On a glass shore

[Learned Hand]

The woman is standing on the glass shore at Issier, one of many war-wounds on the surface of Beaumonde, but one that is not attributed to her for once. Seaward, at the edge of a dark canopy of overhanging cloud, the sun is setting. Red-tinged waves fall across the glass beach and surf froths on the scoured slope, to be blown away along the curved blade of shore towards a distant line to dully glinting dunes. A smell of brine saturates the air. She breathes deeply, drinking it in.

She is a little above average height. Her trousered legs look slim beneath her thick jacket. Black hair spills thick and heavy down her back. When she turns her head a little, the red light of the sunset makes one side of her face look flishes. Her heavy, knee-length boots make rasping noises as she walks, and as she walks she limps; a soft bias in her tread.

[Blackrat]

I pace up and down the shore, my patience wearing increasingly thin. I haven't got the time to waste on swine like this. Well, alright, I suppose I have all the time in the world; it's not as if I actually do anything with my life any more... But my point is that there are better things I could be doing - like twisting a carving knife into my eye.

[Learned Hand]

The rider appears suddenly on the crest of a large dune, fifty meters to your right. He coaxes one of the finest horses you've ever seen down the dune towards the glass shore. The beast hesitates at the glass border and the rider digs his electronic spurs into its flanks; the animal flinched as the connecting spur terminals connect send small involuntary shivers of muscle movement up its haunches. Snorting nervously the best steps onto the glass and - with a noise like an enormous whimper- skids and sits heavily on its rump.

The man jumps quickly off the animal, his long cloak snags on the high saddle and he lands awkwardly on the glass, almost falling. He collects his cloak and strides purposefully towards you, the effect ruined slightly by his occasional skids. As he approaches you notice he hasn't aged well, and he has grown a ridiculous goatee. He does, however, look taller than you remember him from when you last saw him, at your grandfather's funeral.

When he reaches you he offers his hand and a warm smile. 'Caro' he says,'thank you for coming. I have to tell you...' He gives a small, regretful laugh, 'Hell, it's a melodramatic message, cuz; you're in danger.'

[Blackrat]

admin said:

Snorting nervously the best steps onto the glass and - with a noise like an enormous whimper- skids and sits heavily on its rump.

Stylish, as ever. It's difficult to suppress a snigger, so I don't. In fact he probably heard the short, sharp bark of laughter that I didn't try to hide. Geis' only redeeming feature is that every single time he tries to look stylish - roughly every other minute - he ends up looking like an ass. Every single time.

admin said:

When he reaches you he offers his hand and a warm smile.

I accept neither. I step back, keeping a good few paces away, well out of contact range. And with a hand on the grip of my pistol. He pretends not to notice, but I'm not fooled.

admin said:

'Caro' he says,'thank you for coming. I have to tell you...' He gives a small, regretful laugh, 'Hell, it's a melodramatic message, cuz; you're in danger.'

'Yes, I know. But I'm hoping you'll leave soon, and then I can relax.'

I fucking hate the way he calls me "Caro". He thinks it's hilarious because it rhymes with my surname. Nobody calls me "Caro". I'm "Lady Sharrow" if you really want something from me, or "Sharrow" to everyone else - except family, of course, who call me "Caroline". My team used to call me "Caroline", too. And only one person in the world has ever called me "Carrie".

But anyway, I'm digressing. The point is, I hate Geis addressing me as "Caro" - but then I hate the fact that he's talking to me at all...

[Learned Hand]

He pauses as if collecting himself and continues. 'There's no need to be rude, cousin. I'm trying to help you. my people on Osiris tell me that Parliament are asking the courts for a hunting passport. For you. It sounds like they've found out about the SNB and now they want you for.... research. Your whole team, in fact. I'm sorry, Caro. I've got my best lawyers working on this but I don't think there's a lot we can do. It's all blown up so suddenly. I thought we'd be able to slow them down but the court has fast tracked it. Of course, it's Beaumonde's turn to chair the court this year. They're nominee is actually from Lip City.'

