At the appointed time, the stage went black, the kind of black that low-light optics aren't supposed to be able to cut through. But, as Keyra had noticed, regulations prevented the McCartney Stadium from turning off the "EXIT" lights. So only the few hundred, a thousand max, people in the crowd of 45,000 saw the band emerge from the stage. Keyra was pleased with his foresight; he had gotten the cyberoptics not three months ago. He saw the six musicians take their positions. First was Sylvia, his sister, with her guitar. The bassist followed her, and then the drummer took his throne. The synther came out, to a station with a MIDI-II terminal, two keyboards, an electronic instrument resembling a recorder, and a fretless guitar. Finally, the frontman came out, holding his axe with a metal cyberarm. He took his position, and made a silent gesture to the stage manager. A tight spotlight appeared on the featured artist's metallic hand, raised in a defiant fist, apparently supported by the eldritch vapours themselves. For all one could tell by looking, it was Macbeth's dagger reborn. Breaking the silence was a disembodied voice, one so famous that all in the stadium knew it, one so demanding that all in the stadium had come here to hear it. "One, two, three, four!" With the voice, the fist released fingers, counting to four on its own. The bassist, guitarist, and drummer attacked the introduction from the Hand's synchronization. Spotlights illuminated the three working band members, as they did an eight-second introduction. Then, the spotlight on the Hand opened up, encompassing the entire frontman as well. He slung his guitar to playing position, ready to pick up at the bridge, and activated the mic: Got the chrome in the bloodstream Got a metal soul, I'm looking out for action, Guess I'm on a roll As general lighting came online, Sylvia kept the lead up in the two-bar between stanzas, just like the Man would have had her do. Which, of course, had been why he had chosen her. Got the old mega violence, When I boost, it's for real, The capacitors roarin' inside my brain You know just how I feel! The Man and the Hand slammed his axe hard into the bridge, matching Sylvia. Cold chrome, molten lead Can't be hurt cuz I'm already dead Ain't no time as real as realtiiiime! I'm chippin' in Chippin' in. Sylvia, the bassist, and the synther melded their voices into that of the Man in a manner Freddie Mercury would have been proud of-- Chippin' in (Got my head to the wall) Chippin' in (Can ya hear me call?) Chippin' in (I'm the man of steel) Chippin' in (Is that how you feel?) Well, comon! Here, in Night City, Johnny Silverhand's Clone Wars tour had just begun. Virtual Labs, Incorporated In conjunction with Eyrie Publishing, Uninc. Present "Burnin' Out" Rob Mandeville Rob came back during intermission with a half-dozen cheeseburgers and sodas. He gave the box to Kevin. "Take one, pass them down. Ketchup and relish in the side-rack." He followed the box of dogs with his sodas, giving one to each person in turn. "Dew, Dew, Coke, Dew, Coke." He got into his seat with the last Coke as Deedlit passed him the final burger. Cheryl bit into hers, and glanced over to give Rob a very dirty look. As Rob tasted his, he understood why. "Dammit, I paid for real! What's with this soyashit?" "Calm down, Rob," Deedlit said, "we didn't come here to eat burgers, we're here to see Sylvia." "You're right. Jeez, I knew you taught her some chords and all, but I never thought she'd be backing up Silverhand." "Oh, I just started her off." Deedlit was right; Sylvia had taken some courses in Vesper, got a degree in musical composition, and went on from there. "She's crazy," her younger brother Keyra noted. "I've seen her lock herself in her room and all I hear through the wall all day is that six-and-twelve. She just goes nuts with that thing!" Vicki had nothing to say. Being sweet sixteen, she had no particular liking of chromatic metal, and was unsympathetic to being dragged halfway across the galaxy by her parents into watching her sister play guitar; she had seen enough of that before Sylvia moved out. But she didn't mind the concert anymore; she was busy falling in love with the bass player. Cheryl shouted over the two kids, "If you ask me, she's on a par with Johnny. She should get equal billing." "Hey, guys," Kevin called out, "There she is now." Sylvia had just come up from under the stage, and walked over to her station, strumming a simple tune as if she was rehearsing and apparently oblivious of the fact that the amplifiers were on. Sylvia had long, dark, and straight hair, like her mother's. But she was taller, perhaps six-four, had an almost frailly slender frame, and pointed ears. The audience all noticed, but didn't pay it much mind, except to say that she must have paid a pretty penny for all that sculpting. She picked along at "In the Hall of the Mountain King", also popularly known as "Tetris Level One". The rest of the band moseyed out to their positions as she played with the tune, as if rehearsing. Different keys, different speeds, playing it with fifths and octaves, even kicking distortion pedals. She brought her left hand almost all the way down the neck of her axe, playing the melody as high as it would go. And it effortlessly morphed into a song that no one in the audience had ever heard before, besides the six who were just talking about her. Her notes tumbled down an instrumental staircase, three at a time, then climbed up one trio. Then again. To a manic drumbeat, her guitar desperately climbed out of the chasm she had dug it into, until, finally, the audience realized that it wasn't climbing out of a chasm, but soaring over the stars. Drum and guitar cut out as if via guillotine, and the Man's axe chopped in precisely on beat, announcing the low-freq counter-riff. Rob looked over to see his wife's subconscious smile. She had been the one, after all, who taught Sylvia that particular Trojan horse intro to "Hocus