½ ÓÄĽ ÓĽ ÐÀ ÓÄÄ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Welcome to the first issue of The Misfits. The Misfits: Predat0r - The Duke - Evil - Sinister X Release Information: Title : The Misfits Issue : 001 Date : 04 July 1992 Time : 15:30:00 Topics : Cyberpunk Stories Format : IBM Ascii Text Size : 1255 Lines 60687 Bytes ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Introductions The Misfits were formed as a direct result of boredom. Yes we were tired of reading the same old stuff from the same old group. Those into text files know that this group is known for writing about this and that group writes about that. Not many groups have diversity in their format. We are not knocking anyones group, we just want to bring something new and different to the people. We don't want to have to conform to some format and talk about it until it becomes dead and the group dies from lack of information. The theme of each Misfit release will be the same but each release will be different from the last. Then again maybe we will have a smorgasbord of stimulating reading with no connection whatsoever.. basically just enjoy! We will also take any type of article, story or newsbit you might want to submit. Predat0r ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- A large shadow fell over the table. A very large shadow. "Is that depleted uranium in your pocket, or are you just hot to see me?" "Am I to assume from that question that you got the imaging working on the rad detectors?" the suit asked icily. She was all sharp corners and biz. "Here it is," Brick said, tossing her the datacube. "Only a few degrees resolution, but that's all you can expect from a serendipitous capability like this." He seated himself opposite the prim, tiny lady. Her hands trembled slightly as she caught the cube. She raised it towards her, eyes aglow with need, and then caught herself. She suddenly lowered the cube to the table and pushed it away. "I will audit the code shortly, but I have something else for you first. Payment and a new Request For Proposal." She was expressionless again. She handed a credstick to Brick. "This is a payment for the new capability, and the contractual bonus for your directed ablation modification. The upgrade achieved 93% market penetration among current owners." "No surprise," Brick said, "your customers are the types of paranoids who will buy every protection they can get. Is the depleted uranium part of the RFP, or was that just a test?" "That is correct," she said, drawing an ammo clip out of her pocket. "This is the next product to be introduced by the portable armaments sector of our offensive capabilities division. Hypervelocity armor-piercers. Fin-stabilized, discarding sabot. Mach 7 from a reinforced 250 mm-long barrel. The anti-armor capability it provides in a sidearm is comparable to that of the Alliance Systems Super-Viper Aerial Assault Weapon." "Great, now you can take out a heavy-tank with a Sunday night special." Brick slipped one of the 'bullets' out of the clip and examined it. "I would prefer tungsten myself," he said, "especially after everybody gets my upgrade. Refractory and no gamma signature. When you're in a gunship, even the 500 round magazine the assviper carries doesn't have much affect on your detectibility, but a handweapon has different requirements." "Marketing has determined that d.u. is the optimum projectile composition for introduction at this time. This is due to the cachet factor, in combination with its pyrophoric properties and the opportunity for further product cycles." Brick smiled at that. "I assume that last point is the real reason. When do you turn these beasties loose on the unsuspecting world." "These FSDSHAP rounds will be announced next week. The advertising campaign will ensure 98% name recognition among our defensive systems clients within ten days. We anticipate that the optimal market window for the introduction of countermeasures will be four to six weeks later." "I assume you want a solution that is ineffective against tungsten." "That requirement is merely implied by the RFP." She handed him a datacube. "We anticipate that similar RFPs in future product cycles will alter that requirement, consistent with our parent company's symbiotic development process." "Have you got the sims and specs for these shells?" "They are included in the RFP." She indicated the cube. "I'll have a quote for you tomorrow. It will be high." "That has been anticipated." "Did you want to look at the imaging code?" "I shall do a preliminary audit now," she said. The slight tremble to her hands was back. "Go for it," Brick said. She slotted the cube at her occipital and drained it. She folded her hands on the table and maintained her posture as she closed her eyes. Five minutes later she collapsed back in her chair. She slid out of her coat to air her sweat-drenched blouse. Her fingers had a little trouble loosing her hair and spreading it out to dry. She futily tried to wipe the sheen off her face with a small silk handkerchief, then accepted the sorbwipe Brick offered. "Damn that's good. That's good. Twelve years and I still can't believe it. You'll always be the best, dear. Damn. The algorithms. Oh my god." "I love to watch you read it," Brick said. "You are a rare and wonderful person, a true connoisseur. There aren't very many people who appreciate such things any more." "Oh, that's better than Knuth. I did some last night. You're better." "Tut, tut," Brick chastised gently, "ladies don't speak comparisons." "You're better. I've done them all. You're the best. I've done everything by all the old masters. I took the bright spots from every punk in Hungary. When Gates was thawed I had him direct. I spend all my time cracking the tightest code from the hottest wizes, and nobody compares to you. Every time I get something from you, it's like the first time you showed me the FFT." "Settle down." "This is one of the best things you've ever done. I thought your sonic holo system was great but this is better. It's even better than your eight-line four-color proof." "You're just saying that because you want to get into head with me." He knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it, and cursed himself. "I want to, but you're still the best. Why can't we?" Desperation in her eyes. "You know very well why." "We can have med teams standing by, we can do it in the operating theater..." "Grace..." "They can even open up my skull ahead of time so they can get in fast, just in case." "You know it's not going to happen, there's too much risk." "I'll take that risk." "I won't. The last time I did it, I swore that it would never happen again. I can still feel her." "Open loop, you won't be able to feel me then." "I'll know when it happens, and that will be the same." She was silent. "This is as close as we're ever going to come." Brick held up the datacube. "I'm sorry, that's just the way it is." There was silence for