Day:

With little mutant ants holding a race in front of you, and demanding you serve as a referee, you sit watching this madness, as they charge over mounds of garbage...and then you realize that there is one clarity in the swirling insanity.

You smell garbage.  Very, very strongly.  You wake up.

And you hear the cries of seagulls.

There's something gooey under your right hand.

You open your eyes.  You're alive.  The towers of Manhatten are in the distance.  You're in what seems to be Fresh Kills Garbage Dump, on a mound hill high of trash bags.

Its a warm, spring day.

PT

OOC: I think this probably qualifies as my meanest entry, except one.  Although in stories, I've had a verser arrive in the middle of an eight-lane highway, and in someone's campfire....

"YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYY EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWW!" is his first thought, though he manages to repress it.

This is a pure primal reaction to the knowledge that he can now transport between dimensions.  Whatever Mike was...he is....whatever that is.

Of course, his second reaction is anger.  Anger at everything.  Anger at God.  Anger at the Universe.  Anger at Himself.  Anger at Mike for not settign the explosives right.

Fear is another reaction.  How long was this going to go on? Would he never see his home again?

A thousand ideas entered his head at the same time.

Part of him immediately understood that there had been something significant back there.  It analyzed the events looking for patterns.  Had he died because he had tried to slide on the ice? Yes...but what had caused the ice to crack? It was possible that Mike had placed the explosives improperly, but he seemed awfully experienced...it just seemed too much of a coincidental way to die, rather than the nice normal explanation of dying from starvation or freezing to death...not that he was complaining mind you...after all, if he had to choose a way to die, then that was it.

No, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had died shortly after asking Mike to teach him Clairvoyance...which made no sense....but there it was....unless....

He had died in anger...firmly in the belief that the Universe was TRYING to kill him, but what if instead the universe was simply responding to his expecations of it?  What if something about this world was more inclined to teach him things he wanted to know and at the same time had put him in a humiliating position because he had EXPECTED that from the universe?

He made a mental note to try and direct things more the next time he died.

He realized at that point that he was certifiably insane.  The next time he DIED? He didn't plan on there being a next time.  If there WERE other worlds, great.  He would travel to them, explore them all.  He loved adventure as much as the next man, but if the Riverworld comparison were accurate, and he felt that it was, then there was a price to be paid with each death.  It might be irrational, but he would never voluntarily choose death as a method to move from world to world, not unless the alternative was absolutely unthinkable...and that would have to be more unthinkable than starving or freezing to death in a frozen wilderness in the middle of nowhere.

Just how great was his connection to the universe? Was it restricted to death or was it something else?

What was he going to do? How could you live any kind of a normal life, no matter how fantastic when you could never put down roots?

At least Mike implied that sometimes you returned the same world you had at one time visited.  That was something at least.  That helped curve the natural human impulse to treat everything as if it weren't real.  These other worlds were realities...even if they were not his own.

That meant that even if he could not die, others could and that there were consequences.  For a brief moment he wondered if everyone experienced this upon death...did they simply travel to other worlds?

It was an interesting thought,and one worth investigating.  What he did know was that death still had consequences.  Just because he (he was pretty sure now) was immortal, didn't mean that he no longer feared death in others.  Each life was an intricate webwork that connected to other lives, and to disrupt one meant all kinds of effects on others.

That did not, per se, mean that sometimes people didn't do more good dead than alive, simply that dealing death at a random and callous fashion was not acceptable.

So...practical considerations....

Practical before he found out where he was....what was he going to learn...or GET...how could you prepare for ANYTHING?

He was VERY lucky he'd ended up in a modern setting.....if there was an Odin out there, he could have ended up anywhere....

So, all things told he'd at least TRY and be grateful he ended up in a garbage dump instead of say..well he'd leave it at 'there are always worse things' category.  He didn't want to tempt the universe by giving it ideas.

He quietly followed procedure and looked around, particuarly at the gooey thing in his right hand...and to see if his pack had come with him.

Well, it was placing explosives in swirling snow, without completely proper gear, on a partially surveyed slope, but then Michael had seemed to know what he was doing.

It even occurs to you that di Vars might have gotten bored.  After all, who was there to fight in that world?

