[Rotor]

Hope that my grammar won't be too much of a put off. I'm mostly writing for my own fun but I'll be grateful for any feedback of course.

Winter 2075 Ionosphere and above.
I’ve never traveled in a space shuttle before and it’s incredibly long and boring. A sane person would search for a medikit and try to heal herself but sane persons don’t steal a space shuttle to ask explanations to their ex.  I watch a trid. A Lone Star cop chasing drug dealers in the Mohave desert .  The dwarf is the snitch of course. The love interest is secretly addicted to … Tempo?  Tempo?  I should buy new movies time to time. Luz interrupts the nth chase between souped up Gaz trucks.
“ ETA 2 minutes. “
”I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to talk to her, just make a point.  Don’t bother to dock the thing, just crash it in the station please”
She laughs “You don’t have enough money for that”
“I can turn myself in anytime to the Dunkelzahn Institute of Magical Research as a blood mage and earn 1 million of nuyen. Think of it. That’s real money”
She laughs again “Rather try to find a spare shirt, you’re expected”
That’s funny. I check my body mechanically. Deep burns on the thighs and a bite at, uh, the worst possible place: the Hellhound. A deep gash on the neck and the back :  Razorboy.  Three bullet holes :  everybody else. Nothing that a trauma patch can’t manage but well beyond the power of redemption of a spare shirt. I  check the Colt : still 4 bullets. Not that it matters, the squad that “expects” me has probably enough firepower to stop a great dragon but , rather absurdly,   I feel that meeting  them unarmed would lack dignity.  That’s the kind of “ethics” that lead me there of course.
The docking is as uneventful  as possible, not even sinister metallic noises.  I follow a narrow corridor to an airlock. Where I suddenly realize that  once more in my life I shrugged off  perfectly good advice. There’s only 1 fool with a gun in hand : it’s me. On the other side of the door, J is alone and watches me with concern.   

[Rotor]

Summer  2075 Southern Florida CAS
9H Monday., J didn’t answer calls for 2 days. That’s not unusual,  she’s very attached to her independence  and privacy, even with me, but I can’t help being worried.  I know that  the Horizon guy is in Manhattan like her and it always make me nervous.
9h 15 one of those … Mondays. The CAS veterinary services sends a stern message : they want a health certificate for every animal used in the making of our pelts. I know what they “really” want  but I already spent 15 grands this year in various bribes and enough  is enough. (And, yes,  running a Fur Trading Company in 2075 is both a scandal and an anomaly but we make good money with “bed accessories” (don’t ask) and the Furry market. Plus it pisses ecoterrorists everywhere to the point of apoplexy, which is fun. As of how a deranged elven runner became President  and Owner of a Fur Trading Company founded in Saint Petersburg (Russia)  in 1892, it’s a story a tad too long to tell now but I’ll come back to it, promised.)
9h 30 the Worst Monday of my Life.  Short message from J : “I’m sorry but  imperious personal reasons force me to go on an extended  hiatus. Please don’t  search for me. I swear on my family that it’s the best for us if we each go our own ways for some times. Love” J lost her parents when she was young and  she would never “swear on her family” if it wasn’t very very serious. But she’s very very demented if she imagines that I can sit on my ass pondering what has happened. Five minutes later, I’ve booked a New York flight  and put some clothes in a suitcase. Off we go. And things go immediately south.
“Lord Beausoleil”  is waiting for me just outside my office. LB is a New Orleans orc who pushes himself in the world by posing as a possession mage with terrifying skills. I suspect that he didn’t went much beyond summoning 101 but he was still able to gather a small posse of cybered retards and harass small businessmen like me for protection money. I  warned him several times that I was not the right customer for him but in his world  the orcs are the big bad boys and the elven crybabies  who must buy their safety. So he’s there, blocking my path with his goons, at the worst possible moment, even if he can’t know it Without even thinking, mad with grief, I summon a Man spirit to push them away. I just envision some big astral bouncer who will bitch slap them  until they get the picture. Never summon in anger. What I see materializing is a 300 pounds albinos gorilla – eh I said MAN – that immediately crush the head of one of the goons like it was a pack of chips. LB has some IQ and runs away immediately but the 2 others draw guns  and shoot at His Apeness. That tears away the passenger door of MY car to beat them into pulp with it. I dismiss Son of King Kong and calls a cab.
On the way to the airport, I have a talk with my lawyer and we’re on the same page : I can kiss my 20k SIN good bye and forget Miami for 1 year or 2. Which would not be the end of the world but..My backup SINs are good enough for the streets, not for an airport, absolutely not for Manhattan. So I can cancel my trip or take the risk of staying “Carlos Rodrigez” until I find a solution. Guess what I choose.