a minute. Two minutes. "I guess I'll have to settle for that then." She stood sadly and picked up her coat. She straightened suddenly. "I hate you." She walked out the door. All sharp corners and biz. ---------------------------------------------- Copyright 1991 by David Palmer Characters may be used with prior permission. FSDSHAP rounds will not be generally available to the public until after the countermeasure Brick develops are available. They will cost far too much to carry around as your standard loads, unless you know that you're going against something that will require them. The company in question doesn't really want to sell any, they just want to sell Brick's upgrade. (Allowing people wearing their armor to be killed would be bad for the rep, even if they do sell the projectiles that do it.) -- David Palmer palmer@gap.cco.caltech.edu ...rutgers!cit-vax!gap.cco.caltech.edu!palmer "Operator, get me the number for 911" --Homer Simpson The Unnamed Storyline continues to skulk around in my head, but the next part or so aren't finished. However... -------- Rita slipped off from the Wormhole early that night, feeling unusually tired, her senses wrapped in a mild gauze of fatigue toxins. And all the raging thoughts that swirled around her like confused bumblebees in the dark interior of the Grinder club just gave her a headache. Routine trip home, ghouls glistening eyes sliding in recessed sockets to follow her movements. Their minds were fetid little bits of failed schemes and plans that slammed them into the lowest Sprawl social level. She almost felt sorry for some of them, but it was more like a wish that she *could* feel sorry. Once home, a small but nice apartment in one of the few security apartment buildings in the Sprawl, exhaustion began batting at her in a playful manner, leading her to the bed with a night-jump on, in case of a mission call from the Mechanics center. She didn't expect one, though, since Bonnie was still out in Mexico and techincally, Rita was supposed to be "supervising". Of course the rules were sometimes lax about *where* she supervised from... Fading into a less comprehensive thought mode, Rita ticked off to sleep, her mental images fitifully breaking apart into their components and letting her sub-conscious into the foreground. She dreamed about Bonnie. The oil fields of Mexico stretch wide and empty. During the Attrocities, millions of barrels of black, heavy oil had been spilled onto the sands, thirstily absorbed by the dry desert. Once white, soft yellow became tinged black and gray. Nothing grew from the abandoned fields, the wells rusting and corroding away alone. Sand glued with the rich crude re-enacted a process of fossilization older than man. Jagged skeletons of brackish silicon eventually outlined where the wells had once been. Then the fires came. Bonnie was silent as the tribe led her out of the stuffy, dank abodes into the forge of the day. The pain in her body felt wrinkled and wire-wrapped. Elcetic scars danced across her abused flesh. Held between two whipish boys, she kept her head hung low, waiting for them to take her life away. "Knowledge," the Father Of Death said, the gravel in his throat rattling. He looked at Bonnie, squinting against the brilliant sunlight. "You know us now, child. We are the children of Lucifer, we reign in his light." Bonnie's head remained low, but she could see in her mind the man's wrinkled, brown skin, like badly cured leather. The dull glint of steel along his fingers, on his face. His rheumy red eyes with bitter hatred embedded in them. "Blood... We have built great arcanic structures of our blood, our enemies blood, the blood of the desert." A faint cry whispered across their bodies as the wind rushed by. "And they have made us strong, in the name of Belial." Bonnie shivered, the kind of shiver that she knew meant she would soon lose control. She would go hysterical. She would try to escape. They would kill her and boil her into soup for their bastard children. "Water. Can you imagine water, child?" He sounded truely curious. A dry, moistless word escaped from her scarred lips. "... yes..." The Father Of Death shifted his weight. "God tried drowning us in water, once. Like we were rats instead of men, people in his own image." There was a growing hostility in his rough-hewn voice. "But we are *made* of water. It pumps through our bodies, it saturates our brains. And Leviathan lives deep inside the oceans of our selves." Bonnie was trembling, but weakly. She realized she didn't even have the energy to collapse into ranting, raving hysterics. Only to stand here, gently supported by two naked youths. "Fire." It was said with almost awe, or worship. And with pride. "Fire burns away, leaving nothing but ash. The all consuming one that heats the universe. Our Father, Satan." After that, they were silent as they led her through the forge. To the fields of fire. Waking suddenly, trembling, sweating, feeling queasy in her stomach like she might throw up, Rita was disoriented by the cool, simple darkness of her little bedroom. Soft colored lights glowed where the clock rested on her dresser. It had been hours since she fell asleep. She thought. Rita wasn't quite sure what had woken her up. Something flickered through her memories, something about sand. But it was just tissue-paper, flitting by in a little dust-devil. She had a sense of depression, of something that she should be worried and upset about. But she couldn't remember *what*. -------- (C) 1991 by Drifter... (author) - All rights reserved |==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==| | Drifter... Homo Postmortemus | | ObLyric: He always said that men don't cry, but burns and bruises seldom | | lie. Dad learned Grandpa's lesson well, spitting image of a man in hell. | | ObQuote: "The advocate will refrain from making her opponent dissapear." | | Internet: snarler%oak.decnet@pine.circa.ufl or 7%arms.uucp@ufl.edu | |==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==|==| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- What has gone before: Dartboard is being "psychologically examined" by Dr. Shapiro, in the middle of a golf course. Snipers, helicopter gunships, and mine fields ring the area. Why? Because Langley is afraid Dartboard is still an "Undirected Psionic Hazard" and they intend to kill him off if he is still psionically dangerous. While Shapiro plays Senator McCarthy attempting to anger Dartboard, Dartboard keeps his wits and begins to turn the tables. "Let's consider your behavior when you took the anti-psi syrup. Did you or did you not arm your tactical nuclear weapons and proceed to a privately owned site?" "Yes, I did." "Did you consider that you were endangering perhaps thousands of civilians?" "I am authorized to endanger civilians if necessary." "Do you consider the risk worthwhile?" "Yes. I might add that Colonel Timothy and the NSC concurred." "But weren't six nuclear weapons