Your other theories are fantastic, but then again, MORE fantastic than being a verser?  Hmm, probably not.  Lots of interesting ideas run through your head.

Your hand is enmeshed with a rotting pack of Chinese noodles and rice, and sweet and sour sauce mixed in heavily.  You free yourself, stand, and look about for something reasonably clean to dry it off on.  A flyer, advertising jobs "All over NorthAm" in the trucking field as long as you have your NACL4 clearance, serves as a ready-made napkin.

You find your backpack over the top of the next hill.  Its the first direction you looked.  And somehow you just knew something was missing over that way.

You were right.

The backpack seems undamaged, and proving its not a dream, you find some chunks of rapidly melting ice inside the pack.  For a second, a cold wind, pure, clean seems to sail off a glacier, and blow across time and space to send cold chills up your back.  And then you're fully in your reality.  Standing on a hill in a gigantic dump.  Flies buzzing about, rats skittering, and the stench of civilization making you wish for a cold day.

PT

"NorthAm" implies that in this reality the US might have succeeded in its invasion of Canada...or perhaps they lost the revolution.

As much as he hates to, Tom realizes that this is a blessing in disguise.  He does not like it here, but he really doesn't want to die again.  There is no better place to learn about a culture (besides a library) than to study their dump.  Just ask an Archeologist.  He begins looking for a Newspaper...(and is grateful they speak English).

After ten minutes of searching, you find a Manhattan Tribune, or at least, the A, C, D, H, I, and K sections of it.

You find a few words that seem unfamiliar or odd, but its mostly American style English with a stronger flavoring of French and Spanish than you are used to.

The headlines on page one are:

"Senator Minton Questioned by Insec"
"Hurricane Vaughn Debris Still Troubles Suncoast"
"Pomme Systemes Battles Anti-trust Investigation"
"Tensions Ease After Summit with Chinese Consortium Leaders"

There is a general weather picture which confirms your suspcion. Northam consists of a good part of Central America, Mexico, America, and Canada with Alaska being termed the H.I.K., and apparently independent.

PT

Well except for that NACL4 clearance thing there was nothing on the surface to indicate anything supernatural.  Pretty low key all things told....at least one could hope.  That meant heading to the library.  It also meant his money was useless.  Wasn't that fun? He might be able to sell a few bucks as novelty items, but that was probably it. Needed to pick up some gold.

The first thing was getting showered and clean, otherwise people were going to assume he was a homeless person.  He had a few things he could pawn from the pack....so the first thing to do was leave the dump.

You are walking out of the dump when you spot an outside shower stall.  No one seems to be around, so a quick rinse, and some spray foam anti-bacterial soap/shampoo/conditioner, and you feel much better indeed.

You peek out, and no one seems to be looking your way.  There is a few guys scrubbing out the back of a garbage dump truck, and you wince imagining having to do that job, and hoping they get paid well for the stink.

A short stroll, and you're through the wide open gate, and outside the dump, and in a somewhat rundown commercial district populated by rusting warehouses, huge black dogs on chains behind twenty foot tall fences, and small shops such as banner companies, pawn shops, and small engine repair shops.

PT
OOC: GE 4 (or "Well Beyond Hopes or Expectations") for leaving the dump.

Tom looks for a Pawnshop that seems to have a freshly painted sign, or at least the best selection. If they clean up their own grounds, thats an indicator of at least some legitimate business interest/practices, despite his potential need for elsewise.

Upon entering, if immediately approached, he will not his head and say, "Just looking first...."

If they let him, he looks around the pawnshop to gauge what they sell...also what level of tech this world has in what areas and also any other weird things that jump out him (like huge amounts of antibiotics or stakes or such for sale.)

Paranoid, are we?

No stakes, except for a small fencing bundle, and no antibiotics.  There's lawnmowers, a shovel, three guitars, a keyboard, gold and silver coins behind glass, pistols behind the counter, home appliances, two rugs, a stack of board games...and so forth.

There's a poster of some rock group you've never heard off selling for fifty marks.  Its framed.

There's a plastic model kit--"Design your very own replica of a Quantum Clock!"  It's dusty.

"Sell it for a half-mark." A bored voice says over your shoulder.

