INTERLUDE 
 
	The night air was still and thick.  Dark clouds rolled over the 
city like armies of the damned, marching to their doom.  This evening, 
even the speed and motions of New York were replaced by a hush, in 
anticipation of something, something that no one knew anything 
about. 
	Deep in one of the concrete canyons walked a lone figure, 
black longcoat swishing about his heels.  The wolf kept his head down, 
and a lonely breeze rustled through his grey fur.  His footfalls echoed 
on the pavement, and he couldn't help but wonder what had happened.  
There was no movement, no one on the streets, nothing.  It frightened 
him, a city creature used to others around him at all times.  An eerie 
sensation creeped through every fiber of his being, like a thousand 
pairs of unseen eyes were boring in on him from every crevice and 
window. 
	He heard a noise, and his wolfen ears perked up as he caught 
the gentle footfalls of another running down an alleyway.  He turned 
just in time to see a gun flare hotly in the black, and his side exploded 
in a spray of crimson gore.  He screamed and clawed at his ruined 
torso, and fell to one knee on the ground. He looked up  through a 
haze of pain, and saw the bloody form of Kody Barnes staring back at 
him, the wounds that the wolf had inflicted still dripping from his 
body.  The dog held up one arm, and a glittering silver blade popped 
out, shining in the half-light.  A humorless smile crossed Barnes' lips. 
"Turnabout's fair play, cub,"  he whispered, " And I'll be takin' care of 
the panda bitch after this, and there ain't a blessed thing you can do 
about it."  With one fluid motion he stabbed down, shoving the blade 
through the wolf's eyes, cutting to the brain.  A gout of blood shot out, 
and... 
	Simon shot up in bed, chest heaving, spots still dancing in his 
eyes.  The same damn dream, three nights in a row, ever since he had 
fought Barnes at Redjack's, defending a singer named Masque.   The 
apartment was dark and hot, and the only light was trickling from the 
single window, casting a pale pallor to his gray fur.  
	He grabbed reflexively for the pack of Marlboros on his 
nightstand, and then remembered that he'd given it up.  He almost 
laughed at the irony.  His life as a runner put him in conflict with 
large ordinance and dangerous characters all the time, and he was 
worried about lung cancer.   
	The wolf swung his strong legs over the edge of his small bed 
and sat for a long moment, head cradled in his big hands.  A headache 
like a Neil Peart drum solo was pounding in his brain, and he winced 
every time his heart beat.  He considered an aspirin, and wondered if 
he could stand the movement.  Every part of his body seemed to throb 
with pain.  He had lost count years ago how many bones he'd broken, 
bullets he'd caught, and bruises he'd collected.  "Cub," he whispered to 
himself as he stood and groaned in agony, " you need a career 
change." 
	He padded to the medicine chest in his tiny bathroom, and 
glanced out the window, noting the rain of earlier was still falling.  It 
was puncuated by occasional cracks of lightning that lit up the grey 
sky like electric starshien.  Ow, why did God make thunder so blasted 
loud?  It's a perfect time to play the blues, he thought, if I could get my 
fingers to move. He slapped open the rollaway cupboard door and 
popped a bottle of Bayer with one hand, tumbling two pills into his 
other. He swallowed them with a jerk, and stuck his snout under the 
faucet to wash them down.  This was not shaping up to be one of his 
better nights. 
	He walked back out to the living/bedroom/kitchenette and 
glanced idly at a red glowing clock on the nightstand.  It was 4:12 am, 
about three hours since he had gone to sleep.  He was completely 
awake now, so Simon decided to stay up and watch the news until the 
aspirin took effect.  He fetched a bottle of soymilk from the cube 
refrigerator and sank into an overstuffed easy chair, then punched the 
remote to the trideo viewer. Instantly a three-dimensional shot of a 
pretty female husky came up, looking as grim as a newscaster can 
look, which isn't a hell of a lot. 
	"New allegations of embezzlement in Monarch enterprises 
today as CEO Ronald Clinton denied having skimmed off profits from 
the last three fiscal years, but the twelve million in Can-America 
dollars are still missing." 
	Check the local hacker, thought Simon as he shot down a 
swallow of milk.  Chances were that some talented netrunner made off 
with the cash for an employer, and ran it through enough operations 
that it would never be traced.  It was the same old shit to him.  The 
runners had always worked behind the scenes, stealing secrets and 
credits for the highest bidders.  They were the ultimate freelancers, 
and could almost never be traced to the people who hired them. 
	Simon felt the pain easing as he channel-surfed, looking for 
anything that might even be slightly interesting.  Finally he found 
Casablanca on the Nostalgia channel, reworked for trideo format.  
What computers couldn't do these days, eh? he thought to himself.  
Bogart was telling Bergman to go with her husband, because she'd 
regret staying with him soon and for the rest of her life.  This had 
always been one of Simon's favorites, even before seeing it in trideo.  