[Blackrat]

'What? That's fucking ridiculous! There is no way I'm going to be part of some "research project"; I'm well aware of what happens to research subjects... The bastards! How dare they?! As if I wasn't pissed off enough already!'

[Learned Hand]

He sighs. ‘I know, Caro, and I'm sorry - I feel like I've let you down. Now the only way to stop them is to get them a copy of the SNB and that's... well I don't care what Gorko is meant to have done, it's impossible. Let me hide you. I've got interests they can't link back to me. Places that nobody knows about. Safe houses, offices, estates that don't appear on any inventory, all across the system. Mines, island barges, whole asteroids. Will you let me protect you?'

[Blackrat]

'Like you protected me last time I saw you? I don't think so, thank you. I'm not placing myself in your debt, Geis, much as you would like that. Mainly because you'd like it.'

[Learned Hand]

‘Caro… what happened a long time ago, it…well, it happened a long time ago. The fact is that you cannot fight what’s coming. You /cannot/. Do you even know what a hunting passport means? It’s a Parliamentary statute commanding everyone who sees it to assist in hunting you down. In about a week it will literally be illegal for anyone who sees you to *not* try to apprehend you. Are you actually going to consign yourself to that just to prove a point? What about your team? What about Kuma?'

[Blackrat]

'Don't you dare try to use Miz in your pathetic power games. Just drop it. Stop even thinking I might ask you for help, because it isn't going to happen. I think you've forgotten that I was a member of the top commando team in my battalion; I can look after myself, thank you, and I know a lot about not being found. I don't need your help, Geis, nor do I want it. And to be frank, I would rather be hunted down, tortured and then subjected to whatever this "research" is than be beholden to you, you vile... monster. While I admit gratitude for the warning, I shall not be requiring any further assistance from you. Ever.'

[Learned Hand]

Geis hesitates, visibly deflated. ‘It’s an open offer, cuz. Look me up if you ever need help. He shakes his head, as if clearing it, turns, and walks quickly back to his mount. You see him heading into the dunes and, a few seconds later, catch a glimpse of him chasing the lolloping beast over the summit of a distant dune.

'Ah, Hello there'. Says a voice behind you.

[Blackrat]

Oh, for goodness' sake. I thought Geis said the hunting passport wouldn't be active for another week? Fortunately, my hand is still on the grip of my pistol...

I turn around.

[Learned Hand]

There are a couple of red lights high up on the front of an otherwise standard-looking beachcombing machine, 10 metres away. The lights are blinking slowly on and off. They hadn't been there a few seconds earlier.

'I take it I am addressing The Lady Sharrow?' It's voice was deep, with the distinctive chime at the end of each word which was supposed to ensure people knew it was a machine talking. 'Please allow me to introduce myself...' The machine makes a whining noise and lurches towards you, the rubber treads on its left side tracks splashing through the small waves.

[Blackrat]

Did I mention that I have my hand on the grip of my pistol? Ok, good. I back away slowly, allowing it to approach but making sure I've got a decent headstart if I need to run. I also step to one side of its straight-line path; the turning circles on these things are poor, so unless someone's done some serious modding it should be too slow and unwieldy to catch me up if I give myself a couple of advantages.

An instant later, I reflect that perhaps I'm being paranoid. It's only a beachcomber, after all. But then, I know for a fact I'd be dead now, a hundred times over, if it wasn't for my constant mistrust of the world around me. Also, why would a beachcomber want to talk to me? Something's not right about that, and that probably means something's wrong. Also, talking to machines really unnerves me...

"I'm Sharrow. Why?"

[Learned Hand]

[also, beachcombers can't talk]

As soon as you begin to back away the machine stops suddenly. 'Oh; I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to startle you. Just a second....' It trundles back a couple of metres to where it started. 'There. As I was saying, please do not let this rude appearance decieve you; beneath my tatterdemalion disguise lurk several brand spanking new components of a Superprotector (Trademark) Personal Escort Suite, Mark Seventeen, Class Five. And I - that is the aforesaid system, in full, combined with the services of various highly trained human operatives - am at your service, my lady, exclusively, for as long as you may desire'.