At Your Door! (CoC 1990s, IC Thread)

[Xsesiv]

At Your Door!
OoC Thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=14411941)

The employees at the Nexus always dread it when a letter comes through the door addressed to "Alex Welton and colleagues." What this means is that the boss is going to get a bunch of weird characters in, hang out in one of the back rooms with them for a few hours, and then, as likely as not, disappear for anything from a few hours to a few weeks, leaving them to run the store alone, without anyone to know the ins and outs of every shelf, take costume orders for next week’s party, or to be the lovable eccentric who draws in custom.

In comes Ron Baker, an imposing-looking young man who’s just today read another scathing but irritatingly insightful review by that self-satisfied snob Byron Humphrey, which all but condemned the entire findings of his last case report to the shredder.

Heads turn as James Johnston enters. Big and ruggedly handsome, he could be popular with the ladies if he weren't so bitter. However, being as it is a comic shop, they are rare in here.

Finally, Niels Fairbanks shambles in: he is short, muscular, and determined-looking, but he periodically trembles involuntarily. Nerve damage, they say. Shame, because he could have made it in surgery or in football otherwise, whichever he preferred.

So, the visitors pass through the aisles of comics and meet up around a table in one of the smaller back rooms, usually used for hosting role-playing games. The room has only a small window, the breeze-blocks painted directly. It is much too warm. With cans of drink on the table provided from the vending machine in the corner, and with Gaiman's Lord of Dreams telling the four from a poster on the wall that he will show them terror in a handful of dust, the envelope is opened and the letter slides out onto the table.


The Letter:
http://i412.photobucket.com/albums/pp203/Xplosiv_bucket/June10_zps0c6196f7.png

Robert Jatik, eh? He's even signed it himself, but that signature's so gaudy that most sane people would wish he hadn't. Three of them know a little about him; James just knows the name. He hasn't said much. Still, $10,000 plus whatever they can convince Ms. Novescu their usual retainer is...

[Henry the 57th]

James spends several moments looking over it again and again, just to be sure he's not hallucinating. $10,000 plus however gullible this guy is? It seems a solution to his money problems just stumbled into his lap.

"Obviously," he says, "We take it."

[Dark Seeker]

Ronald rereads the "review" for the third time. To think a hack like Humphrey could presume to judge his work! One day, one day very soon, he would prove that self satisfied scum wrong. And then the world would see who was the real occult expert.

He sighs as he enters the comic store. Meeting here, of all places! If Humphrey got wind of this, he'd eviscerate him in the press. Still, it could not be denied that his acquaintances had some knowledge of the occult. This expertise made the humiliation worthwhile. For now, anyway.

He meets with the others, providing them only with a curt nod. As always, Ron focuses on business. He reads the letter, his eyes lighting up as he does so.

"I agree with James. Of course we should pursue the matter. Jatik is an influential man. That he would summon us shows that we are developing a reputation, regardless of whatever that hack Humphrey says. Solving this case should provide us with a lot of good will with important people."

[ocel]

While well aware of his own limitations, the same cannot be said for others. An arrogant presumption that shall be corrected in due time, but until then, Fairbanks shall serve as an ironic example. For even he is allured by the promise of fame'n'fortune, preferably the former than the later. "Very w-well, w-we'll have s-someone v-verify the letter's authenticity before arranging a m-meeting."

[Henry the 57th]

"Yes, that would be wise."

[Sduser]

The groups geek and a half could barely bite his bottom lip as his mind trailed less about the money, and more about what the supposed sensitive situation was. He pulled his mind from the odd realm of the occult and paranormal, or for Mr. Welton his normal train of mind, and spoke out,

"Whatever he needs us to do must be something out there if he's going to pay us this much. Not that I'm complaining, but if we're walking into some kind of Vampire stuff, I wish he'd had mentioned to bring a steak. Atleast a cross."

Four seconds before reverting back to crack pot paranormal theories. A new record.