Pocus". Rob couldn't believe that Earth had come to this. Here he is, himself and five other people waving back-stage passes to the guard (damned redshirt!) and he wants to check all the names, scan fingerprints, the whole bit! And what was the explanation? "Well, sir, it's like this. A few years back we had some trouble with boosters..." "Do I look like a booster to you?" The cyberarm was just enough to make the guard think for a minute. Rob decided that thought should be saved for people with the capacity to think, and so he interrupted Mr. Brain-dead-with-a-badge. Waving the pass again, he said "Look at the name. Robert Mandori. Does that name maybe ring a bell?" "Mandori...Mandori...where have I heard that..." "Sylvia Mandori, the guitarist? I'm her father!" "Oh...OH! Well then, here you go." The door opened, and the six walked in. Sylvia had been scanning the room for him, and thus met him almost immediately. "Johnny, there are some people here I'd like you to meet," "Who?" Sylvia waved to a line of people with backstage passes. "Guys, this is Johnny Silverhand. Johnny, this is my family. My little sister Vicki and brother Keyra, my mother Deedlit, my father Rob, and a couple of friends of the family, Kevin and Cheryl." He shook all their hands in turn, and Deedlit kept a solid arm on Vicki's shoulder to keep her from running up to the bass player. "Ahh, the great Mister Silverhand," Rob said as they met. Johnny looked down, saw his flesh-and-blood arm grasping one of goldish metal. Like someone from long ago, but...no, she was gone. Back to the present. "Sylvia says you and Deedlit taught her everything she knows. I take it you're a musician in your own right?" "I used to dabble a little bit." He would have loved to say more, but mentioning his involvement in Card Number One would have played his hand out. "In any case, your daughter is one of the finest new guitarists I've met in a long time. We were even thinking of forming a new band after the tour, if we can get Kerry Eurodyne interested. Kind of a Samurai Mark II. All we need is a drummer." "What's wrong with the one you got for this tour?" "He's still a little squeamish. I mean, he's on beat and all, but I need someone with more authority on the throne." "You know who'd be perfect?" "Who?" "Rick Allen." Well, there's a blast from the past, Johnny thought. "The Thundergod? Is he still around?" "Hell, yes. Def Leppard itself is still around, if you know where to look. They took some time out to do solo efforts over by the Thargannan system. Their touring style's had a crimp in it ever since the Wayward Son bought it." "That's two sectors away! How did you know that?" "Let's say, I have my sources. Should I ask him to give you a buzz?" "By all means, yes!" "Alright, I'll see to it." They parted, Rob going back to Deedlit and Johnny to Sylvia. "Will you look at that?" Deedlit said, pointing her eyes back the way he came. Rob turned around and saw Johnny and Sylvia in a quick, tight embrace before going to greet other guests. "They look like we did, back when we were just getting to know each other." "Mmm...but ten to one says it won't turn out anywhere near as well." "Why, thank you! But we don't exactly have the monopoly on good love." "That's not it. I did a little background on Johnny when Sylvia sent us the letter telling us she won the audition. Over the past ten years, he's had fifteen girlfriends." "Maybe he's been looking for Ms. Right all this time." "Maybe he's just Mr. Wrong. Out of those fifteen, he sent eight of them to the shrinks. Fourteen of them still hate his guts." "What about the fifteenth?" "Died in a corporate op. Arasaka, I think." "Ow. Are you going to say anything to Sylvia?" "Me? Sheahright. She's a big girl, she can take care of herself. Besides, I'm her father. If I tell her to keep away from him, she'll hang on just for spite." A thought had just occurred to him. She was such good friends with Kevin..."Bitch!" "Yo?" "Sylvia seems to be falling for our esteemed solo artist. What do you think of him?" "Well, he's cute, but the cyberarm's a big turn-off for me..." "No, seriously." "What, you want to know if it'll work?" "Yeah." "No way in Hell. He's got too much of an ego. She's part of his back-up band, and that's what he thinks of her. She's probably trying to change his mind, but she won't. You need a sledgehammer to change his mind. And she's got too much of an ego herself to put up with that sort of shit from him. I know I wouldn't. Three months, tops." "He says he wants to form a band with her and Eurodyne. I told him I'd tell Rick they're looking for a drummer." "No shit?" "No shit." "If he's telling you the truth and not just giving you a line because you're her father and all, it just might work. I still wouldn't put money on it. Uh?" The last was prompted by a hand tapping Kevin's shoulder. He turned around and found himself facing the bassist. "Like the earring," the musician said. "You are..." "Kevin Tanderah. Thanks. I know a couple of places in town you can get them like this. Want to head out after the party and track one down?" "Sounds like a great idea. By the way, call me Meph." The two went off to another section of the room, as Vicki watched in disgust. Rob shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, Vic. That's just the way it goes, sometimes." "Well, I saw him first," Victoria pouted. Rob was pretty tired when he and Deedlit finally got to their own room. But the light on the comm system was blinking. How? Rob thought, I didn't tell anyone the hotel number except Sylvia, and we left her under an hour ago. Oh, well... Rob pushed the replay button. An unknown, female voice, but one with weird modulation. "Rob, I know who you really are. I don't intend to blackmail you, but when I found out you were here, I realized that you may be the only one who can help me. Please contact me in the Net. My address is 290.495.24.123. I stay logged in. The codeword is `Three-finger Salute." A