Thankfully it hadn't been colorized as well, and Bogart's rough hound 
features and Ingmar Berman's svelte persian face had never looked 
better.  
	The phone rang unexpectantly, and Simon nearly gagged on 
his drink.  He was still coughing when he groped for the receiver, 
opting not to use the video display.  "Morning."  He managed to 
wheeze, shooting milk out his nostrils. 
	"Are you alright Grendel?" asked a deep voice he recognized 
to be Vector's, a panther hacker-sniper the gunnerjack worked with 
often. 
	"Hell yeah, nothing like a little milk-spurting to brighten 
one's day.  What can I do for you?" 
	"I put out the word on the information, and had a call about a 
possible buy. We have a meeting at 5:30 am today.  In the alley behind 
Parson's." 
	"Shit, not another alley drop...  And why so soon?" 
	"The person said he wanted now, so the information was still 
fresh.  I'll swing past in about twenty minutes and pick you up.  Don't 
forget the disk and some 'protection.'"  Vector hung up. 
 
	Fifteen minutes later the doorbell to Simon's small apartment 
rang.  Just like the panther to be early, thought the gunnerjack as he 
slipped on a shoulder rig for his Predator II automatic pistol.  He was 
dressed in black, as usual, jeans and shirt of the same color, and a 
Kevlar undervest.  He threw on his battered old duster as he walked to 
the door, checking his pocket for the laserdisc.  A faded broad-
brimmed hat finished his outfit.  "Let's go," he growled 
unceremoniously as he stalked past Vector and Sierra.   
	"My, we're in a bit of an antisocial mood today, aren't 
we?"observed panther as he followed the wolf downstairs. 
	"Probably has a flea in his ear or something," offered  the 
tabby. 
	Vector laughed.  "Grendel?  He'd have shot the little bastard 
out by now." 
	"Enough out of you two," grunted Grendel from the front, his 
hands shoved deep into the jacket pockets.  He was good-natured about 
it though.  Vector and Sierra were his closest friends in the world, and 
they had something he had never found, love.  The two planned to 
retire to a little place out in the country sometime next month, if they 
could pull down another big job. Grendel just hoped that nothing 
happened to either of them before that.  Unfortunately, there was a 
little itch at the base of his skull, his early-warning alarm that 
something big was about to go down. 
	The three rode to the drop off in silence in Vector's pale-blue 
van.  Sierra and the panther talked quietly between themselves, while 
Grendel sat in the back of the van, consumed in his own thoughts.  He 
watched the dark New York evening race past him in through a 
window, his mind on the girl he had saved at the club.  She had a 
strong voice, one of the greatest he had ever heard, but he was afraid 
of how she might react to him if he showed up at her hospital room.  
That, and his cyberware might set off every detector in the blasted 
building, completely blowing his cover.  Hospitals for runners were 
never a very good option, unless one had the creds to pay off the 
doctors and keep them from talking to the cops.  Better not to get shot. 
	At 5:17 the trio rolled up to a corner, about two blocks from 
the drop-off point.  Grendel handed Vector a wireless headset as the 
panther unpacked a sniper rifle and Sierra cocked her trusty Model 
100 SMG.  "Same routine as always, pal," he said, rechecking the 
action on his pistol, "Rooftops, and you see anything fishy, you holler, 
correct?"  He pressed a back tooth, activating a cybernetic receiver 
implanted in his head to catch Vector's transmissions. 
	"You worry too much," teased Vector as he mounted a rusting 
fire-escape, "You have to learn to relax before you blow an artery." 
	The only thing that's kept me alive this long is worrying," 
shot back Grendel as he and the gunnerjill started walking.  He 
marvelled, however, at how easily Vector beaome one with the 
shadows, blending in so perfectly that the only way someone could see 
him was with infra-red.  If anyone was better suited to the task of 
running the underbelly of corporate espionage, the wolf had never met 
them. 
	At 5:28, Grendel and Sierra silently faced a formidable team 
of four black-clad bodyguards and a young exec, a nervous tic on his 
furry feline face.  The wolf placed this as his first actual drop.  Didn't 
teach this kind of thing at business school, did they? he laughed 
silently. 
	"Let's get to business." said Grendel, pulling back his jacket 
just in case things got nasty.  "You have the cash?" 
"Um, well, y-yes we do, mister *ahem* um, what was your name 
again?" stammered the exec, and Grendel sighed, exasperated. 
	"We didn't say our names.  This is the part where you give us 
the credsticks, we check them to make sure you're not screwing us, and 
then I hand you the info.  Think you can handle that?" 
	The exec shifted nervously.  the four bodyguards, all tigers, 
chuckled slightly among themselves, but quieted at an annoyed look 
from the exec.  "Yes, here you go."  He pulled out three credsticks and 
handed them to Grendel.  The wolf accepted them, then pressed the 
end on each.  As the LCDs on each lit up,Sierra lowered her sub-
machine gun. The bodyguards responded with casually pulling back 
their tailor-cut coats, revealing everything from machine pistols to 
sawed-off shotguns. 