[Xsesiv]

"Very w-well, w-we'll have s-someone v-verify the letter's authenticity before arranging a m-meeting."


"Yes, that would be wise."

A quick search in the appropriate phone books turns up that the address and phone number are both registered to Full Wilderness, Incorporated. Another quick search online shows that Full Wilderness uses this style of letterhead, and the postmark on the envelope indicates that the letter was posted from Samson, California.

Either the letter's genuine or somebody in Samson's playing an elaborate but pretty lame-brained prank. The only way to be sure is to call up the company to ask if the letter was sent, so the old speakerphone, acquired so that everyone can hear and negotiate, gets broken out and plugged in, and the number is punched in.

boooov

bip-boop-boop-bip-bip-bip-bip-bip-boop-boop

voom voom...voom—

A woman's voice, clipped and curt-sounding, answers the phone halfway through the second ring.

"Good afternoon. Thank you for calling Full Wilderness, Incorporated. This is Claris speaking; how may I help you?"

[Henry the 57th]

"We received a letter from Mr. Jatik, telling us to contact you. We wish to confirm that it is genuine."

[Xsesiv]

"Arkham," mutters Ms. Novescu, in reference to the area code of the incoming call. This is followed by the sound of papers being thumbed through. "Yes, gentlemen, we did send you a letter," she adds, a few moments later. She continues on the topic in a businesslike tone.

"Mr. Jatik doesn't want me to discuss details over the phone, but he'd like to see you as soon as possible. We can have first-class tickets to Eastwood International ready at the airport of your choice by tomorrow morning, and we'd be willing to provide you with a chauffeured car and a suite at the Crocker Hotel for as long as you're in Samson. Finally, gentlemen, as Mr. Jatik mentioned in his letter, you'll be paid a premium of ten thousand dollars for the consultation, and of course, your usual retainer."

She pauses here, to allow someone to suggest an appropriate amount.

[Henry the 57th]

"$60,000." James says, silently praying that they have more money than sense.

[Xsesiv]

"I am being polite, sir, please do not treat me like an idiot," sighs Ms. Novescu on the other end of the phone. "You do not charge sixty thousand dollars for a consultation. I hope I misheard you; might you instead have said six thousand?"

[Dark Seeker]

"Forgive my associate. I assure you that he meant $6000. What usually happens is that we come in, determine what exactly is happening, and then discuss any additional fees for equipment or services required. The $6000 is nonrefundable. The premium that Mr. Novescu has offered us would only have to be paid out if he was satisfied with our services. I am sure you would agree that a better deal could not be found anywhere else." Ronald's tone is light, as if he's letting the Claris in on a little secret.

[Xsesiv]

"Sixteen thousand..." mutters Ms. Novescu, accompanied by the sound of scribbling. "I was just about to suggest a similar procedure myself, sir. We'll negotiate fees and expenses in California when you have a measure of the work.

Now, I'll need to call the airport to make your travel arrangements. I presume you'll want to get on a plane at Logan International?"

[Henry the 57th]

"That sounds acceptable. Unless, of course, there are any objections?" James looks around meaningfully.

[Xsesiv]

There is another brief scribbling sound; Ms. Novescu is apparently a habitual note-taker. "Very good, sir. Now, I must call the airport. Once the flight's been booked, I'll call you back later on this evening to leave the details. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow afternoon. Thank you for calling. Goodbye," she finishes, then there is a click and a dialtone.

[Dark Seeker]

Ron looks around at the group, a cocky smirk on his face.

"Well that went well. And if Jatik is willing to pay this much, I suspect whatever problem he's having is genuine.

[Sduser]

"They're paying for a plane, at the least. I mean, they COULD change their minds about the lodging, and then say they don't need our help, then not pay for a flight home... Just saying."

Chuckling out as he sips from his can, always the optimistic one.

[Xsesiv]

Claris Novescu makes good on her promise and calls up later to tell everyone what to ask for at Logan International and the Crocker, so early the next morning, everyone assembles at Logan International, the tickets are collected and there is a hour's wait and a five-hour flight, neither of them uncomfortable.