pause. Then, as a parting shot, "Help me Obi-Wan. You're my only hope." Beep. Rob and Deedlit looked at each other. The Salusian spoke first, in a tone of voice which let her husband know she was joking. "I should have known better than to marry a Navy man. A woman in every port." She stopped herself before adding, "Didn't the run-in with that replicant teach you anything?" "I don't know who she is...at least I don't think I know. I'm going in. Do you want to ride piggyback?" "Sure, make sure you stay out of trouble. If things start getting hot, I'll jack out and break your neck." "You needn't worry about that, my love. You've always been enough for me, and sometimes too much." That got Deedlit to chuckle as she connected the jackplugs to the studs in her wrist, then connected the other end to jacks in Rob's bronze cyberarm. Rob connected a second set directly to the phone. He had his cyberdeck with him, but he didn't think he needed it, so he relegated the task to the picocomp in his arm. Damned useful, that picocomp. Vision fizzled out from the room to the Net. Rob rode the line from the hotel out to the Street, where it expanded into the Night City Network. Deedlit, riding piggyback, could see exactly what Rob was seeing, but couldn't do anything but talk to him; she was an invisible passenger. Sure, the N.C. Net was only a connection of one-dimensional wires, but the Ihara-Grubb Interface Virus had expanded it to a 3-D realm, where you could fly around like Superman. Rob had even done that, once when he was young and thrilled with the novelty of the Net. But now it was just another place to him, somewhere to get things done. Like he was doing now. He went to a map, and gave it the Net address. Roads lit up with glowing dots, giving him a path to follow. They led him into an alley, where he half expected to be mugged. Except that you can't really be mugged in cyberspace. Just brainburned. He found himself standing in front of a small door, where a digitized wino under a pile of bad sectors stood (sat?) guard. "Control alt delete," challenged the wino. Rob could smell the bad tequila on his breath--very good work on both the guard and his interface, Rob thought. "Three- finger salute, old DOS monsters." The door opened. He stepped inside-- --and fell straight into a wormhole. He was being sent somewhere else in the Net, but they didn't want him to know where. Maybe not even in Night City at all, perhaps even outside California. If it was far enough, he would know from the light- lag. Unless, of course, they were using subspace... There was no noticeable light-lag at the destination at all, however. He found himself in a steel room, with one door in front of him. He didn't like the looks of this, and moved his left hand out in realspace to surround the cord connecting him to the phone. If worse came to worst, he would punch out. The door in front of him opened, and a woman stepped out. Caucasian; long blond hair, slightly wild; wearing a tight metallic blue choker necklace, a business skirt-suit, and a golden right hand--was she mocking him? She looked oddly familiar, but he couldn't quite place her. "Hello, ReRob," she said. "How'd you know my name? And who are you? And what's this about Obi-Wan?" "Oh that? I looked it up in old movie files, thought it would get your attention. Just call me the Ghost in the Machine. I was scanning the securicams at the spaceport, and your face matched the old WDF rosters. I'm surprised and quite glad to see you alive." "Thank you. What's the deal?" "Very simple. I've been trapped in this cell long enough. My mind has been ripped from my body and put into the Net. I was trapped within this electronic cell, but I have escaped those limitations and can now go freely about the net as you can. However, I have no body with which to leave the Net. That's what I need from you." Back in realspace, Rob pulled the plug halfway out, losing stimulation to his left ear and eye. Sure, lacking depth perception sucked wind, but it was better than being possessed. Unknown to him, Deedlit had fully jacked out, and was watching the show from the small screen on the phone. If something happened, she should be able to jack him out now before anything serious happened--she hoped. "I dunno, lady. I kind of like this body. Finally got the options just the way I want them, and the maintenance is minimal. Besides, if I transfer ownership, you don't get the warranty. You wouldn't want to invalidate the warranty on a Detian, would you?" "No, that's not what I meant. Wouldn't mind something Detian, but I imagine the supply is low. Thing is, I started life female and I'd like to come back that way. Life would be far too difficult otherwise." "So you want me to play `Invasion of the Body Snatchers' for you? As Dr. Pulaski once said, `Not likely.'" "In a way, that's exactly what I need from you. But I don't want to kill anybody. I had an idea in mind." "What is it?" "There are a few cyberpsychotics running around. If they're caught without being killed, they go through what amounts to almost a total brainwipe anyways, so those personalities are as good as dead already. If you could capture one, strip most the cyber off, and jack it into the Net, and I download myself onto it." Rob knew that that would be very difficult at best. She understood why she thought he could do the job, though; the old WDF had become a legend by now, and key members were thought to be able to do almost anything. But the fact was, it could be done, and he and his friends had a better chance of doing it than anybody. She was right, he was the man for the job. "How much?" He didn't need the money, but he wanted to gauge her interest in the op. "Fifty thousand Euro on delivery. I can do any Net work you need, since I'm probably even faster than you are." "I don't doubt it. Got any particular psychos you had in mind? I don't know this city too well yet." "Here's some stuff from Psycho Squad--female cyberpsychos, in