excessive? Wouldn't one have been more than enough?" "Undecideable. However, if by carrying six warheads I can avoid using any warheads, then six warheads are the right number to carry. There is a psychological warfare issue here." "But wouldn't conventional weapons, or even tailored gas have been adequate?" "You miss the point. Am-243 warheads show up very distinctively on any sort of radiological instrument- sensing Americium in those quantities strongly implies presence of a tactical nuclear warhead. Neither conventional weapons nor chemical weapons propagate as distinctive a signature as the Am-243 radiation. Consider the radiation spectra as a warning coloration that I was armed." "Colonel Mendoza, this is getting nowhere. Let me try another method." Shapiro snaps open her briefcase, and pulls a .45 service automatic and a thin scrapbook. She slides the scrapbook across the card table to Dartboard. "Please open the book, Colonel, and describe to me in detail what you see on each page." Dartboard opens the unmarked olive-drab scrapbook, and notes the format- a single large photograph, under thin plastic, on each right-hand page, while the left-hand pages are blank. "Nazi extermination camp- Treblinka, I believe. Probably taken within a few hours of liberation. Two unclothed, severely emaciated young adult male subjects shown. Time and subjects unidentified." "Soviet gulag prisoner cell. No subjects visible. Date and time unknown." "South vietnamese 'tiger cage' torture cell. Time around noon. Subject is a young female oriental, about twelve. Date probably late 1969 or early 1970. Cell has been freshly limed" Dartboard turns page after page of atrocity, giving a cold and precise description of each scene of brutality. He arrives at the last page. "Nicteau prisoner torture site, Guatemalian jungle. Taken August 17, 2041, probably sometime in mid-morning, probably by Major David Cosworth or troops under his command. Subject is then-Captain John Mendoza, suffering from multiple septic puncture wounds to all bodily surfaces, eyes, and genitalia from Nicteau torturers, as well as starvation and severe dehydration." "Is that all?" "Captain Mendoza survived the incident." Dartboard stares at Shapiro, right in the eyes, and cracks the slightest smile. Shapiro shakes off the stare, notices the smile, and recoils. "But that's YOU tied to the wall! It's YOU with the darts in your eyeballs and the running sores! Don't you FEEL anything? Aren't you even HUMAN? " "Business is business." Dartboard turns with a start to stare into space directly behind Shapiro. He shouts "Hello, GENERAL". Shapiro snaps to attention- eyes ahead, back ramrod-straight. Dartboard remains seated. "Sit down, Corporal Shapiro of Special Talents and Psionics. You've been, as they say, 'made'." Shapiro turns around, sees no general approaching. She stares at Dartboard. "How did you know?" Shapiro begins to stammer. "You're not a psychiatrist- first, the questions you asked were right out of the psychological interrogation manual, not standard psych questions, even for a 'rough interrogation'." "You've memorized the book?" "I wrote that book." Shapiro slumps into the chair. "Second, you allowed yourself to become rattled. No Intellegence-trained officer would allow that- they're trained against it. Psi group is trained to attempt rapport with their subjects- which gave away that you were attached to S.T. and P." "Third, you fell for the 'Hello, General' routine. This implies you are definitely enlisted, probably no higher than corporal, definitely not commissioned officer- which all MDs and PhD's in the service are." "Fourth, consider the mission- if I were still active as an undirected and uncontrolled psionic hazard, you would be dead, and soon thereafter so would I; at least that's the plan. Therefore, you are almost certainly a volunteer, someone with a low but nonzero psionic potential, someone expendable, Your mission was to try to get me to kill you. Fortunately, you failed." Shapiro stares at the card table. "So what do I do now, Colonel? Report that I blew it, that you saw through me?" "Yes. First of all, it's the truth. Second, I think that Colonel Timothy was expecting something like this to happen- and he would be curious to know what _did_ happen if he doesn't get a report saying what he expects." "Colonel, you were almost wrong on one point. I'm defending my thesis in thirteen days, then I _will_ be a PhD, with an automatic promotion to warrant officer, and a gauranteed shot at commissioned officer candidate school." "Congratulations! Can I come to your thesis defense and ask questions?" "No! God, no! You'd shred me!" "Trust me, I'm well behaved in civilized situations." "You must have forgotten what academia is like, Colonel. It may be a lot of things, but it sure isn't civilized." ----- Sorry for the delay in this update to Dartboard- but little things like work situation and a downright broken love-life intruded. Please don't use Dartboard, Sabenski, Shapiro, Timothy, etc. without my permission. ----- My nomination for "Best Recent Alt.Cyberpunk.Chatsubo Posting" - the last installment of Nekoko crashing the helicopter into Puget sound! Having some familiarity with such beasts, I can only say BRAVO! You have done your homework well! I could almost smell the bearings cooking and the sprag clutch screaming! And it's a GOOD READ, TOO! -Bill Copyright 1991 William S. Yerazunis (aka Crah the Merciless) All rights reserved, no responsibility taken. "Turpentine, acetone, benzine..." ... Joy and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance ... Wasp looked at his watch. God, it was hard to imagine that he owned something so... expensive. He stared at the dull silver luster for a time, imagining that it was all a dream. He completely forgot to check what time it was. The car's voice spoke in soothing tones. "We are cleared for liftoff, Mister Rednix." The turbines hummed steadily under the chassis. Wasp pressed gently on the throttle... and flew. The navigation screen advised him of the course to take, the height to fly at, and even once warned him of possible collision with a small flock of sparrows. If anything was sucked into the turbine intake, he would fall some five hundred meters to his death. The watch, he thought with a laugh, would probably be fine. He landed, carefully, on the top of a low parking garage. He was seven stories above the ground and feet from the closest building. The experience of flight left him giddy, but glad it was over. His contact was standing there next to a long, sleek sportscar which looked like a Porshe to Wasp, but so did most sports cars to him. Porsches were almost everywhere the rich were. "A fad," he muttered to himself. Another man was with his contact. Tall and thick, he had to be hired muscle. Typical, but understandable considering the unusual request for the meeting. Wasp stepped out of the car and stood straight. Some six meters separated him and his contact. "Nice night, isn't it?" Wasp called out. The man frowned. "Yes," he said. Wasp thought he sounded disappointed. "It is a shame about Major Rednix." Simply a statement, that. Wasp nodded, trying to look solemn. "It is. He was... a man of our times." A line he once heard in a movie. "And trying times they are, that we have to meet in secret. Rednix did explain to you our agreement?" A question. Wasp froze. The meet was called by the contact, Wasp was playing blind. A dangerous game, like poker with armed players. "An Uzi beats four aces," he muttered. "Somewhat," Wasp then said aloud. "There are secrets that even I did not know." Many, he failed to add. Most. Wasp was bluffing a flush, and didn't want to boast four aces. He couldn't afford it since he came unarmed. "What do you know?" "Enough." There was a pause. Wasp felt his own fear in that pause. "Then..." the contact said, painfully drawing out the sentence, "we need... fresh kill. Tonight." The words stuck in Wasp's mind. 