After the arrival at Eastwood International, a shaggy-haired, lean young man in a chauffeur's outfit and huge sunglasses brandishes a sign bearing everyone's name, obligingly helps everyone into the car with their luggage, and then drives towards the centre of Samson. It's very straightforward.

However, the drive is somewhat less comfortable than the flight was. It's still only June, but the weather in California is swelteringly hot and sticky: weather for short sleeves and sandals, not New Englanders. The driver, in his chauffeur's uniform, wipes his face with a piece of tissue every time the car stops at a red light.

Eventually, the car pulls up outside the Crocker, which is a particularly grand hotel whose entire ground floor is made up of windows buffed to such a shine that the reflections in them make it impossible to see in. The driver helps everyone get their luggage out of the car again, then returns to his seat. "Be here again at three-thirty," says the driver, resting his thin face on the steering-wheel and looking hot and bothered. "You got an hour or so to settle in before I take you to the Bridgestone. See ya," and then, apparently with effort, he sits up straight and drives off.

[Dark Seeker]

Ron watches the man depart.

"What a lovely welcome," he remarks dryly. "I for one feel like a valued guest."

Summoning a bellhop to take his bags up to the room, Ron looks at the others. "The heat of the day has me craving a stiff drink. Anyone care to join me?"

[Henry the 57th]

"I could always do with a good beer or two." James grins.

[Sduser]

Having already begin to daze a bit from the unexpected heat, Alex's hand went up, "Amen to that. I'm not walking anywhere further until I get something cold." Sending his suitcases up to his room as well, though keeping his personal backpack on him.

[Xsesiv]

The most obvious place to get a drink is the hotel bar, a huge room with architecturally unnecessary pillars here and there and a long marble-and-glass bar cutting a crescent out of the room.

However, hardly anyone is here at the moment: a few businesspeople sheltering from the heat at the corner table, one or two staff, and the odd couple dressed for an early holiday dotted around. In contrast to the blazing sun outdoors, it is cool and dim in here, with soft music playing in the background.

The bartender, a thin black-haired guy with no trace of tan steps over. "What can I do for you, gentlemen?" he asks lightly.

[Dark Seeker]

Ron orders a glass of Pinot Noir. He sips it leisurely and taps his fingers to the music. He looks to the world very relaxed, but in reality he is deep in thought, wondering why exactly they have been sought out and invited across the country.

Well, he and the others would soon find out.

[Henry the 57th]

James orders a German beer and enjoys his drink at a leisurely pace. He spends the next few hours at the bar, drinking himself more and more silly, until finally he has enough and mumbles some excuses before heading off for a nap.

[Sduser]

Alex orders simply a glass of bourbon. Leaning back against the bar as he looks around at each and every person inside. Chuckling a little at a couple but keeping his comments internal.

[Xsesiv]

As promised, the chauffeur returns at half-past three, and after a brief drive, thankfully cooler than earlier but still very stuffy deposits his passengers at the door of the Bridgestone Building. "You'll be wanting to go up to the thirteenth floor," he says, "See ya," and he drives away.

The map in the Bridgestone's huge lobby shows that, belying its not-for-profit tax status, Full Wilderness, Incorporated takes up two entire floors. On the thirteenth floor, the elevator dings and opens onto a huge reception hall two storeys high and hung with dramatically-lit photographs of landscapes, devoid of any human presence. There are rich rugs on the floor and excellent sculptures of porpoises, grizzly bears, whales and so on line the walls. The reception hall runs the length of the building, with doors leading off at intervals down either side, between which scurry members of staff. The sounds of running water and birdsong are occasionally piped into the room.

Immediately in front of the lift is a desk, behind which sits a lofty and severe woman of about thirty-five years scribbling something on the topmost sheet of a huge stack of paper. "Mr. Jatik's through the first door on the left," says Ms. Novescu, barely looking up; and, indeed, the first door on the left bears a plate reading Robert Jatik: Council Head.