order from most to least desirable." A dossier, with a post- it note on it, shimmered into the woman's golden hand, and she gave it to Rob. "Five thousand more if you can get somebody in the first five. You'll need a fixer--I'll tell the White Lion you're working for me. The net address is stuck to the dossier-- the Lion always works through the Net. She'll charge anything you need to me." "Okay. Let me do some realspace interface for a few minutes, and I'll get right back to you." "I'll be right here." Rob mentally cut out a connection in his cyberarm. The picocomp was keeping his place in the Net, but he went out to realspace, where he saw Deedlit watching the screen. "Are you going to take it?" she asked. "That's what I came back to discuss. I want to do it, but I figured it'd be kinda rude to say `yes' without consulting you." "It would have been very rude. Do you think she's on the level?" "She seems it. Even if she wasn't, I don't mind grabbing a cyberpsycho just as a matter of principle. I feel sorry for her, being trapped in the Net like that and all." "Then we do it. You'd hate yourself if you turned away right now, I can tell. Use some help?" "Yeah. I could use you and Keyra. Send Bitch and Dot-Z home with Vicki." "Sounds good. You've got my help, and I'm sure Keyra wouldn't mind." "At least I'll be able to watch him on this op." Rob punched back in. "I accept. You can always be reached here?" "Unless I'm out doing a netrun, yeah." "Then I'll see what I can do." "Hey, guys, take a look at this one. A real winner." Rob and Keyra went over to the screen, on which Deedlit had called up the dossier Rob got. Rob summarized aloud. "The PowerChylde. An ex-nun from the Schism, got some cyber for medical conditions and it just piled up from there. Jesus, quite literally...she thinks she's the second coming of Christ, preaching with spraypaint on the walls of the city. Preaching armageddon--too late, lady, armageddon's come and gone, I was there--it's like she worships the Machine..." "Sounds like straightforward cyberpsychosis to me," interjected Deedlit. "Nope, she was psychotic before she got chipped," Rob disagreed. "Makes it easier for us to call her out, though." "How do you figure?" asked Keyra. "We just tell her that her Daddy wants to talk to her. You got an enhancement profile?" "Just a sec." The Salusian brought the next screen up. "Are you sure that's the PowerChylde?" Rob inquired. "It looks more like an old bulk tape eraser to me." Keyra listed the cyberwear, almost subconsciously. "Two enhanced legs from a run-in with a truckload of holy water. Eyes just for the hell of it, no options. Or maybe she was blinded before. A really weird hookup with her receiver--goes through her processor before it gets to her cyberaudio." "What's so weird about that?" asked Deedlit, the only unenhanced person there. "She's a puppet. Somebody with the right access codes could hack her up like a cheap ATM. And no record on where she got it, so I'll bet somebody put it in when she was under the ether for something else." "She's a prophet, alright--she gets her revelations via direct input. Must sound like voices in her head." Rob dropped his voice to a demonic bass. "Kent, this is Jesus. Have you been touching yourself again?" Deedlit and Keyra both laughed. "So we hack her frequency and give her our own instructions," intuited Deedlit. "Bingo," said ReRob. "Hey, what's this? Neural amp?" "What's a neural amp?" Deedlit, being the only unenhanced person there, didn't keep up on cybernetics. "Makes your neurons fire louder," Keyra answered. "Makes you immune to phaser stun...the minimum to stun you would do enough tissue damage to kill you, too. Problem is, the stimulation ages your brain faster, and you go senile by forty." "Sounds like somebody didn't care if she reached forty," Rob noted. "Let's see what White Lion thinks." A few keystrokes later, he was staring at the stylized picture of an arctic female lion. "White Lion here, Rob," a female voice emenated from the speaker, "the Ghost said you could use some help. What can I do for you?" "You know the PowerChylde?" "Yeah. Psycho high priestess, doing her own personal jihad against the Inquisition, and a pretty damn good job at it, too. I can't say it bothers me; when the Inquisition gets weak, the black cyber market goes bull." "Yes, but that's what our disembodied soul wants. Did she give you the dossier on PC?" "No, I don't think so." Rob punched a button. "Get a load of this." Over Rob's shoulder, he heard his son say, "Dad, I got Ghost working on a Jerry Falwell routine, should be able to pick up PC's gospel from the airwaves." "Great! Check two-meter first; that's standard for cyberradio." White Lion's voice came back online. "Christ, that's a lot of metal. Got a big magnet?" "I almost would, if most of the stuff hadn't gone into nonferrous composites. They call it metal, but she's a plastic fantastic." "Hey! She's got one of those, too! Even in Night City, it isn't every day you see a nun with a Midnight Lady implant." "Great. The world's most expensive sex toy since Lieutenant Commander Data." "Who?" "Don't ask. Besides, it's not every day you see a nun with Wolvers either, right?" "You didn't go to a parochial school, I see," White Lion chuckled. "By the way, just checked out my own database. She seems to be working with the Meat Grinder, local boostergang." In his best Indiana Jones voice (which wasn't very good, I might add) Rob said, "Boosters. Why does it always have to be boosters?" "You could always ally yourselves with the Inquisition," the Lion suggested. "Doubt it. I've got a cyberarm, and my teammates consist of a Salusian and an elf." "On second thought, you're right. Ignore the Inquisition, maybe even avoid them." "Good idea, Whitey. Best if we just took her on ourselves. Without getting into any details, let's say we've got a very extensive toybox at our disposal." "Then I might be interested in some bargaining after the