[Rotor]

You’ll believe it or not but the New-York Miami flight takes 40 minutes more today than in 2013. I spend that time rehashing what’s happening  to me.  I can spin it every possible way,  I had it coming. It’s a miracle that J spent even some months with me.  She’s  so beautiful, so radiant, so … everything.  She just vaguely began to dabble in politics and most of the commentators are already persuaded that she’ll be at least President of the UCAS  someday.  The Horizon guy is a top tog media producer and a member of their Board of Directors, he’s mega-rich, mega-smart, mega-seducing, he has unlimited access to an endless supply of  top models and gorgeous  actresses  : he’s been living like a monk for 2 years now, just to keep his chances open with J. Me, I’m just an average guy with a dubious past.
And if it was not enough, a lot of people very important to her, the fatherly figures who watched over her after she lost her parents, her childhood friends,  and so on, hate me with passion. You can’t understand that if you don’t realize that she’s nobility in Ares, scratch that, it’s a documented fact that Damien Knight changed her diapers with his own hands once, she’s royalty. And all these Ares good people    adore her like ancient European people adored their kings and queens  : they would gladly jump into the fire for her, they’ve never enough of her on their news sites but they  take every perceived  failing of her as a personal insult. And, as she can’t fail, there must be a responsible. I’m her Marie Antoinette, the stain that tarnishes the perfect image,  the monster who took advantage of the innocent girl.
You know corporate culture and how these people think : There hasn’t been a minute of my past that hasn’t be scrutinized and she’s been swamped  with material  (often perfectly accurate, helas) presenting me as the worst lowlife scum  of the 6th world and a terrible jeopardy for her life and career.   And she shrugged  off every  piece of it. Even the goriest episodes.  Even coming from people that she loved and respected since her childhood.  Like I said, a miracle.

[Rotor]

Hmmm, a miracle is a good thing. “J and me” is rather a scandal and a transgression for most people. I always thought that we're a lot like Asante and Nightsky, the story  that Mum told me the good days. They weren't many good days and I never got to learn the end. I always wondered if one of the eggs made it to the sixth world. That would be funny if one of the Greats that we always see in the news, say Lowfyr or Hualpa, was one of my childhood worries. Now that I think of it,  I never got to learn too how Mum could have heard this story “when she was a child herself”. I searched often on the matrix but I never found any mention of this story during the 2020s. There was always something strange about Mum. I can't think of this period and of this story without feeling a sensation of doom and this time it's quite appropriate because the plane is beginning its approach. And Manhattan is  quite the gauntlet to run in normal times for edgers like me, but, in the current situation, it could well be the Rite of Thorns (a strange expression that Mum always used for difficult situations, they were never lacking).
The Ares goons would never have dared to pain or embarrass J by doing me in so they've chomped at the bit for 2 years. But now J is gone and Lone Star Miami will serve them a perfectly proper motive on a platter. Knowing them, I'm sure that they'll take a perverse pleasure in performing immediately and efficiently the act incident to a Lone Star warrant. It NEVER happens, jumping from LS to KE territory (or vice versa) is notoriously the best way to escape pursuits. So doing  this UNIQUELY for me will make them warm and fuzzy for months.  I'm at that point of my reflections, finally realizing what I should have known from the start: I'm jumping in a death trap by sheer stupidity when I get a call. From the Horizon guy between all people.

[Rotor]

He doesn't even lose1 second before going to the heart of the matter. My kind of guy.
“Hello! You know me, we've been each other presented by J this spring. Do you know where she is?”
Oh.
“She's not in her apartment?”
“Not since Saturday. And not just her. Everything's been moved : clothes, furniture, everything”
The guy did the homework for me. These are so bad news that I think aloud.
“No need for me to look for her in Manhattan then?”
“No need at all and you'll get arrested at the airport anyway. You're going to look for her, right?”
A brief instant, I wonder if he's not just trying to keep me away but no, I know all too well that he's right (and super informed).
“Of course. Why?”
“I can't hire somebody to find her whereabouts, she would never forgive me. But she couldn't object
to me getting you off the hook. I get you out of the airport through Horizon extraterritorial zone, I give you a PCC SIN and you're on your way. All I ask is that you send me a note when you found her and you're sure that she's alive and well. Or..”
He sounds really pained and anxious. How J can set off human feelings  even in a guy so smart and powerful will never cease to amaze me. And I realize once more theres' a reason why some people are rich and others not : the guy just got himself a free and totally deniable runner. Brilliant.
“Or..”
“to call on me if she needs help.”
I don't even think this time.
“Deal. Any info that could help me? “
“One word. But not on the matrix. I'll give it to you in an instant, once we'll be in safe room”
Waoo, that must be quite a word! But, still..he's much more pro than lot of fixers with whom I worked.

[Rotor]

The transfutation at the airport goes like a charm. An UCAS custom official discreetly guides me to a small office in The Horizon zone then leaves without a word. The Horizon guy is waiting for me with a huge bodyguard. Said bodyguard checks me with a MAD scanner (come on, I just got off from a commercial flight, trust doesn't exist anymore in this world?), then a radio scanner, then leaves the room. HG gives me an Hermes commlink with a sad smile.
“Here's your new moi. Please don't burn it too fast. These PCC bureaucrats can be  a real bore”
“Thanks. I'll come back to you as soon as I'll have news. The word?” 
“Elseneur.”
I don't ask how he got it. He would have told me if he could.
“The Danish town? Hamlet?”
Another sad smile.
“Oh, very impressive, I must reevaluate Tir secondary education.”
Yes, you're powerful and smart. I knew that already.
“Don't lose time with Scandinavia. I would have heard something  if J was there. And the Sixth world has nothing Shakespearian, it's just a bloody mess.”
He thinks a second but he has nothing to add.
“My assistant will guide you to the cabs. You have my comcode in the Hermes address book. Any news, ok?”
I nod affirmatively. This guy pleading? The feeling of doom that burdens me since J message just gets deeper.