The room, once entered, is a fairly average office, but has only small windows high up the wall. The furniture grey, black and buff in colour, and with only the sky visible, the place looks a bit like a cave or a kiva perched on a canyon wall.

Behind the black desk sits a man of about sixty, the light from the windows reflecting off his white hair and casting his halo into the surrounding air. He has blue eyes, a full but trim white beard, and an outdoorsman's deep tan, and wears a plaid wool shirt open at the neck, to go with his dark linen trousers and Italian shoes.


http://i412.photobucket.com/albums/pp203/Xplosiv_bucket/jatik_zps9e4513cd.png

He stands, smiling, to greet his visitors. "Robert Jatik," he says. "I'm very pleased to meet you, gentlemen." He makes for the door. "Come, come, let me give you the tour."

[Henry the 57th]

"A pleasure, Mr. Jatik. James Earl Johnston."

[Sduser]

Alex just simply nods, not wanting to embarrass himself among the presence of proper gentleman, though he politely removes his hands from his pockets. Eyes tracing about the room, as a low whistle of intrigue is emitted.

[Xsesiv]

Jatik leads his visitors out of his office and back into the reception hall, past the reception desk. "This is our shared tribal space," he says, "where we sit around the campfire." Laughing heartily, he indicates a fire ring set into the middle of the floor, the stones of polished marble and quartz, with artfully asymmetric magnetite veins, with the flame in the centre of the ring burning blue from bottled propane.

The staff, passing across the tribal space, are dressed in natural fibres and leather, but no furs. Gold wristwatches, gold rings, gold bracelets and brooches set with fine-water diamonds seem popular, with their designs stemming mostly from Celtic, Native American and Bengali tradition.

"Conference rooms," says Jatik, opening, in turn, two doors to the left of the room, allowing his visitors to look into spacious and well-decorated conference rooms, currently empty.

"Executive offices," he continues, passing a few more doors, but not opening these, then he turns and heads for the other side of the room. "And of course my office, but you've seen that. Now, on this side, supplies, gymnasium, daycare centre. And here are our solicitors and support staff." As he rattles off the list, he pauses by the doors of each of them, to allow his guests to look through the windows. All of them are luxurious and well-stocked, but otherwise average. He opens the final door onto the roomful of staff and leads the way in, and begins walking around the room slapping backs and making small talk, ostensibly to look at his staff's progress, but really to show off to the visitors.

The staff in the final room, all on modern computers in reasonably spacious cubicles, are all intent on their work, with nobody playing a computer game, chatting on the phone, or idly gazing out of the window. The windows, incidentally, take up almost two whole walls. Jatik looks very proud of his workforce as he leads his guests out of the room.

"A bit of a climb now, guys," he grins, and leads the way up a set of stairs to a balcony running around the tribal space halfway up the wall. "Editorial and design department," and he opens the door to allow his guests to look in on calendar design and so on, with the designers demonstrating the same dedication shown by the staff downstairs. Jatik then heads to the other balcony and finishes the same routine in the magazine offices, darkrooms, studios, photo labs, and digital imagers' offices.

"Would a for-profit business ever show such morale?" he asks rhetorically, as he heads back to his office.

[Dark Seeker]

Ron shakes Jatik's hand heartily and follows him silently, observing the scene as they go.

Well the workers are certainly disciplined. A lot of appreciation for alternative spirituality around here as well.

It didn't take long for Ron to be able to tell that Jatik composed himself very well. He was only showing his guests what he wanted them to see. For the type of man Jatik was, experienced in business,This wasn't all that unusual. But it did illustrate that Jatik would have to be observed closely.

Soon enough, they're at the end of their tour. Ron looks around, his expression impressed.

"Very promising operation you run here Mr. Jatik. You seem like you've h hired the best and brightest in the businesses. You're not just hiring bleeding hearts; these folks strike me as more then competent. How do you keep competitors from swallowing them up? As well off as the company seems to be, surely there are bigger companies that could offer your staff far more in financial incentives then even you.."