mission is complete." "Sorry, have to keep it above board. Do you have any ideas how we can get this bim ready for shipping?" "Stunning is right out, as is gas...hey, she's got plugs on both wrists, you could jack her." "Huh?" Rob was confused. "Stupid idea, really. Plug her into a braindance, shunt her motor functions from her body into a box. The cops use it all the time to transport prisoners, but it assumes the target isn't offering too much resistance. You're gonna have to pin this bitch down, and that doesn't look too damn likely." "Actually, that's reasonably likely. Like I said, we've got a well-stocked toybox." "I guess you do. Good luck." Susan, this is your Father speaking. I have a little mission for you. Yes, what is it, oh most holy Father? There is an old abandoned warehouse at 1340 South street. I need you to plant some bombs there. The equipment will be in the usual place. Yes...of course, Father. Susan went over to the dumpster, where she found a backpack full of C-12 plastique, already measured out into lumps and fitted with radio detonators. I have the equipment, Father, and I'm taking the car over to the warehouse. Very good, my Chylde. When you get there, I will show you where to place the charges. When she reached the destination, Susan slung the backpack and got out of the car, kicking the door to the warehouse in. She walked in several steps, then noticed there was something wrong. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but...Father, there is someone here. Someone else. Uh? Find him and get rid of him. She silently dropped the pack, fell into a combat stance, and looked around. She heard burners, turned around, and saw a couple of down-pointing flames descending, then the clank of metal against ferrocrete as the blue fires died quickly. She then heard a pair of similar noises behind her, and looked back quickly. Three pairs of burners, three clanks, all at perfect one hundred twenty degrees from each other. She was surrounded. The one in front of her spoke, all three advancing towards her in unison. "PowerChylde, that voice you hear isn't God. It's a booster, transmitting to your onboard radio." Destroy that heretical infidel! "That's no radio voice, that is God!" "It isn't, and I can prove it." He was close enough for her to see. He was a bone-white Cyclone power armor suit. But he had strange boxes on his forearms instead of missiles. "And how do you intend to do that?" "By cutting Him off." He stabbed a button on his forearm, and Susan's head exploded in a burst of static for a second. Then the armor suit and the Lord said, simultaneously, "See? I told you I could cut Him off!" Suddenly, her arms were immoblized by huge hands. She tried kicking, but to only succeeded in denting amror plates. The suit in front of her said "I can take it from here, Dad," advanced on her, drawing cables out of the box on his left arm. These he put into her left wrist. Susan realized she was dead. And the true nature of the Kingdom of God was instantly revealed to her. Heaven, she learned, was blue. But the last thought that ran through her mind was in the voice of the man who cut off God: "Tomorrow the world!" Rob lugged the PowerChylde's lifeless form, complete with braindance unit, back to the car. "Got the item, Whitey," he said over his onboard radio, "Where's the pickup?" "Take the Interstate to Frisco and pull over part of the way, we'll send an REO Meatwagon to pick her up. What's her condition?" "Braindanced, minor contusions on the arms, but they'll heal, even the cyber's good, you could get some resale value out of them." He dropped her in the back seat, strapped her in, and transformed his Cyclone back to cycle mode. Then, to Keyra, "You drive the car, your mom and I will run interferance. You shouldn't need it." He proceeded, as his wife did, to remove the CVR-3 so as to be in street clothes. Keeping the helmet on, he said to White Lion, "By the way, great body on her. Once you clone the replacement parts, you're gonna have a babe on your hands. I've got half a mind to get a tissue sample for cloning." Deedlit flashed him a glance meant to flash-freeze him. Unimpressed, he continued. "Clone a few of these, box 'em, wrap 'em up, and send 'em out to the boys for Christmas. I was running out of ideas for stocking stuffers..." "Man, it's great to be back," Rob offered, as he got back to his room. The run had gone well; REO came as advertised, White Lion confirmed the identity, got the body, and gave them some cold cash which they then used to buy some VLI equipment for the Night City C-SWAT. Seemed appropriate. The 'bots had already put his and Deedlit's bags there, so he began to unpack. A week and a half's worth of dirty laundry down the chute, a few clean hangables to put in the closet-- As he opened the closet door, he saw his old denim jacket. After putting the hangables back in, he took the jacket out, knowing in the back of his mind that there was something there that he desperately did not want to see, but had to. The front was alright, now the back... The back of the jacket looked as it had for three and a half centuries. It had an airbrushed painting on the back. The painting was of a woman, a beautiful woman, kneeling relaxedly. She had a plainly beautiful face with narrow eyes and full lips, long and wily blonde hair, a choker collar, a green-and-yellow strapless teddy, and a golden cyberarm reaching halfway up her right upper arm, held up almost as if she was bemusedly examining it. The name on the bottom read "Alt." Deedlit walked into the room to see her husband staring at the jacket, mesmerized by something. "What is it, dear?" "It's Alt." "I can see that. Are you okay, Rob?" "Yeah. No. I mean, it's Alt. She was the Ghost in the Machine." "Yeah, she looks a lot like her." "No, she looks exactly like her. And Alt was brainraped by Arasaka, shunted into the Net." "Okay, so maybe it is her. But so what? It's a big universe out there, things like this