	Grendel finished his inspection and nodded to Sierra.  "They 
check out.  $7,000 a piece.  I believe this is what you wanted?"  He dug 
into a coat pocket and retrieved the laser disc, spinning it around his 
fingers nimbly.  "If you don't mind my asking,what's so important 
about a couple of shipping dates anyway?" 
	"That's, um, I mean to say..."The exec stumbled over his 
answer until one of the bodyguards rolled his eyes and stepped 
forward.   
	"What our intrepid leader is trying to say is that it's none of 
your business.  The disc?"  The bodyguard held out an expectant hand.  
The exec started to protest, then cut himself off angrily.  He didn't 
have any idea what he was really doing anyway. 
	Grendel shrugged.  "Sorry, just idle curiousty.  Here you go."  
He made to toss the disc into the guard's waiting hand when Vector's 
smooth voice shot into the gunnerjack's ear. "Grendel, we have 
trouble."  A half-second later all hell broke loose.         
	Grendel went into a combat roll with ease, pulling and 
cocking his Predator II in one polished move as lead flew all around 
him.  Figures came in from all sides, moving too fast for him to get a 
good estimate.  He picked off two with the Predator before he rolled 
behind a crumbling bit of masonry.  The bodyguards whipped up their 
guns as a volley of bullets came raining down from the rooftops.  
Sierra dived behind a dumpster and then fired, searching for a target.  
Another tiger, probably with the bodyguards, cried out in pain as his 
body fell from a fire-escape and hit the pavement wetly.  Grendel 
guessed that they had  the same idea that the runners had, planting 
someone uptop. Didn't do much good, however.  Whatever was 
happening, the suits were as surprised as the runners.   
	"Vector, you still solid?"  yelled Grendel urgently, his 
SmartTarget sight playing around what of the roof he could see.  It 
zeroed on a black form that the gunnerjack recognized not to be 
Vector, and he fired.  The figure jerked, then fell to the ground like a 
tumbling doll.  It was a ferret, dressed in dark colors.  If Grendel didn't 
know better, he'd swear it was a ninja.  But they only existed in stupid 
kung-fu movies that showed late, right?  Grendel hoped.  A second 
later, another form followed the first, and Grendel heard Vector's voice 
in his ear.  "I am fine, but I will be vacating within a few seconds.  I 
suggest you and Sierra do the same."  He was cut off by a burst of 
gunfire.  The gunnerjack hoped to God that Vector could handle 
whoever was up there. 
	Grendel glanced around, and saw two of the bodyguards lying 
prone on the ground, their bodies riddled with gory bullet holes.  The 
gunnerjill was pinned behind the dumpster, and the exec and another 
bodyguard were hiding behind a couple of trash cans.  The fourth 
guard was nowhere to be seen. 
	Of a sudden, Grendel felt massive hands grip around his neck 
and lifted him roughly into the air.  "Give me the disc!"  hissed a voice 
harshly in the gunnerjack's ear, throttling him like a toy.  The wolf 
gasped for air, his legs treading air for a moment.  Then he caught his 
bearings and in a lightning fast move kicked down hard, jamming the 
other's knee.  In the same split-second, Grendel shoved his pistol into 
the attacker's face, feeling bone crunch against the steel.  The other 
staggered, and Grendel came down spinning, thrusting the Predator 
into his attacker's solar plexus.  It was the missing bodyguard,  his 
bright green eyes shining wet with pain.  A huge foot came up and 
kicked, knocking Grendel hard to the asphalt before he could react.  
The gunnerjack tried to regain his sights, but the tiger slammed the 
wolf's hand hard onto the ground, knocking the pistol from his grasp.  
The bodyguard sunk a knee into Grendel's gut, and then shoved a 
meaty paw into the gunnerjack's face.  From the tiger's sleeve fell a 
Derringer, and he shoved between Grendel's teeth.  The gunnerjack 
struggled for a moment, then let his body go limp.  "The disc, now!"  
whispered the tiger hoarsely through clenched teeth.  Blood dripped 
from his nose, staining the wolf's fur. 
	"Mohammed, w-what are you-?" the exec shouted over the 
firefight, his voice confused. 
	"Shut up, you worthless gutter trash!" yelled the tiger with 
venom.  "I never worked for you!  These others offered me rewards 
beyond all those you could promise!"  He turned his head for a second 
to glare at the frightened exec, and that was the opening Grendel 
needed.  His right hand broke loose from under the tiger's grip,  and 
twin stainless steel blades popped from their housings in his forearm.  
In a fluid arc, he stabbed the blades hard into the tiger's head, feeling 
the sickening scrape of bone as he drove them in.  Warm blood gushed 
down his hand as the tiger jerked, then collapsed.  The Derringer fell 
from a limp hand, and Grendel spat it out quickly.  That was too damn 
close.  