'Fresh kill.' Flashes of women with bloody dresses and torn throats edged into his thoughts. Or did the man mean animal? Wasp had to remind himself to breath as the rest of his mind tried not to go into shock. "That..." Wasp stuttered as he thought, "might prove... difficult. The night is pretty late for something proper." He couldn't believe he was suggesting what he was. "We understand your situation, but our own situation draws us to this need. We will pay full, though you are inexperienced, because of the time limit we have placed upon you." Wasp eyed the bodyguard carefully for a moment, guessing his armament. "Bet he has a submachine or better," he muttered. "I'm afraid that's out of the question," he called out to them. "I am inexperienced and it would be rather foolish if I took on such an expedition without more time." The contact seemed to clench his teeth. "Then make the time." "I'd love to, but I can't. Have to run." Wasp slipped into the car at the same moment his contact raised a hand. He didn't know whether it was to signal Wasp or the contact's bodyguard. He didn't wait to find out. The contact didn't drop his hand. There was no gunfire. Wasp left quickly and quietly with the bad, bad feeling he would be hearing from that man again. ... "Fresh kill," Wasp muttered as he typed the words into the small computer. The computer was once Father Jim's, like almost everything Wasp was surrounded with recently. The car, the computer, the watch, the business. All thanks to a mysterious woman named J.J. Faust. J.J. was an enigma to Wasp. A woman who was clearly psychotic and yet completely content with herself, a trait of sanity. Wasp knew insanity from his years on the streets and underground, dealing with people who lived the edge between the two. J.J. killed Father Jim. She killed one of New York's underground contacts. She killed Wasp's boss. And she went back to her life like nothing had happened, working a nine-to-five job at a well-to-do jewelry store. Just like that. Not even Wasp's old girlfriends were that over the edge. She killed five other people, besides, but they meant nothing to him. All horrible throat injuries, all rich women, but he never stopped to think about them. First she killed Father Jim. Wasp closed the directory he devoted to her and went back to the main directory. Password:_ Father Jim's information, all his tricks and all his blacklisting was under that password. And all his little secrets. The words "fresh kill" kept coming to mind. ... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- CyberStory: Judy "Coder's special, please," the man said. The waitress looked up, "What's a coder's special?" "You're new here, aren't you?" "Yes, this is my first day. I'm Judy," she replied, a bit nervously. It was cumulative stress built up over the past three hours, rather than sudden fear. Her current patron looked a lot less homicidal than most of the clientele she had been serving, without incident so far. It said a lot about the Chatsubo that the man she considered a sub-median threat was 223 cm tall and was wearing seventy kilos of reactive body armor. "I could tell. I'm Brick," he smiled. "A coder's special is a large pepperoni pizza and couple of liters of Jolt Classic." She brought him the order. "Oh, could I get the Jolt in a drinking container?" Brick asked politely, "it's for washing down the pizza." She emptied the IV bag into a bottle, re-evaluating her opinion of his sanity. "May I ask you a question, Mr. Brick?" she asked. "Just Brick," he said, "and sure, go ahead. As long as you don't pick the wrong people or the wrong questions, there's no harm in asking." "Am I safe working here? I mean all these people look dangerous." "You don't really have to worry about the dangerous looking ones. That's all flash, and they're more likely to do themselves in--either by losing control of their toys or by annoying the wrong people. The really lethal people don't show much more than attitude, and they don't do much collateral damage when they strike." "Collateral damage?" Judy asked. The answer wasn't very comforting. "Taking out innocent bystanders. It's just professional courtesy to use finite range weapons and be aware of your backgrounds. Still, it's best to keep your head down and get behind something when things heat up, just in case." Brick pointed his arm at the pizza. There was a brief ruby flash, and a grease fire started to spread across the surface. Nobody looked up except Judy, who followed the black cloud of smoke to the ceiling. "Don't worry," Brick reassured her, "the smoke detectors are disabled. They kept going off from propellant smoke and laser burns. Ratz got tired of having to get rid of the bodies before the firemen came each time." Brick drew a Victorinox-Ginzu combat dagger from its sheath and attacked the pizza. The serrated CVD-diamond edge penetrated the crust and drove through the aluminum pan and into the table. He let go of the trademarked red handle and pulled the pizza apart with a faint servo whine in his armor. The cheese eventually peeled from the Teflon VII coating on the blade. "Excellent, my compliments to the chef," he said after tasting it. He noticed that Judy looked a little pale, almost Caucasian. "Is something wrong?" "Tell me, what happened to the girl I'm replacing?" "Nekoko? Probably out getting shot at. The people who Ratz hires don't seem to last very long." Brick took a long drink of Jolt Classic and suppressed a shudder. "But then again, who does? "Oh, by the way, here comes the type of person I was talking about." He indicated a nondescript gray man coming towards the table. "His name's Viadd, communications expert. Looks harmless enough, but he can talk people to death." Judy gave a nervous little laugh. "You mean he really is harmless?" "No," Brick said slowly, "I mean he can talk people to death. Reference Iago; Context Shakespeare for the general idea." Viadd sat down across