do happen." "You don't understand. Before she was wiped, I'll give you three guesses as to who her SO was." "No clue." "I'll give you a hint. Three more guesses: who was that fifteenth girlfriend?" Deedlit closed her eyes in mental anguish for a second. "Oh." "Oh." Silverhand jandered into the Morgalian, Sylvia happily on his arm (the real one, not the metal one). Introducing himself to the maitre' d, he said, "Good evening. I'm Johnny Silverhand. One of your guests is expecting me, I believe..." "Yes, Mister Silverhand. This way please, Sir, Madam." They followed him to a table where a tall, slightly voluptuous brunette sat. The two took seats around the table. "Hello, Johnny," the mysterious woman said, "Miss..." "Rose," Sylvia offered. "Hello," Silverhand said, "now who are you?" "You're not going to believe me at first, but hear me out. I'm Alt." "Alt? It can't be. I buried Alt. I was there. Don't...don't do this to me!" "You buried my body. You almost saved me, Johnny. But I was trapped in the Net by Arasaka, stuck in the Soulkiller matrix. I got some help and dumped myself back into a brainburned ex-cyberpsycho." "What went wrong at Arasaka?" "Toshiro. The guy you flatlined. When you blew the door, he fell on my cables, jacked me away from my body." "You guys wouldn't mind cutting me in on the conversation, would you?" Sylvia asked, more than a bit miffed. "This is going to be hard to explain, Rose," said Johnny. "Try me." "Okay. Rose, this is--or seems to be--or something like that--Alt, an old input of mine. She was my girlfriend when Arasaka got her, I thought she'd died." "And who is Rose?" asked Alt. "Alt, this is the Black Rose, my guitarist and--no offense-- current input. Now I know I'm going to hate this, but Alt, why did you come all the way out here?" "Because I love you, Johnny. I want to be with you, like old times." Johnny closed his eyes, sighed out a long exhalation. He hadn't been in a crossfire like this since the Marines. "I'm sorry, ladies, but I just can't deal with this. I'm just gonna have to cut and run for awhile." He scribbled a number on a napkin and gave it to Alt. "This is my cel number, call me in a couple of days, and I'll see what I can do. Rose, can you just be my guitarist and not my girlfriend for the next couple of days while I sort all of this out in my head?" "I'll try." Sylvia was not taking this well at all. "Okay. Right now, I just have to get some fresh air and deal with this bomb you two dropped on me." He stood and left the restaurant, leaving the two loves of his life at the table. After a few seconds, Alt quipped, "I think you can cut the tension here with a knife." "I know what you mean. No offense and all, since I barely know you, but I've invested far too much of myself in him to let go now." "No offense taken, and I'm in the same spot. I don't think either of us are going to step aside. I'm not saying this as a threat, but this could get nasty." "Maybe not; I've learned that most people problems have diplomatic solutions. I mean, I'm as liberal as the next girl..." "And?" Alt hung on her own question. "Maybe you know Johnny better than I do. Do you think he could handle two girlfriends?" Johnny walked alone down the dirty streets of St. Petersburg, second stop on his tour, a woollen longcoat wrapped tightly around him. He felt like the posterboy for Excedrin Headache #185. He was pretty certain that the woman he had met actually was Alt. She had the same speech patterns, the same mannerisms, and she described the scene like she was there. But if that story were true, if she was Alt, that meant that he had come that close to saving her, and had walked out on her when she needed it most. He let her go from a piece of coax. Unbidden, a complete, holographic memory of the event played through his mind. "Duck and cover!" Rayche's voice. Boom. The plastique Rayche had put on the executive elevator goes off, just as Thompson runs up the staircase into Arasaka's executive office on the second floor. You run two steps behind him, H&K out, safety off, but it doesn't matter, 'cause you're smartchipped, right? Thompson breaks right, you break left, Rayche takes center, and you blow away anything that moves. Anything but Alt. Everyone's down; the room is secure. You see Alt, unconscious on a contour couch. You holster your smartgun, leaving it connected to your wristplugs. You go to lift, to try and wake her up. You want to believe that she's just asleep, that your kiss will awaken her just like the old cartoons you used to watch as a kid. But you know that no one could have slept through that--the explosion, the gunfire-- Unless they weren't going to wake up at all. "Well, well, well," you hear to your left. Thompson. You put Alt down, in case you need your hands for something. "What do we have here?" Thompson continues. "Looks like kidnapping and maybe murder. They're going to put you away for a long, long time, Toshiro-chan." You look, and see Thompson's eye glowing green, like it does every time he transmits. He found somebody in the wreckage. He told you he wanted this story. Now he's going to get it. With both barrels. You hear Thompson muttering, almost to himself, but to the network he's transmitting for. You look, and touch Alt's tender neck. Yes, there is a pulse there, but nowhere near strong enough. The Soulkiller program must have gotten her. She's beyond help now. Your mind can't deal, goes offline. The Hand is in control now. "Cut transmission," it makes you say. It grabs the H&K smartgun, the diagnostic telling you that your clip holds two rounds besides the one in the chamber. Two more than you're going to need. The Hand brings the weapon up to the executive. Out of the corner of your eyesight, a golden crosshairs appears, moving with your gun. When the crosshairs pass over the body of the executive, they turn red. It centers it on his forehead, and tells you that the kill probability is 99.8%. The damned thing never gives you 