	"Sierra! Vector!  Full bug-out now!"  He rolled the dead body 
from himself and bolted for the mouth of the alley, scooping up his 
Predator and firing at another figure that stood in his way.  Even as a 
bullet cored its way into the other's head, Grendel was leaping over the 
shoulders and running at a dead heat.  Sierra fired a couple of more 
short bursts, then followed. 
	"Wait, the disc!" cried the young exec, but it was too late.  
The runners were gone. 
 
	Grainger never could understand why the old ferret could 
always make him feel like a child that had just been caught taking 
apart furniture.  It was the second time in a week the CEO had called 
the jaguar into his office, and both times the ferret's tone was not one 
of pleasantness.  The first was when the company assassin, Kody 
Barnes, had been put into a coma over dealings with Grainger's old 
flame.  This meeting, however, was a mystery to him. 
	"You called for me sir?"  Grainger stood uncomfortably at 
attention at the front of the desk.  The ferret was facing a computer 
screen, almost making it a point to ignore the jaguar.  Grainger shifted 
his weight back and forth, feeling for all the world like a teenager 
caught smoking by the principal.  His tail wandered around behind 
him, nervously twitching every once in a while. 
	"I suppose you have heard about our efforts to retrieve the 
information, have you not?" asked the ferret almost idly, cradling his 
thin chin in his hand as he watched the glowing green characters 
dance across the screen. 
	"Yes, I was aware that another drop had been arranged for 
today."  At least this wasn't something that had fouled up because of 
him.  The earlier attempt to get the info had been screwed by another 
exec, Marek.  That one had already been dealt with.  Grainger 
wondered which mailroom he was working in. 
	"One of our junior import executives, Bazeem, had arranged 
it, I suppose to try and earn my favor.  However, it seems that another 
party was waiting as well.  One comprised of martial artists." 
	"Martial artists?" 
	"Ninjas, to be exact.  Some of our people believe they were in 
the employ of The Yakuza, Japanese Mafia.  They also bought one of 
Bazeem's bodyguards.  He was the one we believe tipped off where the 
drop would be.  We can't prove this, however.  He was killed in the 
ensuing combat.  Only Bazeem and one of the guards survived, and all 
the ninjas were killed as well.  The runners escaped, along with the 
information."  The ferret switched off the computer and rubbed his 
eyes with one hand.  For a moment, he looked ancient to Grainger.  
"That disc is now loose again.  More people and organizations are 
willing to kill for it.  Even as we speak, the Council is moving to close 
all loopholes, and a second chance at the list is impossible.  That 
original probe the runners made was a fluke, nothing more.  We have 
to get the information, at all costs.  Grainger, I'm entrusting you with 
regaining it.  I'm willing to forgive your earlier mistakes with Barnes, 
if you succeed in this.  I'm asking you as your commander, and your 
friend.  Hand-pick the finest of our operatives, ones you implicitly 
trust, and track down those runners again.  Offer them more credits, 
buildings, anything, but do not fail!  We can't afford any more 
mistakes.  The clock is against us, my boy, and the fate of this 
company rests now in your hands." 
	Grainger stood mute for a moment.  The ferret had given him 
the job of getting the information!  He had already planned on 
attempting to track it down, to try and make up for the fiasco over 
Barnes and his old girlfriend, but now the stakes were all on the table.  
He walked out with renewed bounce to his step.  He would show the 
old ferret that he could succeed, that he was the only one fit to run the 
company when the ferret retired. 
 
	Jenna Arin raised painfully to her feet, using the metal 
crutches to prop herself up.  Her knee still ached from the bullet 
wound, and her career as a dancing singer had been put on indefinite 
hold, but the panda counted herself among the lucky ones.  Some 
lucky angel had been watching over her that night at the club, when 
the maniac had tried to murder her. 
	This angel, however, was no gauzy spirit with wings.  He was 
a real wolf of flesh and blood, with an unearthly skill at fighting and a 
long black duster.  For these past few days, thoughts of him were 
rarely far from her mind.  Who was he?  Why had he risked his life to 
save hers?  Was he just some nutcase who got off on fighting, or was 
he a modern version of the knight in shining armor, come to rescue 
the damsel in distress?  Jenna hoped it was the latter. 
	She glanced at herself in a small mirror on her bedstand in 
the hospital, and smiled thinly.  No makeup and too little sleep made 
her features look drawn-out and haggard, and she didn't like it.  But 
then again, she wasn't in the hospital to impress anyone.  She hopped 
around for a bit on the crutches, then sat back down on her bed.  This 
is too much like work, she grinned to herself, time to have some fun.  
She grabbed a portable CD player from the bedstand and then shuffled 
through her small collection.  Since the chance jam session with her 
downstairs neighbor, her taste in classic rock and roll had been 
revived.  Maybe this panda should change her image, she thought.  