[Xsesiv]

"I think you have it the wrong way round, sir," says Jatik. "I come into contact with thousands of people and we get hundreds of applications every month, and we pick the very most dedicated and able. I assure you that if you were to ask anyone here, they'd tell you they were on a mission, and if they personally get paid well for it, well, that's only a plus."

He comes back into his office and sits down behind his desk, indicating chairs for his guests.

"Now, here's my problem," he says. "For a number of years, Full Wilderness has been sponsoring research into natural science. Mostly, we look at insect ecology, energy budgets and symbiotic relationships. A symbiotic relationship," he explains, somewhat ponderously, "is simply one between two organisms by which both organisms benefit. The bottle-tailed squid, for example, has certain species of phosphorescent bacteria in its photophores, which generate the luminescence. In turn, they are fed by the squid. Likewise, there are bacteria in the human gut which aid in digestion."

"We do this to contribute to the pool of scientific knowledge needed to save the planet. I don't know how much you know about the ongoing crisis, but I can tell you that efforts to downplay it stem from scientific misinterpretation. That and the grossest economic motives. But every day lost cannot be regained, and that may prove our undoing in the end.

"Now, some of these researches into symbiosis have been done in conjunction with Dawn Biozyme, a corporation in the Samson suburbs. This last week, I got a call from one Doctor Peter Allen Tait, who said, and I quote, that my money was being "misused for the foulest purposes". When I looked him up, he was a microbiologist employed by D.B.Z.

"My guess was that they'd gene-spliced bacteria or insects without satisfying the formal procedures, so if they got turned loose, they could devastate earthly life. There are already new lifeforms lined up for patent and trademark.

"He didn't say what he was worried about, but he sent me this note by private courier."

Jatik opens a drawer, then leans over the table and exhibits a dot-matrix note.


The Note:
http://i412.photobucket.com/albums/pp203/Xplosiv_bucket/dot_zpse09ab404.png

Jatik clears his throat. "Dr. Tait disappeared about a week ago. The police found his car, which was damaged, in Seacliff Palisades Park, in a residential neighbourhood. They think he committed suicide, but they never found a body, so the file's still open; Detective Sergeant Jack Bolling is in charge of the case. Now, Tait's disappearance must be an important part of your investigation, but the affair is even stranger than you may be guessing." He presses an intercom switch and speaks a brief command, and two aides wheel in a dolly, with something large on top covered by a tarpaulin. He dismisses the aides."This arrived by messenger the day Tait disappeared. What is it? Where did it come from, and what could it possibly be for?"

He cannot resist a flourish as he whips the tarpaulin off, but his "Tah-dah" is flat and ominous. Under the tarpaulin is a clear plexiglass cylinder about a yard wide and a yard high, closed with double latches and stout hydraulic clamps. Inside it is a black thing. It flails pseudopods, and is covered in meaningless knobs and bumps and hollows, with no discernible front or back, though it does have two feet, each with two toes. With clicking and slurping noises, drool and pus seep from mouths and orifices placed without reason or rhyme, and a foul stench fills the air. As the tarp is removed, it slams itself fruitlessly against the side of the plexiglass nearest Jatik's visitors, squeaking fiercely, as he shakes his head. "It put one employee in the hospital. The teeth are razor-sharp. Tait somehow managed to drug it, and it arrived here limp in this cylinder. We thought it had died, but then it jumped our resident zoologist and bit off her thumb, and now she's suing us because we wouldn't kill it to get the thumb back."

[Dark Seeker]

Ron studies the note, curiosity building.

"It certainly sounds as if Dawn Biozyme got to him. But I fail to understand why you need our expertise for this."

And then Jatik brings in the creature, and he does. He takes two involuntary steps back before regaining his composure.

"Good Lord! What a monstrosity. I've... I've never seen anything like it."

He lets out a dry chuckle as Jatik describes the researcher's fate. "I suppose even company loyalty has its limits." But he turns serious as he examines the furious creature, oddly fascinated and repulsed by it in equal measure.