PT

Tom turns around sizes the guy up.  If he looks like someone with whom he can deal he says, "Might just want it at that."  Right.  Quantum Clock meant that this place was likely LIGHT YEARS ahead in technology....but maybe it was just focused areas of technology.

"I've got a few things I'm looking to sell though...."

If the guy looks like he's interested (or at best ambivalent), Tom takes out the laptop, his cell phone, one of the two pistols he has and the titanium cookware, "How much do you think these are worth?"

He seems fascinated by the laptop.

"Hmm, basic tech, but not bad. Windows, eh, never heard of them, must be some small outfit.  I'm willing to go a bit high on this because I'm interested in it.  I like weird tech things.  Oh, three hundred marks, but no higher."

The cel phone has him shrug, and offer you three marks, unless it has a camera in which case he says twenty marks.

He checks out the pistol.  One hundred marks.

And ten marks apiece for each of the cookware pots.

PT

Tom wants to keep the Laptop.  He used it to write for a very long time.  He always keep anything backed up on his keychain jump drive or on the net for fear that the thing would be stolen....a writer (even a freelance one) needs the tools of his trade, but this thing was NOT going to be compatible with the Operating Systems of any non Home timeline world he interacted with...he knew comptuers too well, and not well enough to adapt them to entirely foreign protocols.  He wasn't a programmer.  He could adapt to a new system easily but the lap top in his hands was only dead weight.

Tom DID, however, take the time to point out many of the more useful software features, including Word, Power Point, Excel and some of the more exotic features like Ga....aw crap.  Games.  The things could be worth thousands if translated properly.  Even if they might seem wierd to these people.  That was why he had saved the iPod.....

Well, he'd do his best and showed him "Star Craft" "Dawn of War" "Civilization IV".  "These things were invented by my second cousin a long time ago....Sure they're old but I bet the market has never seen anything like them before...bet they're worth more than just 300....And there is always a market for retro games."

The cell phone does have a camera....but again, he doesn't have the skill to transfer it to local cellphone protocols.

He does not negotiate with him on the pistol.  A close scruitiny might reveal the slight problem that the ammo almost assuredly did not match any standard ammo.  He wasn't cheating the guy since it would be worth a lot to a collector of weird items, but he wasn't going to bring it to attention.

He also doesn't talk up the cooking pots.

Once he has the most marks he feels he can get out of the guy (if he can talk him up on the computer at all-otherwise he'll take 300 but if he starts lowering it then Tom just walks.)

First order of business....death could come at any time.....he didn't know why, but that was the way Mike acted, so he would prepare for it.  He spends half of his money on as much gold and silver coins as he can get.

He also buys the quantum clock model.  Might be quite lucrative in a down time tech world.

Once he is done, he does the SECOND most important thing he can do in a new world and finds a taxi....to take him to a Library.  He has some reading to do.  Quite a bit of reading actually.

He will go 350 on the laptop, but he points out that he's really not the right guy to put a retro game out.

But he does seem fascinated as he plays Civ IV...

You get loaded up on gold and silver.

Fifteen marks later, and you're at the Manhattan City Public Library.

You walk in between a pair of giant owls, made of stone, and head straight for a popular history.

Manifest Destiny was more ambitious in this world.  Or perhaps the Spanish and the British were less able foes.  It does seem as if the British were afflicted with sub-optimal leadership from what you vaguely recall.

In any case, when Mexico City was conquered, the North American Confederation kept it.  And when 54-40 or fight was shouted, people meant it, and so Mexico and Canada have been long incorporated into the NAC.

It seems to be loosely organized, with a lot of power devolved to the states.  There was no Civil War, instead, slavery was gradually outlawed by 1892 with Arkansaw and Tijauna being the last two states to outlaw it.

While Manhattan City is the primus inter pares, it doesn't seem to have been as dominant, and even at several times, it was superseded by Chicago and Atlanta as the numero uno NAC city.  Now Vancouver and Atlanta are its chief competitors for fame and glory.