from Brick, "Milk+ choco, please" he told Judy. Judy left, sidling away nervously, and almost stepped into a weapons demonstration. "Is she new?" "First day here, Ratz really needs to do something about his personnel situation. In a week she'll probably have seniority." "Yeah, I keep telling him, you can't keep decent employees nowadays unless you've got good medical and dental coverage." "Here she comes with your drink. She seems a bit nervous--first day jitters and all--so try not to say anything to scare her." Judy set the mug in front of Viadd and kept on walking out the door. Ratz behind the bar just shrugged philosophically. "Pretty brave though, going out on the streets without an escort. Foolish too, it's just not safe." Viadd nodded and sipped his drink. "How did the goniometer hack go?" Brick asked. "Pretty well, I think," Viadd replied, and tossed a credstick on the table. Brick did not touch it. "I'll tell you what," he said, "I'll rebate the second half of the payment if you tell me how you used it." "It's on account, so your offer doesn't touch me. Are you curious, or do you just want to sell it the same way?" "Curious, mostly," Brick said. "I'll tell you for nothing, but only if you keep it secret for a two-year moratorium." Brick considered briefly. "O.K., I can live with that." He picked up the credstick and sat back to listen to Viadd. "The target," Viadd began, "was the senior V.P. of a certain Japanese firm. Call him Hideo. My client is the second V.P. of the company. The president, 'Takashi', is getting along in years and my client feels an urgent need to change the order of succession. "Takashi does not think that a new president will be needed for some years, and is, understandably, a bit paranoid about people trying to hasten the process. Viadd took another drink and smiled as the theobromides hit. "I took the obvious route and started engineering a coup on behalf of my target. Rather baldly planned, and he apparently didn't cover his tracks very well. Memo numbers out of sequence, calls misrouted, that sort of thing. The takeover apparatus was eventually thoroughly penetrated by Takashi's moles." "Unfortunately, Takashi admired Hideo's apparent initiative, although he was appalled by his crudeness, and merely eliminated everything I had set up. "My target got a lecture on the importance of subtlety, and was told that his ambition, whatever it did to the executive structure, must never jeopardize the stature of the company itself. Hideo managed to cover his mystification with a few nervous 'hai's and retained his position. "Naturally, such a situation was not what I had contracted with my client to achieve. My next step was somewhat simpler, though, thanks to you. "I floated a few rumors that Takashi was not long for power, and that Hideo would soon be running the company. The president dismissed these as the distant echoes of the aborted coup, at least for a while. The persistence of the rumors, however, did make him a little nervous. "The firm was just about to seal an important contract to supply some cutting-edge tech to an American firm. Negotiations had been rocky from the start, and the deal was just barely hanging together. About the only reason they were still in contact was because the American company's president, 'Fred', was so cultured and civilized, it was almost possible to forget he was gaijan. "Fred had worked very hard at that. He had been intensively trained by geisha and members of a cadet branch of The Emperor's family. Most of his staff were conservative Japanese. He had had cosmetic surgery to make himself look older. And guess what else?" "He had a goniometer in his spine to calibrate his bow angles," Brick guessed. "Exactly. That's why I got that backdoor code from you." "So, how did you run it?" "Takashi and Hideo flew in from Tokyo to sign the contract. The American met them as they came out of the jet and greeted them with formal bows. "Takashi stood stunned for a few seconds, then turned around and marched himself and his V.P. back into the plane and they flew back to Japan. Only the president reached Tokyo though. My client was very happy." Viadd drained his mug. "I had hacked Fred's goniometer so that his bow to the president was three degrees too shallow, and his bow to the vice-president was five degrees too deep. The implication that Hideo was of higher status than Takashi was just too blatant an insult to allow, especially coming from someone who was cultured enough to know what he was saying." Viadd looked around for a waitress and, finding none, signalled to Ratz to bring him another choco. "The American will probably never figure out what happened. The Japanese president would never tell him. I won't tell him, and you won't either." "If it doesn't break client privilege, what was the American company?" Brick asked. Viadd waited as Ratz had brought him another mug, glared at Brick, and left. "No reason I can't tell you, still under moratorium. ARES has been giving us all trouble recently, so I choose their Caedemus division as second bird. It was the most suitable candidate, but it's still good biz to exact a load toll for karma burden." "In that case, you may be interested in this. It came down from a mediasat about an hour ago." He tossed a pad to Viadd. "Property records track it through a set of dummies to belong to Caedemus," Brick said as Viadd watched the flames engulf the property. "Elite forces, tech and mage, penetration/extraction strike, by my analysis. The showy part is just to take out the security forces." "Hmm, I didn't expect Takashi would go this far to respond to the insult. Maybe Hideo gave Caedemus some pre-production prototyping samples and the president wanted them back. Who knows? "Anyway, it's just another example of the power of a subtle approach." ------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1991 David Palmer. Brick, Viadd and Judy Copyright 1990-1991 David Palmer Action figures and body armor sold separately. Fusion powerpacks not included. Brick and Viadd may be used with prior approval. Judy made it safely home by authorial fiat. Unable to find another job as a waitress, she was forced to work as an actress. She later won the Academy Award for her portrayal of Othellia. Copyright JM Shields & HG Bartels 1991 All Rights Reserved ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- A soft intake of breath. "Shimatta..." Nekoko looked around the worn, dusty, and threadbare interior of the ARES Wvyern. The instrument panels had had its corners rubbed smooth. The co-pilot's seat showed signs of heavy wear. The warning decals overhead had faded and discolored. As the helicopter flew, panels gave off creaking and groaning noises, the cockpit door rattled against its frame, the turbines whined overhead. Everything about the ARES Wyvern gave witness to long, hard years of uncaring use. Nekoko dropped her head and scanned the instruments again. Half the indicators