There's more then enough bubble-gum techno-poppers out there, she 
thought as she started Led Zeppelin II.  Perhaps it's time to re-
introduce the world to the days of sex, drugs, and rock and roll.  She 
popped the headphones into her ears and let the good solid rock take 
her away. 
 
	Grendel stalked into his apartment, throwing down his hat 
and coat as he walked to the fridge.  Sierra and Vector followed him, 
the panther clutching at a blood-soaked arm.  His teeth were gritted in 
pain, and Sierra glanced at her lover worridly.  Grendel grabbed a 
towel and wet it, then cleaned some of the blood from his face, the 
remnants of his battle with the bodyguard. 
	"We need to get you to a doctor." Sierra said for the third 
time, and for the third time Vector shook his head no. 
	"Doc Bellum is on vacation, and he's the only one I can trust 
not to report this to the cops."  He walked slowly into Grendel's 
bathroom.  "Besides, I can always trust Simon to have a couple 
emergency supplies on hand."  He pulled his hand from the bloody 
wound with a hiss, then opened the small medicine cabinet.  The 
panther retrieved a roll of waxed thread, a thick needle, a scalpel, and 
a pair of forceps.  As he walked back into the living area, he stumbled 
slightly.  Sierra caught him and lowered him gently to the couch.  
"Simon, hurry up!" she yelled urgently as the gunnerjack continued to 
root around in his freezer. 
	"Relax Sierra.  Vector went through a helluva lot worse when 
he was in the corp wars."  He finally pulled out a syringe.  He walked 
back to the pair and knelt, then unceremoniously cut off the sleeve of 
Vector's jumpsuit using the scalpel.  He had enough skill at emegency 
first-aid to fix a bullet hole.  The wound was jagged, pulsating red, and 
still bleeding pretty heavily.  "Doesn't look bad," said the gunnerjack 
methodically, turning over the arm and examining the other side, "The 
bullet cut right through, didn't hack an artery."  He picked up the 
syringe and pressed the needle into Vector's skin.  "This is gonna hurt 
like a sonofabitch, though."  He pushed the needle in, then depressed 
the plunger.  A dose of Novacaine shot into the muscle, and the 
panther tensed as his arm went completely limp.  "Now, the fun part.  
Sierra, go grab some towels from the bathroom.  I need to blot out 
some of this blood so I can see what I'm doing."  He threaded the 
needle, then waited as the tabby soaked away the gore so the 
gunnerjack could begin the surgery.   
	As he sewed the skin together, his mind still raced over the 
second botched drop.  "What the hell is so important about these 
shipping dates?" he asked, and didn't realize he had spoken aloud until 
Vector reacted. 
	"I don't know, but it bothers me as much as it does you.  It 
doesn't make sense."  Sierra grabbed a bottle of scotch from Grendel's 
counter, and Vector accepted it gratefully.  He slugged down a shot 
and then handed it to the gunnerjack.  "The list was simply shipping 
dates for codfish, and the places they were going to." 
	Grendel grabbed the bottle and drank some himself, then 
returned to stitching.  "Did you run it through standard decryption?  
Or maybe there was a sub-program." 
	"I ran it myself," answered Sierra as she sat back on the 
couch, cradling Vector's head.  "There was nothing there." 
	Grendel finished the stitch-job, then dusted the suture with 
antibiotic powder.  He sat back on his haunches as he shredded a white 
sheet.  "You mind if a friend of mine takes a look at the info?  He has 
a way of getting stuff out of the strangest places." 
	"Do you mean Skates?  It's worth a try.  He's very impressive 
as a hacker."  The panther raised his head for a moment as Grendel 
slapped an anthestic patch over the wound and then wrapped the 
bandage around the entire arm.  "A second opinion is always 
welcome." 
	Grendel stood and dusted off his jeans.  "That should hold up, 
but you'll want to get Doc Bellum to take a look at it as soon as he gets 
off vacation."  He walked over to the fridge and fetched three beers, 
but by the time he returned, Vector was asleep, Sierra holding him. 
	"Thank you Simon," she said quietly, stroking the panther's 
head.  "Not many people would do that for a friend." 
	"Hey, I'm just that kinda guy." he grinned and then 
rummaged around in his jacket, lying in a heap on an easy chair.  "I'm 
going out.  You can stay as long as you want."  He finally gave up on 
trying to find the disc in there and just threw the coat over his 
shoulders.  The wolf walked out, leaving the two in silence.  Time to 
go visiting. 
 
*********************************************************
*************** 
 
	Halfway across the city, in a penthouse office, a rodent sat, 
his sleek black fur combed so carefully not a strand seemed out of 
place.  He wore a silk kimono, and kneeled in front of a hot brazier 
giving off fumes of sweet-smelling incense.  His eyes were closed in 
calm relaxation, but the air about him seemed to seeth with bow-tight 
tension, and two stoat guards by the single double door of the office 
felt it well. 