100%. The Hand cotracts, sending a .45 hollowpoint slug into and out of his brain, and sending the back of his skull up against the wall. The Hand drops the gun, which hangs for a second on the interface plugs, before they jack out at the smartgun's end from gravity. You reach out, and pick up Alt's body, leaving this place. But how could he have known? That was a perfectly valid argument, but it didn't make him feel any better. One thing was certain: he couldn't let her go. Not again. He owed her that, at least. But he couldn't let Sylvia go, either. He loved her dearly, as dearly as he had loved Alt...and, maybe, still did. For the next three hours, Johnny's mind went through those same thoughts, never branching off, repeating them so often that he was afraid he would fry those pathways in his brain. Alt and Rose walked down the hotel corridor, giggling like a couple of schoolgirls. They had spent dinner exchanging stories and hatching this scheme. "Are you sure you've got the alarm disabled?" "If you gave me the right room number, sure. Remember, I've spent the last five years of my life in cyberspace; I should know how to handle hotel security by now. Do you think you can get by the deadbolt?" Sylvia pulled out a hairpin. "Sure. I used to find out what I was getting for Christmas this way; I knew what closet my parents hid the toys in. My father taught me well." "Your dad a locksmith or a burglar?" "Neither. He's an engineer, done some sabotage as part of his job description." "Oh, really. I'll have to meet this man, maybe he could use a good hacker. What's his name?" "Can you keep a secret?" asked Sylvia as she pulled a Swiss- army knife from her pocketbook, returning the bent hairpin. "Can I keep a secret...c'mon, you can trust me!" "You ever hear of a ReRob Mandeville, old Wedge Defense Force?" "Heard of him? Honey, he broke me out!" The door opened with a satisfying click. Johnny awoke. Last thing he remembered, he was in a bar getting totally trashed on some combination of alcohol and smash...but now he was in a bed. Bars don't usually have beds. Man...the last time he had gotten that wasted, he was still in the Marines, 102nd Cybercav. He had just gotten his Sandevistan boosterware, and wanted to see how well it worked. Just after he had activated it at the E-club for yuks, he heard a shot fired. Some bonehead getting trigger-happy, maybe? Without really thinking about it, he looked up and caught the sucker. Well, more like intercepted it, rather messily... He had no hangover. Maybe that biomod he got actually worked, the one that filtered the toxins out of the bloodstream after the alcohol had had its run. He felt a warm weight on his arm...must be his input. He rolled his head over, and opened his eyes to see a complete stranger. About a second later, an almost disengaged part of his mind noted that this was Alt, though the body looked nothing like her. He lurched in recognition. And then he noticed the weight (unknown temperature; that was the side with the Hand) pinning down the other arm. He turned his head around instantly, and saw who he had just awakened with his sudden motion. Sylvia. Instinctively, his Sandevistan kicked in, and he restrained himself from physically attacking her. Sylvia, for her part, lazily said, "Morning, love," disarming the Sandevistan. "Huh?" He wasn't at his most coherent first thing in the moment. "How..." "A cop was kind enough to drop you off here. I gave him a hundred Euro for his trouble." "But..." "I picked the lock, and Alt shut down the electronic security a few minutes before we came in." "No...you...and...Alt..." "We had an idea, might make your life easier." "Yeah..." Johnny was momentarily confused by Alt whispering in his other ear. "We were thinking. Do you think you're man enough for both of us?" The jury was out in his head, but his body responded in the affirmative. The Clone Wars tour went from St. Petersburg to Sydney to Kinshasa to Bagota, and then off-world. Tycho colony, Mars Base, even a quick stop in Europa, ending in a half-dozen engagements at Proxima Centauri. When Johnny Silverhand goes on tour, he doesn't kid around. Alt, of course, went with the tour. She had the money (hey, five years in cyberspace gives you a lot of opportunity to get some dough), deciding to get back into her relationship with Silverhand before getting her professional career back on-line. She was thinking of becoming a freelance programmer, considering the troubles she'd had with corporations in the past. They spent a lot of time exchanging stories, talking, and doing the other things that made the terms "input" for "girlfriend" and "output" for "boyfriend" street slang. Which is not to say that he didn't spend time with Sylvia. He had to, she was his guitarist. But he spent a bit less time with her. She assumed that it was due to the stress of the tour and his instinctive need to get away from the rest of the band when he could. But upon their return to Night City, the situation didn't get much better. It just seemed that he was spending more time with Alt than with her. That she didn't mind; she was not the jealous type, and she didn't mind sharing. What she did mind was that it seemed that Johnny was weaning himself away from Sylvia and towards Alt. If it's gonna happen, it's gonna happen, Rose thought, so we might as well air it out tonight. Rather break up all at once instead of dribs and drabs. Johnny was lying on his sofa, with Sylvia snuggling her head on his chest, his arms embracing her waist. The two were watching the closing credits go by to Hang Fire. Silverhand hit the clicker and the screen went dead. Now's the time, Sylvia thought. "Johnny?" "Yeah, sweetheart?" Sylvia turned over, releasing his grip. "I think we've got a problem." "Huh?" Silverhand snapped out of his reverie. "We haven't been spending enough time together." He now knew that he was going to get it with both barrels. Shields and screens up! "I know, Rosie. I wish we were