pointed into the yellow. The hydraulic pressure continued to drop slowly. The main generator was misbehaving; the amps indicator rose and fell in short bursts. The clock ticked off the seconds since she dropped off the others at the ARES site. And the weather was turning against her again. Great grey clouds swept up from the south, at times hiding the land below her. The wind picked up and blew steadily from the south. Now and then, Nekoko would fly through another rain shower. From the east, the early morning light filled the sky with a pale color. To the west, the sky was still a midnight blue. Below Nekoko's helicopter, the early light painted the forest in dark greens, grey highlights, and long shadows. Medicine Hawk's signal flashed on the heads-up display. Time to go back into hell again. Nekoko made a slow, sweeping turn and oriented herself to fly in from the south with the wind. She scrubbed off altitude - it would be better to come in low and fast. At treetop level, the helicopter seemed to fly even faster than she could react. Nekoko jerked the control stick from side to side. Left, then right, the dark green forest rushed past. Birds would wheel up beside her, startled by the helicopter's sudden appearance. Then there would be a little clearing in the woods and Nekoko could catch her breath again. The helicopter would flash through the clearing and immediately have to dance around treetops again. To her right, the morning sun turned clouds red and yellow; she could see a glimmer of light through the cloudcover. Ahead, a thick dark column of smoke marked the site of the ARES research lab. It blew to the north, away from her approach. Nekoko began to search below her for a pick up site. As she got closer, she began to slow the helicopter. The Wyvern cleared the outside fence, bright with arc lights and steel. Now, below her was an open space, short grass and small trees. As Nekoko watched, small figures appeared in the open space. The early morning light gave them long strange shadows on the grass. The figures were running from one of the buildings. At times, one of them would turn and fire at the people coming from the buildings. Another one of the figures seemed to be carrying something over its shoulder. Nekoko began to drop down on top of them. As the Wyvern got closer, the figures looked up through the downwash of the helicopter rotors. One of them lifted a gun up at the helicopter; another figure pushed it away. Behind them, the people coming out of the buildings stopped and seemed to be cheering. Now Nekoko's helicopter was within a few feet of the ground. One of the figures began to run, hunched over, towards her. Nekoko pushed the helicopter closer to the others. The turbines screamed their displeasure at hovering. Nekoko turned the helicopter so that the Wyvern's armor lay between her friends and the ARES people. As she glanced over at the lab buildings, she notice that the ARES staff had stopped cheering; some of them seemed to aiming their guns at her, others began to run towards the helicopter. The Wyvern thumped onto the ground. A bang from behind her told Nekoko that someone had opened the cabin door. Now the other figures approached; Medicine Hawk, with the limp, ragdoll shape of Li over his shoulder, Ylse, pale and shaken, Running Wolf, grim-faced, turning back to empty his submachine gun at the running ARES security guards. They looked tired and drawn. Something had scared them badly. Another bang told Nekoko that the cabin door was closed again. The cabin intercom buzzed. Nekoko looked up at the sound of hail on the sides of the cockpit. It took a moment to realize that the sound was slugs bouncing off the Wyvern's armor. That shook her. One of the windows facing the ARES people suddenly cracked. She yelled a warning, pulled full torque on the collective, and began to take off. As they rose in the air, almost all the indicators flipped into the red zones. More gunfire, more hail on the armor. Another window cracked. The helicopter shook unevenly; Nekoko guessed that one of ARES's heavier shells had struck the Wyvern's armor. She reached down, flipped up the safety cover, and pressed the fire button on the twin Vulcans. The computer buzzed and said, 'Sorry. All 20 mm magazines are empty. Please reload.' But from the front of the Wyvern came the rumble of the two barrels spinning up to speed. Nekoko pedal turned the helicopter so that the muzzles of the Vulcans would face the oncoming ARES guards. Now the cockpit faced north, at the guns of the security guards. Nekoko pushed the cyclic control forward. The Wvyern picked up speed and rushed across the ground. Nekoko laughed. As the ARES people saw the rotating barrels, they dropped their guns and dived for cover. She swept past them, lifted the helicopter over their lab building and disappeared into the smoke. Deep black smoke seeped inside the cockpit through the vent ducts and the cracks in the windows. But it kept them hidden from the ARES guards. Nekoko pushed the helicopter as fast as the turbines would allow for as long as she could. When she could no longer stand the tension, when she guessed the helicopter might start coming apart in the next moment, she slowed up. Some of the indicators began to fall into the yellow or green zones again. A noise from behind her startled her; Nekoko had already forgotten that the others were on board again. Medicine Hawk appeared in the cockpit doorway, smelling of cordite, smoke, blood, and sweat. Nekoko watched him set himself in the co-pilot's seat. "Medicine Hawk. Li-sama ga, daijoubu ka?" Nekoko saw his confusion, then repeated herself in English. "Is Li going to be alright?" "Probably. We won't know until we get her seen to. At the safe house." He leaned back, sighed, and was silent. "Better strap yourself in. It's not over yet." Medicine Hawk reached below the seat and buckled himself in. Then he turned towards Nekoko. "Better tell the others in back as well." "Hai." Nekoko nodded, then picked up the cabin intercom. "Oi! We're still not safe, so you better buckle up. And make sure that Li is tied up as well. This might be a rough ride." As she spoke, the helicopter gave another series of shakes. She turned back to Medicine Hawk. "Was it bad? I mean, back there?" Medicine Hawk did not speak. Nekoko decided not to say anymore. The helicopter was still flying north. The comlinks were quiet - apparently, Leadfoot had done his job well. Outside of the shaking, the helicopter seemed to be flying well. Nekoko checked all the instruments, then turned back to Medicine Hawk. "Where do I go now? Where is the safe house?" Medicine Hawk turned his chrome glasses onto Nekoko. They were dirty, begrimed and scratched. "I'll direct you. Fly north for another twenty minutes, then turn towards the east. From there, I'll direct you." He turned his head away again; his breathing slowed. Nekoko relaxed. The ARES Wyvern was still flying. None of the