"How is it intelligence wise? Have you been able to communicate with it, or is it entirely feral?"

[Xsesiv]

"All it does is eat and scream," says Jatik, placing his finger against the plexiglass and watching the being gnash at it. He sighs. "It doesn't seem to realise this stuff's here. It doesn't sleep, it doesn't even breathe. If it's got any intelligence at all, which I doubt, it's definitely insane. I shudder to think what would happen if it got loose in a favourable environment."

[Henry the 57th]

James sits silently through the lecture, calmly observing and listening. But when the creature comes out... "God above! What is that thing?"

After he calms down a bit, he asks. "What exactly would you say would be a "favorable environment?" Furthermore, did you question the messenger on the origin of this package?"

[Xsesiv]

"If it's like normal earthly life, it'd most likely want somewhere warm and wet, but as you can see, it's not like anything earthly. It's out of my experience, so we can't tell where it'd feel at home, which just makes it risky. We didn't ask the messenger anything, the package came in a cardboard box, so we didn't really see any need to ask, and by the time we'd opened it the guy had gone. After we saw what was in it we held onto the box, though," says Jatik, and he speaks another command into the intercom. One of the aides returns with a reinforced cardboard box secured by yards and yards of strapping tape. The stamp on the box identifies it as sent by a storefront called Fax-'n'-Forms in Samson's suburbs (1143 Jefferson Road, Burdy, 95155), via the United Parcel Service.

[Henry the 57th]

"Did you receive any sort of communication along with this... thing? Has anyone ever sent you any from there before? Finally, why don't you kill it? It clearly isn't doing anything useful, dissection may yield valuable results, and as you said yourself, it represents a potential danger shold it get lose."

[Xsesiv]

"I only got that note and the phone call," says Jatik. "As for dissecting it, well, that's one of the reasons you're here. I'd like you to take it to Zymvotek laboratories before you start looking into Tait disappearing and whatever's going on at D.B.Z. We don't have the facilities here, and I clearly can't trust Dawn Biozyme anymore.

"In fact, I think that's everything I want you here to do: I'd like you to try to find out if these experiments are illegal. I'd like you to deliver this thing, then check up on the findings at Zymvotek from time to time; that should help with working out if the experiments are illegal. If they are, I want enough evidence to get them stopped. Tait clearly knew something, so I suggest going after him. Here's what we've found out about him." He pushes another note over the desk, then speaks into the intercom again. One of the aides, a chubby, pale man, well-dressed in an expensive suit and fine shoes, comes back in and replaces the tarp, then in comes Ms Novescu.


The Note:
http://i412.photobucket.com/albums/pp203/Xplosiv_bucket/note-1_zps3d4a516e.png

"This is Richard Slakes," says Jatik, in reference to the chubby man. "One of my assistants; one of my better ones, too. He's coming with you."
http://i412.photobucket.com/albums/pp203/Xplosiv_bucket/slakes_zpsf704b37f.png

"Pleased to meet you," nods Slakes, in what sounds like a Brooklyn accent.

"The premium and retainer are already in your bank accounts, and now I have things to do, so I'll leave you in the capable hands of Ms. Novescu and Mr. Slakes," says Jatik, and retires. Slakes sits quietly on a chair in the corner, while Ms. Novescu opens negotiations.

"As well as the premium and retainer for the consultation, we're prepared to pay you steadily $5,000 a month or fraction thereof until Full Wilderness decides to conclude the investigation, and per-diem expenses to a maximum of $350, with bed and board paid at the Crocker, and a flight home paid for when the investigation is over," she says. "Do we have a deal, gentlemen?"

[Sduser]

As the creature came into view it was barely half a curse from Alex's lips before retreating behind one of his larger cohorts, the coward's stripes showing as his heart raced, barely peeking around his colleagues at the creature as conversation continued. Whatever that thing was it was a bastardization of even the things he researched.