	Suddenly the doors opened slowly, as a grey rat in a business 
suit stuck his head in timidly.  He glanced at the two guards, both 
wearing black jumpsuits, then looked at the ferret in the middle of the 
floor, facing away from the door.  He stepped in and cushioned the 
door as it closed, afraid to break the silence. 
	"Come in Matsuo," said the ferret abruptly in japanese, and 
the rat swallowed hard.  He walked silently across the floor, his shoes 
sinking into the soft carpet. 
	"I-I h-have b-b-bad news honorable oyabun..." started 
Matsuo, but the ferret cut him off. 
	"It concerns the information, does it not?"  The ferret's eyes 
were still closed, but the tension around him was mounting with each 
passing second. 
	"Y-yes, honorable one.  T-the strike team sent to retrieve the 
i-information was, ah..." 
	"Defeated?" 
	Tears began to roll down the rat's face, matting his fur.  "Yes, 
honorable oyabun.  All the ninjas and the traitor in our employ were 
killed."  He fell to his knees behind the oyabun.   
	"You know the price of failure Matsuo." said the ferret 
simply, never opening his eyes. 
	"Yes I do, honorable one."  One of the guards approached 
with a cutting board, a small bowl, and a tanto knife.  Matsuo shut his 
eyes tight, squeezing moisture out.  He took the items numbly, then 
put them down on the carpet.  He knew what he was to offer the 
oyabun.  For this failure, he owed part of a finger.  His hands, still 
unblemished, were about to take their first toll.  The rat pressed his 
hand down on the cutting board, and grabbed the knife with his other.   
	Before he could make the cut, however, the oyabun's strong 
voice echoed through the room.  "Matsuo, you have served me 
faithfully for ten years, have you not?" 
	"Yes, honorable lord." 
	"And of all those times, this is the first that you have failed in 
your task, is it not?" 
	"Yes, honorable lord." 
	"Matsuo, because of your valiant and faithful service, I am 
willing to overlook this failure.  Did any of the ninja that were 
assigned to this operation possess cyber-link cameras?" 
	"Why, yes, yes I believe so honorable one."   
	"If you wish to keep that knuckle, I assign you instead to 
probe the data banks in the ninja's memory chip, and retrieve any 
pictures of the ones responsible with stealing the information in the 
first place.  Find them, and get it back." 
	It slowly dawned on Matsuo that he was not about to lose a 
bodypart he rather enjoyed having.  "Yes, my lord, at once my lord!" 
he almost shouted as he stumbled-ran out the door to complete his 
task.  
	"One last thing before you go, Matsuo." 
	"Yes, honorable one?" 
	"Dispatch an operative to fetch a canine in the New York 
General hospital.  His name is Kody Barnes.  He is in a coma in 
intensive care.  Have brought to our own surgical establishment.  The 
doctors there have their orders." 
	"At once honorable lord!"  The rat ran out the door as fast as 
he could.  Through it all, the ferret had never opened his eyes. 
	Now, though, he stood majestically and approached the wall 
directly opposite the door.  It was glass, with a beautiful view of 
Central park.  It gave the oyabun pleasure to see from this height, it 
made almost forget the violence and pain that ruled the streets these 
days.  It almost made him forget, too, how the rest of the Council 
would react when they were informed that a group of street-level 
runners had escaped with the most potentially damaging list of names 
in the history of the world.        
 
	Grendel leaned back in a chair, trying to stretch his legs in 
the cramped hole-in-the-wall that Skates called home.  Skates was a 
leopard hacker, with a shock of blond hair falling down his forehead, 
and an irritatingly cheery attitude.  Right now, he was wearing a Mets 
t-shirt and blue jeans, and hadn't been expecting any company. 
	"Well Grend, I don't know." said the hacker, tapping a stylus 
against his teeth.  Before him, a flat computer screen displayed a list of 
dates, all dealing with the delivery of fish.  "If this is in some code, it's 
one that I've never dealt with."  He touched the stylus to the screen, 
bringing up a menu.  "I'll start by running it through the standard 
decoders, and then see if anything weird shows up."  He punched at a 
keyboard set in the desk.  His keen eyes rapidly scanned the data as 
twelve programs at once turned it over, tasted it, unraveled it, and 
generally peeled away every scrap there.  "No, I don't see any... Wait a 
minute."  He tapped at the keyboard, confusion furrowing his brow.  
"That's weird."  He touched the stylus to the third line. 
	"What have you got?"  Grendel leaned forward again, 
ignoring the shelf that threatened to collapse scant inches above his 
head. 
	"Well, I'm not sure, exactly... This dash right here, the one in 
between 'Murphy's- 12 kilograms.'  It's, well, big." 
	"Huh?" 