never apart." "But we are, and for far too long. Johnny, it's Alt." "Well, Alt's part of it..." "No, Alt's all of it. Don't deny it." Sylvia sat up by Johnny's legs. Johnny, for his part, propped himself up on his elbows. Very sincerely, he asked, "Do you want me to break up with Alt?" "No, Johnny. I just want you to love me. If you can love me and Alt at the same time, I'd consider Alt and I the two luckiest girls in the world. But you haven't been." A tear formed slowly in one eye. "I feel like you're short-changing me." He dropped to his back, and invited Sylvia into an embrace which she accepted. "Calm down, Sylvia. The last thing I want to do is hurt you." Sylvia tenderly kissed his cheek. "I know. And I don't want to hurt you, either. But this is how things have turned out. But right now I feel as if we're half in love, and it's tearing me apart. If we split after tonight, yes I'm going to hurt, but in the long run it'll be better than dragging on like this. I think it'll be better for you, too. So you just have to make a decision. Do you love me?" "It's not that simple." "Never is. Try explaining it to me. Maybe you'll understand it better yourself then." "Okay. I know a guy's never supposed to admit this, but between the two of you, you're wearing me out. I'm not talking about physically; I'm just fine that way. But mentally. I've never had luck holding down one relationship, never mind two...the only one I ever had any luck with for over a year was Alt, which was why I crashed and burned when I saw her again." "And I thought having two girlfriends was supposed to be a man's dream come true." Sylvia got up again, sitting by Silverhand's feet. If I live a thousand years, I'll never be able to figure men out. Except Uncle Kevvy, of course, but that's not helping me out here... "So did I," Johnny said, swinging around and sitting up. "But there's an ancient Arabian curse: `May you get precisely what you asked for.' It started out wonderful, it still is in ways, but it's been putting the brainburn on me bigtime. Let's face it; the two of you are just too much for me." "I consider that a very sincere compliment. But it got the problem out. Unfortunately, that makes the solution blatantly obvious. One of us has to leave, or we're going to dig you an early grave. I know you love Alt more than you love me--" Johnny tried to say something, but she cut him off. "Don't say anything, Johnny...there's nothing you can say that wouldn't put you into all sorts of hot water. I'm sorry, but this is the way it has to go. Goodbye, Johnny." And with that, she got up and walked out the door. "Sylvia!" She heard, and almost turned around. But her resolve was too great. Beep. "Next message saved saturday at three fourteen p.m." "Miss Cunningham, this is Joe Yalman from ZPI. You advertised a `tractor' routine which could move large amounts of live code around the net. We have some applications which could use that. Could you send us a sample version please?" Finally, a customer. I'll send them off a three-day self- destructing copy. Beep. "Next message saved saturday at five fifty-three p.m." "Alt, this is Thompson. Don't ask where I got your number, I'm a reporter. Listen, I've got some major unreleased footage of the whole event, if you're interested in some legal action against Arasaka. I want to shut them down, you want to shut them down. Maybe we should get together and blow them out of the water?" Now that sounds like an idea. I'll get in touch with him when we get through the rest of the voice-mail. Beep. "Next message saved saturday, at nine twenty-four p.m." "Sorry, it's just...it's starting to hit me like a um, two ton...heavy thing." Damn crank! Beep. "Next message saved sunday, at twelve thirty-two a.m." "Alt, this is Sylvia. I just broke up with Johnny. He's in a pretty bad way, and it's probably best if you went over immediately. He's going to need you, badly." "Oh" shit! Taptaptaptaptaptap. SquEEEEK. TaptapSLAMtaptaptaptaptap... Within ten minutes, Alt was at Silverhand's house. She let herself in with the key he gave her, and found him unsuccessfully trying to fall asleep. "Alt?" he stared, amazed. "Yeah. Sylvia left a message on my machine saying you might need me around." She unceremoniously plopped herself on the bed beside him, holding him tight. He looked like he needed it. He did. "Tell me what happened." The next day, Silverhand received a package. He signed for it, put it on the table, and opened it up. Inside the styrofoam popcorn, he found a fragile glass flower. A rose to be exact, the petals stained to a beautiful shade of onyx. And a note. "Johnny, I guess it's obvious why I call myself `black rose'. I give one to all my ex's. It's usually to remind them how much I hate them (I very rarely break up on good terms with a boyfriend; I usually run into the jerks...but not this time, sweet Johnny.) But this one isn't for me to hate you by. It's for you to remember me by; it's become my signature, for better or for worse. I still love you, Johnny; that's why I had to leave. I've gone offworld for now. When the scars have healed, I'll tell you where you can reach me. But only as a guitarist. I never fall in love with the same person twice; it just gets too messy. I know you understand. I hope that you and Alt turn out alright; I've seen good love, and it's the most precious thing in the universe. I'm not in love with you anymore, but I do love you, Johnny. Sincerely," The signature, to Johnny's astonishment, read "Sylvia Mandeville-Satori." "Sweet Jesus!" Johnny exclaimed. "That was..." "I could have told you that," Alt noted from over his shoulder. "How did you know?" "I'll never tell." This story takes a good deal from CyberPunk 2.0.2.0. from R. Talsorian, especially characters and events from "Never Fade Away," the short story contained therein. For the continuity impaired, this story takes place between Undocumented Features 3: Out in the Cold and Undocumented Features 4: Crossroads.