Even as mention of the money came about and a new face was introduced, he was a bit too... Well, taken back by the monstrosity. Barely able to speak up to his friends, "Just... Keep me AWAY from that thing... And... I'm in."

[Dark Seeker]

"I'm in as well, provided you raise our expenses to $400 a day. We are after all dealing with a delicate situation here." Ron responds, the memory of that thing stuck in his head. He's not sure getting it tested is all that wise; scientists were an odd lot, and if it was indeed a new species the rush to publish papers and research it would have the risk of blowing this up into a national story. But Jatik's the boss, and if he trusts them to be competent, Ron has no real complaint.

[Henry the 57th]

"I second my friend's position here." James says, indicating Ron. "This may prove more expensive than you anticipate."

[Xsesiv]

"Done," says Ms. Novescu, shakes hands all round, then disappears out of the room.

"That's settled, then." Slakes claps his hands and wheels the tarp-covered dolly out of the room. "Follow me," and he wheels it over to the freight elevator.

Slakes, the creature and Full Wilderness' new employees take the elevator to the loading dock. Slakes wheels the dolly into the back of a white Full Wilderness delivery van backed up to the dock, and locks it firmly into position with load straps.

"So, who's driving?" asks Slakes. "I, eh, I don't drive. Never learned. I grew up in Manhattan. It was too expensive to keep a car and a garage. I'll direct, though," he smiles, and he clambers into the passenger seat. "I'm afraid the rest of you are going to have to sit on the seats in the cargo area with our little friend," he calls, looking at everyone in the wing mirror.

[Henry the 57th]

"I can drive." says James, a little too quickly. He doesn't relish the idea of being stuck with that thing for hours.

[Xsesiv]

Everyone piles into the van, the doors are closed, leaving the cargo area closed off, with only fixed windows in the rear doors, and the van takes off. It has an automatic transmission and a full fuel tank, and James soon finds that it's a fairly clumsy vehicle. While it's powerful enough, its high ceiling makes it top-heavy. Meanwhile, the passengers in the back, so as not to slide off the narrow seats, are having to hold onto straps fitted in lieu of seatbelts.

Slakes directs the van into traffic, heading northeast, and while there is a near-mishap caused by his not knowing which way the one-way streets run, he brings out a roadmap of the cities of California, quickly works it out, and soon the van is making good speed up a four-lane thoroughfare, two lanes each northeast and southwest, past dusty commercial offices and light industry.

He tears a bit of downtown San Diego out of the map, brings out a pen and scribbles two phone numbers onto it, then reaches over and pushes it into James' pocket. "My phone numbers," he says. "Work and home. I'm at work nine till five on weekdays and I sometimes do overtime on Saturdays. I'd rather you didn't call me at home, but if it can't be helped, it can't be helped." He smiles, but then looks serious again. "Mr. Jatik wants weekly reports: what you've found out, what you suspect and what you're going to do next. Don't worry, I'll make sure to make you look good," he winks. "See if I can't wangle you a bonus or two. And Full Wilderness has influence, too, so if you ever need the way smoothed, just give me a call."

He reaches into the glove box and withdraws a tin of peppermints, pops one into his mouth and then offers the tin around. "So, have you looked us up at all? Read any of Mr. Jatik's books?"

[Dark Seeker]

"I've read A Task Received. Well, part of it." Ron admits sheepishly. He thinks he got halfway through the book before his eyes glazed over. "And everyone knows a bit about Mr. Jatik. I believe I saw him on Oprah once. Truly an amazing life story."

The car hits a bump in the road, and Ronald nearly goes flying. He holds onto the strap even harder.

Assuming Ron can respond from the back. Correct me if wrong.

[Xsesiv]

"Ah, that," says Slakes, turning around to chat. "I got put on the guiding council for critiquing that. Bit of a pointless honour, really. Everyone knows Mr. Jatik's in charge, it just means I get to go to a few more functions than everyone else. I told him that in that book he'd totally ignored the role of public-health measures in the population explosion. Then, when Hard Lessons came out, I told him that he'd essentially suggested that we shouldn't work to prevent famine or invest in infrastructure and in the end his ideas would leave behind only a few hundred thousand people. He said I was being very incisive but we weren't going to get political consensus otherwise, and anyway you can't analyse a policy."