	"Well, compare it to the one above it."  Skates used the stylus 
to drag the dash up to the one in the second line.  "See?  The upper 
one is like this: 'Benny's Meat Market - 28 kilograms' while that one is 
like this: 'Murphy's - 12 kilograms.'  It's in a bigger font."  He picked 
up the larger dash icon and dropped it in another icon on the screen 
that looked like a blender.  "Let's see what happens." 
	The computer hummed for a moment as the decrypter 
bounced around the dash, then another window on the screen popped 
open.  "Now that's really damn strange." stated the hacker. 
	"What?"  Grendel didn't see anything strange. 
	"The byte counts are all wrong."  He touched the stylus to the 
screen and suddenly the dash window magnified.   
	"You lost me." 
	"Computers can't read normal letters like you and me.  It 
reads a series of switches, called machine language or binary.  It's just 
a series of 0's and 1's in a series of eight, like 01101101.  Each single 
digit is a bit, and that series of bits is called a byte.  That dash should 
just consist of one byte, because it's only one character, but there's 
something like three megs compressed in it." 
	"Okay, I was with you to the byte part.  Megs?" 
	"Dude, you really should learn a bit about computers.  You 
have enough jammed in your brain with SmartTargets and datajacks.  
A Kilobyte of information is a 1024 bytes, and a Megabyte is another 
thousand of those.  In effect, a million bytes." 
	"So in other words, there's three million bytes of information 
stuffed in that little dash?" 
	"You got it.  Because of the way it's set up, the memory usage 
wouldn't show up in a standard decoder.  The only reason I noticed is 
because of the actual size of the character."  Skates picked the dash 
icon up again, and then dropped it into a stereo speaker symbol.  "This 
should broadcast it to the masses." 
	The screen suddenly filled with a series of names, dates, 
activities, and other information.  "Whoa... what the hell did you hand 
me Grend?" 
	Grendel leaned in closer, his muzzle almost touching the 
screen.  "I don't have a clue." 
	"Well, I'll save it to optical for you."  Skates picked up the 
entire window with stylus and dropped it on another icon that looked 
like a Twinkie. 
	"A Twinkie?" 
	Skates grinned wickedly.  "Sure, this is a mystery, and I've 
never been able to figure out what they make those things out of." 
	Grendel sighed. 
 
	Grainger sat at his desk in his office, staring hard at a file in 
a manilla folder.  It was the hard-copy of the original contract to 
"obtain" the information contained in that dash that even now the two 
runners were examining across town.  The young jaguar shook his 
head with frustration.  Damn Marek for his stupidity!  If he had only 
kept a rein on his violent, sadistic urges, the information would now 
be with the company.  And Grainger damned himself for allowing his 
passions to get the better and sending out the company's best freelance 
assassin to kill an old girlfriend.  I think that Cortez, Hamashima, and 
Charrette are best suited for trying to track down this information.  
The number that the runner had given him for contact was just a 
voice-mail account, registered under the name of James Page.  Bastard 
had a sense of humor and a taste for classic rock if nothing else, using 
the name of the guitarist for Led Zeppelin.  Dammit, no leads, no 
contacts, only a couple of descriptions that could match any street-
level person with an attitude. 
	A slim vixen wearing a smartly-cut business jacket and dress 
walked in, carrying in a clipboard.  "Mr. Grainger?" 
	The jaguar glanced up.  "Yes Ms. Marian?" 
	Marian held out the clipboard.  "I need you to sign this." 
	Grainger took it and glanced over it.  "What is this?" 
	"Release papers for Kody Barnes to be moved to our private 
hospital facilities, of course.  You signed these, remember?  You just 
forgot this line right here..." She reached over to point out the mistake, 
and he grabbed her hand abruptly. 
	"I did no such thing.  When did this happen?  Who recieved 
him?"  His eyes were cold as slate. 
	"I-I don't know sir.  This afternoon, I think.  They were just 
finishing reviewing his processing and noticed a signature was 
missing. I was just handed the papers a few moments ago over fax."  
Marian's eyes were slightly panicked, and Grainger let go quickly. 
	"I apologize.  Leave me."  Marian did as he requested, 
beating a hasty retreat.  Grainger sat in silence for a moment, then 
punched the intercom button.  "Sir?  Bad news.  Someone has 
kidnapped Barnes.  I'm sending a few people down to investigate 
now." 
 
	Matsuo could hardly contain his happiness as he entered the 
inner sanctum of his oyabun for the second time that day.  The ferret 
still sat like a statue in front of the incense burner, but Matsuo knew it 
was just a facade.  There was little the oyabun did not know about his 
organization. 
	"Honorable lord, good news!  We..." 
	"You were able to make a postive identification on one of the 
runners involved in the failed attempt to retrieve the information, did 
you not?"  The ferret still faced away from the door, and his eyes were 
still closed. 