dials showed any problems for the moment. For the first time that morning, she felt she might survive this trip. ************************ Twenty minutes after Belladonna briefed her crew the alarm bells rang. Bella ran to the com room. When she arrived, breathless, MecLan and Vint were studying a 2 meter square display screen showing the overall layout of the estate and safehouse. It was mounted on a wall - smaller screens with views of various sections surrounded main screen. They both looked up when Bella entered the room. "A chopper has penetrated the first security shell," MecLan informed her. "Is it them?" Bella glared painfully up at a speaker, "Gregor, we get the picture - turn that thing off - I can hardly hear myself think!" The alarm suddenly stopped in mid scream. "Thanks." "You are welcome, Bella." Bella ignored the deep reply. "Have you got an ID on it?" "No code yet. It looks like an ARES chopper," Vint touched a few panels, "It'll be in visual soon. The flight paths a bit erratic - looks like it's in trouble." "Shit!" Bella slammed her palm into the wall, "Peace, I hope it's them. How long until the second security shell?" "Ah, twelve seconds - eleven - ten - nine - eight - seven..." *********************************** Nekoko felt a hand on her arm. "Gotta call in now." Nekoko looked over her shoulder. Running Wolf was reaching for the radio with a small signalling device. She watched him tap in a frequency then open the channel and key the signalling device at the microphone. He smiled at her. The radio beeped back at Running Wolf's device. "Gotta let the Mechanics know we're friends," he said to Nekoko's puzzled look. "We should be in visual in a minute. I'll get Li ready for the landing." He disappeared aft behind Nekoko's seat. *********************************** " - wait a second, I'm getting a code." Seconds ticked. "It's them - proper code for the safehouse and their ID tag." Bella breathed out slowly, "Good. What's their status?" "Chopper is definitely damaged," MecLan scanned a readout on a smaller display screen. "How bad? Weapons?" Bella moved to his side and glanced at the readout. "There's some weapons damage but this is mostly internal stuff." He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe they lifted one that was due for repairs. From the scan this looks like relatively old damage." "Shit! Why the hell couldn't they have stolen one that worked?" "ETA for the chopper is five minutes, Bella," Vint interrupted. "Call Kenner, tell her to meet me at the topside elevators with her med kits in three minutes. Also get Bachtav..." her voice died off. Bella cleared her throat, "Meclan, could you..." He nodded - a hard sad smile crossed his lips. "Let's go." *************************** Nekoko studied the grey walls of clouds in front of her. Only the headup display in front of her made sense of the formless world outside the cockpit windows. On the display, a readout in a corner counted down the seconds to the destination. Behind Nekoko, Running Wolf and Ylse seemed to be talking; it was hard to make out the words over the throbbing of the rotors and the whine of the turbines. Medicine Hawk seemed to be asleep. Nekoko reached over and gave him a gentle shove to wake him. They had almost arrived. Nekoko came out of a cloud bank and there it sat, a brick monster on a wide open lawn, sunning itself in the morning sunlight. The safe house was one of the Victorian monsters that were popular around the turn of the previous century, all towers and tall ceilings, nocks and corners. A long driveway bordered by stately old willows led up to the front entrance. Medicine Hawk made a downwards stabbing motion with his hand, as if to say, land here. ****************************** The elevators doors opened into a backroom - clean and barren. Bella, Kenner, and MecLan hauled the emergency stretcher and kits out into the main hallway to the front door. They waited just inside the house until they saw the chopper approach. The chopper swung and hesitated - Bella was certain it was about to fall apart. ************************ Nekoko lifted the nose of the Wyvern, slowed up and flared to a landing within thirty paces of the house. Then she dropped the helicopter to the ground. It was a bit of a drop; there was cursing from behind the cabin door. She kept the turbines running; she did not know if she would be able to restart them again. From the house came three people; Bella and two others Nekoko did not recognize. They were carrying a stretcher. Medicine Hawk stood up, rubbed his eyes under his chrome sunglasses, and began to leave. As he stepped through the doorway, he asked, "Are you coming too? You're welcome to stay here." Nekoko looked at the forbidding mass of the house nearby. "Ah. I'd better see to the Wyvern first. I'll come back with the motorcycle later." "Good idea." "I'll just drop it at one of the grass airfields on the other side of Puget Sound. That'll draw off the pursuit." "Good idea." "So then..." "Take care, Cat-girl." He disappeared through the doorway into the cabin aft. ************************ "Where is she? How bad?" Bella shouted to Running Wolf as he stepped onto the ground. He pressed his mouth to her ear, "In back on a makeshift stretcher. Had to shoot her - not much blood lost! Stuck a handful of tranks on her - don't know how long they'll last! It is as though she were crazy!" Bella turned to Kenner and explained the situation with a series of quick hand signals. Kenner nodded and climbed into the back of the chopper. Bella followed her. Inside the cabin, Bella turned back to help with Li. She lay there as if dead - her sallow skin blending into the dull grey beneath her. She looked very much like a child until a frown creased her face. Kenner had pulled the trank patches from her skin - there'd be a few second delay before the direct feed she'd wrapped around Li's wrist could begin. Li's eyes fluttered open - Bella caught a glimpse of glassy metal before they closed once more. Kenner handed Bella a curved piece of plastic. She fitted it around Li's neck and shoulders - bending it to rest snug against her. She took a metal canister from the medkit and pointed the nozzle into a small opening on top. It hissed for a few seconds then stopped - Bella snapped the canister from its nozzle and tossed it back into the kit. She tapped the plastic a few times, bending low over it and straining to hear an echo. Satisfied she nodded to Kenner. Kenner finished buckling the straps that held the hard plastic sheet she'd slid under Li's body. A few seconds later both mechanics were out of the chopper and sliding Li out behind them. MecLan had the stretcher up and ready for her. Running Wolf and Medicine Man each grasped an end - lifting her up and onto the bed of the stretcher. MecLan and the other woman, Ylse, each grabbed a free end and with Kenner running along side with the instruments they headed for the house. Bella watched