He coughs. "Not that I don't admire him, you know, he's acheived a lot."

James is driving in the right-hand of the two northbound lanes. There is a sudden roaring noise from outside the van and two Harley-Davidsons with handlebars ending in spiked mace heads thunder up into the left-hand of the two lanes, parallel to the F.W. van.

Each of the Harleys is ridden by a biker wearing leathers, tattoos, a beard, sunglasses, imitation Iron Crosses, Confederate flag bandanas, dangling skull-and-crossbones earrings and so on. One biker is just massive, the other is veritably enormous. Behind each biker is a tough-looking young blonde woman of more average size and dressed less remarkably, but with a box about three inches wide by ten inches high by two feet long propped against her thigh.

While the two bikers manoeuvre into position, a black van with tinted windows in front of the F.W. van slows down, and another black van behind the F.W. van, also with tinted windows, picks up speed, between them trying to drive the F.W. van to a halt. At the same time, James notices an alleyway approaching leading to the right.

[Henry the 57th]

James thinks for a moment, then swerves somewhat towards one of the motorbikes, attempting to either force them swerve away or simply smash them aside.

Drive: [roll0] vs. 40

[Xsesiv]

The black vans, despite their best efforts, don't manage to cut James off. One biker, seeing the van approach, simply revs his engine up and pulls in front of the F.W. van: while powerful, the van is simply outmatched in agility by the bike. The second biker, the closer and larger of the two, does swerve aside, but then slams on the brakes and ends up behind the F.W. van, so that the F.W. van is being preceded and followed by bikes in the left lane and vans in the right.

More alarmingly, the two biker-women level their boxes at the van's tyres and the boxes jump and rattle in their hands, cracks and flashes emerging from each box.

"Jesus Christ!" yells Slakes, pressing his head against the headrest.

Both the F.W. van's right-hand tyres go, slowing it dramatically and causing it to swerve halfway into the right-hand lane. There, the F.W. van is rear-ended by the van behind it and crashes, in turn, into the van in front, and all three vans come to a halt.

Inside the back of the F.W. van, everyone is being thrown around. The tarp comes off the cylinder, Niels ends up tangled in the tarp, Alex lands eyeball-to-tentacle with the thing inside the container, and Ronald nearly lands on top of Alex. Mercifully, the cylinder remains firmly locked.

The bikers screech to a halt, then all jump off their bikes, and three men in black suits climb out of each van. Both biker-men have large revolvers, the biker-women hold their boxes, each of the six black-suited men brandish an automatic pistol. Everyone wears sunglasses.

"Out of the van, with your hands up!" shouts someone.

[Dark Seeker]

Ron is thrown for a loop by recent events. It was like something out of a spy movie.

He looks to Slake, hoping the man knows something. "Who the hell are these people?'

"What should we do?" he asks the others. "Anyone crazy enough to run us off the road and hold us at gunpoint likely can't be reasoned with. "

His hands reach for his gun, in case the group decides to fight its way out. He should be able to use the element of surprise to take down a few of them, at least.

[ocel]

Their misfortune, while unpleasant by any stretch of the imagination, had a surprisingly positive effect on Fairbanks. Of whom, had been too lost in thought over what happened earlier to contribute in any manner whatsoever. . For the impact from the crash, broke this seemingly endless train of thought, so that he may help in some manner or another. In this case, it would be to scan the passenger compartment, in case there were any hidden compartment. When done he advised his driver to. "If its the authorities then we'll have to spin it in a way that will get us a less severe sentence. Shouldn't be too much of a problem since our driver had a drink or two. Keep our firearms and presents hidden until we can verify if their whom they claim they are. If not then we'll share and share alike; especially with our secret weapon. "