	"Yes, honorable one." The rat fell to his knees behind the 
oyabun.  "The ninja's memory chip was slightly scrambled, but we 
were able to pull a few clear images.  One  is a former corporation 
guard named Tanya Robards, now known on the street as Sierra 
Monfort.  The other is unknown to us, but a lead has given us his 
home.  We have made a few other  inquiries and have found the girl's 
residence.  Shall we send our best down to kill them?" 
	"No Matsuo, we shall not.  Pain is better a persuader then 
death.  Send someone down, but do not kill them.  Beat them, then 
leave their bodies for their friends.  They will give us the information 
we seek." 
	"Yes, honorable one.  Also, the one called Barnes was 
brought to us with little fuss, and is being fitted with his new 
equipment even as we speak.  He should make for us an excellent 
operative." 
	"Excellent.  You have done well, Matsuo.  Now leave me." 
	"At once, honorable oyabun."  The rat stood, bowed, and then 
exited quickly.   
 
	Jenna gathered her things and then glanced around the 
hospital room a last time, and grinned.  Finally she was getting out of 
this depressingly sterile little cube!  The panda threw her duffel bag on 
her shoulder and then hop-skipped on her crutches out the door where 
an orderly waited with a wheelchair. 
	"Sorry to see you leaving so soon Ms. Arin," said the orderly, 
a friendly-looking terrier.  Jenna grinned back. 
	"Not me bud.  Give me a good night's sleep and clothes on the 
floor over the 3 o'clock 'checkups' and overcleaners any day."  
	The orderly laughed.  "Yeah, that can get annoying, can't it?"  
He pushed out the wheelchair and Jenna fell ungracefully into it.  
	"Umph.  Well, tell the doctors that I just loved the 
atomosphere around here, and if you get me out that door, I just might 
make it worth your while."  The panda grinned with a wicked twinkle 
in her eye. 
	"Okay boss, you asked for it!"  With that, the orderly raced 
her down the hall at full-clip, both laughing the entire way. 
 
	Grendel managed back to his apartment late, his out-dated 
metal keys tinkling as he unlocked the front door.  He was getting 
tired of this whole affair.  Oversized dashes, botched drops, nothing 
was making any sense anymore.  He flopped down on his couch, 
snorting as he glowered.  He considered flipping on the trideo, but 
decided he wasn't in the mood for drivel.  He stood and walked over to 
his stereo system, shuffling through a stack of CDs, looking for 
something soothing. 
	Of a sudden his reflexes went into action and he turned 
slowly around.  Someone else was in the apartment, hiding in the 
john.  He thought for a moment that perhaps it was Sierra or Vector, 
but decided against it.  They weren't the kind to play practical jokes.   
	He considered his next option, still making noises of putting 
on a CD. He grabbed a random disc and popped it in, and was 
surprised when Iron Butterfly's "Innagoddavidda" came up.  Battle 
music if it ever existed.  He pumped up the volume and then slowly 
approached the bathroom, unsheathing his steel cyberclaws. 
	Before he could react someone dressed in black shot out, 
spinning and thrusting.  It was another of the ninja that the crew had 
fought earlier in the day.  Grendel felt a sharp pain in his side as brass 
knuckles connected with his skin, and his claws shot out to fend off 
the attack.  The ninja twisted his body, and Grendel's claws sliced 
through empty air.  The other kicked the wolf in the torso, staggering 
the gunnerjack back.  From that point on, it was a series of hard jabs, 
well-placed kicks, and groaning on the wolf's part.  Grendel couldn't 
put anything together against this guy.  He'd put up a defensive 
crouch, and the other would bypass it easily.  Finally Grendel got 
lucky and feinted with a punch, then caught the other on the recieving 
end of a heavy kick in the worst place.  The ninja fell to the ground, 
clutching at his groin in pain.  He tried to attack the gunnerjack again, 
and was knocked unconscious by a strong fist right in the nose.  He 
collapsed without a sound. 
	Grendel stood heaving for a moment, then grabbed the fighter 
around the arms and tossed him onto a straight-backed chair.  He 
stripped the other to the fur, tied him with plastic cord, and then tried 
to decide what to do with him.  At that moment, the phone rang.  He 
answered it without flipping on the video.  "Talk." 
	"Grendel, something's happened."  Vector's voice on the other 
end of the line sounded strained.  "The ones that attacked us at the 
drop-off point found Sierra.  They...hurt her badly.  They left a note.  
They want the information." 
	"I had my own run-in with them just now.  Managed to rock 
his world.  How's Sierra?" 
	"She'll live, but Doctor Bellum is still being conservative.  
She has a number of broken ribs and a punctured lung."  His voice was 
exceptionally calm, and that was unsettling to Grendel.  He only once 
seen the sniper truly angry, and that wasn't an experience he wanted to 
repeat anytime soon. 
	"Get over here now, we need to talk." 
	"What are you going to do?" 
	"Pack some offense friend, because I think we've just declared 
war."