them disappear under the eaves of the mansion before walking forward to the pilot's door. As she walked, she noted how the Wyvern's armor had been gouged and scarred by the fire from the ARES forces. At the pilot's door, she tapped twice to get Nekoko's attention. No response. Bella made a fist and really began pounding on the cockpit door. ********************* While Nekoko was running another quick check of the instrumentation, she heard a pounding on the cockpit door. Nekoko leaned over and pushed it partially open. Now the throbbing of the rotors was much louder, the downwash blew into the cockpit and stirred the dust. Standing outside, hunched over in protection from the noise of the rotors stood Bella. As the door opened, Bella raised her eyes to look at Nekoko. Nekoko blinked. Bella had her Mechanic's armor on, a dusty black blue. A black stripe ran over her cheekbones and across her nose. It gave the woman a odd tribal look. "Can you shut this piece of shit down for a couple of minutes?" Bella screamed at Nekoko. Nekoko shook her head. "No. I don't think it'll start again. Got to keep moving. Can't leave it here..." "Whatcha got in mind?" Bella shouted over the whine of the turbines. "Fly it to the other side of the Sound. Hide it on someone's meadow. Use my motorcycle to get away." "And then?" "Not sure. Probably come back here..." Bella reached into her toolbag and pulled out what looked like a wide silver wristband. With her other hand, she reached up into the cockpit and pulled on one of Nekoko's arms. She clamped the wristband on Nekoko's wrist and flicked a panel. "Look into this opening!" Nekoko's cat eyes narrowed with suspicion and her cat ears flickered back. "It's a homing device! I want to key it to your retina print! Do it!" Bella scowled impatiently as Nekoko put the opening up to her eye. "Good! It'll direct you back here and will broadcast the proper codes once you start hitting the security shields! Don't take it off under any circumstances - no matter what! Ok?" Nekoko nodded slowly. "Ryokai!" "Great! Be careful." Bella slammed the cockpit door shut. Nekoko watched her scuttle from underneath the circle of the rotors and run towards the house. The impact of slamming the door shifted the life raft mounted on the cockpit door, making it fold over onto her foot. Nekoko put down a hand and stuffed it back into the holder. The helicopter was falling apart as she sat. She hoped it would hold together just a few moments longer. ************************** "Stay alive, Nekoko, stay alive," Bella whispered to herself. The whine of the turbines rose to a shriek as Nekoko brought up the power. Dirty black smoke blurred the air behind the turbines' exhaust. The rotor's throbbing got louder, sharper. The Wyvern's running lights came on, flashing red and white. Bella wiped her eyes; the propwash from the rotors had made them water. She put her hands over her ears and watched as the helicopter rose into the air and climbed into the clouds. Then, with a final look at the cloud in which Nekoko had disappeared, Bella turned and walked into the house. *************************** It had been a slow, careful liftoff this time. Nekoko knew that a wrecked helicopter would definitely draw unwanted attention to this neighborhood. Above her, the clouds thickened. She grabbed altitude until she was bumping into the bottom of the clouds, then she turned west towards the ocean. Behind her, the sun disappeared behind a thick cold layer of clouds. Five minutes later, the main generator faded away. Half of the indicators dropped onto their pegs, useless. "Kuso!" Nekoko swore as she started the auxilary generator. The main computers rebooted, the systems returned to life. Just a little further, just a little further, Nekoko prayed. The clouds thickened, and now she was flying through the stuff. Her computers showed her flying west by southwest, still on her planned course. Hydraulic pressure was now minimal; Nekoko could feel the stick becoming sluggish in its response. The Air Traffic Control chose this moment to come online again. "Attention, unidentified flight. Your flight plans have not been found on any ARES systems. Your transponder codes match that of a aircraft reported stolen from ARES today. Land immediately for accurate identification." Nekoko swore again. Only another three minutes and she could leave this flying wreck. "Unidentified flight. Your silence has been noted and logged as a violation of UCAS airspace. An interception has been ordered. If you do not respond to our demands, we will use force." The message was then repeated in Japanese. As the message was being repeated in Russian, Nekoko powered off the radio. A quick check of the defense systems showed that the radar could not see anything within a few miles of her. Then the left turbine blew up. Nekoko was thrown against the side of her seat as the helicopter shook. The life raft bounced out onto the cockpit floor. Her ears rang with the sound. The indicators in front of her jumped around, then froze. The lights went dark as the auxilary generator failed. The sticks were useless. The hydraulic pressure was completely gone. The rotors slowed. Nekoko's stomach lurched as the helicopter began to drop. Around her, the clouds were grey and shapeless. She knew she was falling, but her eyes told her that she was hanging in space. Her butt felt real heavy, heavy, as if some great weight was being put on it. Her stomach seemed to want to drop through her hips. But above her, the rotors were spinning again. Auto-rotation, Nekoko thought. She had been high enough for the blades to autorotate. Then she might not die after all. But she was still falling fast. A stray seagull dropped in front of her cockpit window, keeping pace with her as the helicopter dropped. The clouds parted, disappeared. Below her, the sea stretched. Small waves and white foam. Still falling fast, too fast... The helicopter struck the water, front end first. A wave spread out from the wreck, to be lost in myriad other waves. Then there was silence. Smaller waves crashed against the body of the Wyvern, each time, striking it higher and higher. Bubbles and froth, oil and debris washed away from the wreck. A few seagulls dove at the debris, seeing if anything was edible. Now, another small crash, and the helicopter leaned over. Water spilled over, poured inside. More bubbles, more oil. The seagulls called out. The cockpit disappeared beneath the waves. Waves swept over the starred windows, the turbine intakes, the rotor blades, and then, finally, the tail structure. A moment later, only an oil patch in water, calmer then the surrounding waters, marked the site of the crash. The seagulls rose and circled around again. And then there was only waves, wind and the sound of the seagulls. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ÖÄÒÄ· Ò . . Ö Ò Ò º ÇÄ· Ò ÖÄÄ Ò ÖÄÄ Ä×Ä ÇÄ· ÖÄ· ÖÄ· ·Ä· ÖĶ Ð ½ ½ ½ ÄĽ ½ ÄĽ Ð ½ ½ ÓÄÄ ÓÄÄ ½ ½ ÓÄÐ o o o