[Rotor]

It takes a bit of bickering and some money to get the cab to drive me to Jamaica Bay but said drive is fast and comfortable. JB has never been seriously rebuilt since the quake and I'm a bit apprehensive of not finding Luz address amidst this maze of improvised houses and half ruins but, oddly, Luz is the first person that I see in a small park by the sea. She's taking her daily walk, preceded by her 2 Barghests, a bulky silhouette trailing her by some meters. She must be listening to one of her Cesaria Evora antique tapes.  I can't help but feel my heart pinching.  All those years. Where's the teenage girl so proud of her new HVAR who wanted to topple the world upside down with bullets and hacking? Luz the False Brazilian as she called herself (she's from Belem). There, stuck in her black cape, she looks like Edith Piaf. As I close up, the”dogs” and the silhouette get suddenly tense. I make up the silhouette better now and yes it's a massive 'borg with a 14.5 HMG in place of the left arm.. Luz apparently still runs her rehabilitation school for cyberpsychos. I never understood how she took control of them so easily.
(Luz explanation “It's the Baudrillard effect. Resonance is the cross product of humanity loss by augmentations and of reality destruction by the Matrix.  Doesn't it look simple and fair to reinvest said resonance in poor artificial constructs that cry for help and guidance?” Make of this what you want!)
The trio suddenly relaxes. I'm ok. I'd swear that I saw the female Barghest nod to Igor but that must be my nerves. Luz looks at me with a disturbing intensity, like if I was a strange ghost or a dying relative.
“Eh, Luz, you're ok?”
“I'm fine. Would you do me an immense favor? In memory of old times?”
Oh Oh. “Uh uh, it depends?”
“forget what you're doing and go back to your life?”
“Always the village witch, eh? Sorry I can't”
She sighs then shrugs.
“Ok, to business, then”
“I didn't tell you what I came for?”
“I know it already, I'm Luz. You remember Pavel?”
“The Atlanta fixer?”
“Yes, his little brother is a street shaman. He was always a bit deranged but he's gone full toxic lately. So he retired with him in the country, that place in upstate New York  they call Harrow County.”
“Charming. And he has something that you want? You found no better way to get me killed?”
She has a quick, amused smile. “You're so good, it'll be a cakewalk for you. And yes he has something in his cave that interests me. But I just want you to bring something in that cave, not take anything. See, much simpler.”
She shows me an old Americar. “It's in the trunk. With in a gun in case that your social skills fail you. But it never happens, does it?”
“Ok I bring your packet. Then?”
“Then you'll have what you want. Trust me.”
I sigh. “It's important for you?”
“ A lot”
I sigh again. “The car license?”
“On your commlink already”
The damned Hermes thing is not cheap but it didn't give me any warning. What can I say? She's Luz.
She's suddenly serious again. Even the Barghests look at me with solemnity.
“You're really sure that you can't give up?”
“Sorry Luz. They forgot that chip when they assembled me”
“Good sailing then” 

[Rotor]

I give a quick look to the trunk. There are 2 packets in fact : a classic satellite uplink dish and another small one, a NeoNet LAC, whatever it is. The gun disturbs me at first : an old sovbloc 14.5 SMG. Quite the elephant gun. What am I supposed to shoot at ? Then I realize that it uses the same ammunitions than Boris left arm. Just good logistics. In the park, the group has resumed his  stroll, not giving me a single look. I'm gone from their world already.

[Rotor]

Onondaga County.
In case that you’re not from the state, Onondaga county became “Harrow county” when the Oneida lake became a cesspool ,  courtesy of a Saeder-Krupp company,  and the area got invaded by ,uh, unsavory spirits. You’ll imagine that it’s not the place where you can ask your way to a passer-by. I’m trying to come to terms with a newly downloaded mapsoft when my windscreen explodes. All car sellers in the world will swear that the inside of a car is the safest place in the world against mages  and spirits. Because of tinted glasses. They can’t see your aura or cast a spell, right? Problem is that spirits (and some mages, eheh) are not dumb. They know that this moving object contains somebody who shouldn’t be in their zipcode.  They materialize just over the hood, explode the windshield and engulf the driver in whatever they’ve made of. In my case, yuk, toxic waste. Much better fighters  than me got geeked this way. Suffocated by drek while struggling to free themselves.  . 
I don’t even try.  I’ve been there already and I’m much better at astral combat than at wrestling. I condense all my mondo elven swag  (eheh) in a hot white lance and I pierce the thing. One, two, three times, it’s gone. Not a second too soon, I’m cyanosis blue. The car parked peacefully on the side of the road. I should be moving immediately because Pavel’s brother has learnt the loss of his protégé and must be drumming up his legions.  But I must  take the time of a quick detox spell  or it’s 50/50 that I die in the next hour of septicemia