There is also a lot of state pride, with the All-State Football Bowl being the world's most famous game.  And with lots of jests by Georgians about Massachusettian teetotallers driving south straight and fast, and weaving on the way back home.  And other likewise comments.  There is a good bit of good-humored, mostly, sniping at other states' customs.  The thing that is oddest to you is how much is left to the states.  In Texas they hang criminals on the courthouse lawn still, while in Ontario all forms of capital punishment are outlawed.

PT

Research the occult and supernatural sections.  If there is something unusual in this world, then it might not be obvious to the general public and I want to know if I'm dealing with it.

Then I'll go and check out the magazine racks, both the major political ones, but also peruse the 'Popular Science' 'People' and 'Business Week' equivalents.

Also take note (without yet approaching) to see if they have public access to the equivalent of the internet.

You find information about alternate reality theories, but to your eye, from what Michael has told you, it seems very amateurish.  You also see mention several times of Project Stargate, peyote enhanced visions of the future, and even a dryly scientific paper which once you decipher its meaning is explaining the quantum reality basis of psionic power.

....While it is admittedly speculative, it seems from the Par-23B experimental studies, that the old theorem of 'mind is meat' as so crudely put by Minsky, or 'brain is software' is inadequate.  The mind, is at the least, a quantum holograph, which as all such holographs contains all available information, so logically, if the proper protocols were established, one might be able to discern any data past, present, or future.  The use of Clarsynmethanol-triphosphate has yielded interesting results in test subjects, however side effects are rampant...

The two major parties are Liberal Conservative and Progressive  with the LC's holding the balance of power.  It seems to be a parliamentary government, but there's some wrinkles that you don't quite get.

The military is the High Command, a unified structure, and Insec or Internal Security is some sort of FBI/NSA unit.  While both are respected, its also clear that theirs the sort of quiet distrust, a Washingtonian, the gov't governs best which governs least attitude.  Also, the governors of the various states seem quite jealous of their powers,being quite grouchy about having to yield to High Command when foreign nations get involved.

You do run across an article in 'Science Fact!!' which describes a new astrophysical phenomenon, a spike and anti-spike in radio static that has been reoccurring over the last year over NorthAm.  It would not catch your attention, but it specifies that a number of the spikes seem to have been centered over Fresh Kills, NJ.

Yes, they have Net, but it requires driver's clearance, and an application form to be filled out.

PT

Right.

Well first off, as bizarre as this might seem, some libraries have them...if they have an RPG section Tom will examine it, looking for a contemporary role playing game including skills etc.  He will look up their explanations for things like Streetwise.

Since they probably don't have that HERE...

He finds out if they have mystery/true crime books.  He finds one that involves an indivudal who is 'on the run' (or multiple if he can), and reads the biographies on the back to see if the author has a reputation for being accurate.  He then thumbs through the novel looking for parts where the fugitive is making preparations to elude the authories...specifically about aquiring a fake ID and the pratfalls of doing so.  He tries to find at least 3-4 different novels that do this if he can, so that he has at least some clue where to look for the kinds of people in this society who can make such things are (without flagging a computer alert) and not seem totally clueless when he does so.

While he's at it, he also attempts to look up any more info he can find on this Project Stargate.  That sounds particularly fascinating.

You find several RPG books, only one you recognize.."Earthdawn", and none are modern-day RPG's.

OOC: I remember for a while seeing in my medium sized hometown library some D&D and other books...and this is a major metropolis's library.

IC:

You find a wide array of True Crime stories, and spend a couple hours making notes on 'how to do it'.  Most of the books are distressingly short on specific details...they might mention making a fake driver's clearance, which seems to be some sort of combination driver's license and national ID card, but only one goes into specific detail, and you're not sure how reliable he is.  Still, you've only managed to scan twenty novels out of the over a hundred that seem probable (This is a huge library).

Project Stargate has its own section in the middle of the Paranormal, and Other Oddities, although they call it something more respectful.  The section is about the same size as the one next to it, which is "Pet Telepathy".

There is a wide array of opinions, but after an hour, you know the consensus opinion--its a High Command Esper Use project, highly classified, and related to the artificial stimulation of areas of people's brains with drugs, or electrics to make them espers.

PT

Tom decides that there are two ways he can go with this; low key....or well...'high key'.   He had read about billionares who lost everything they had, but then convinced banks to loan them millions to start all over again, simply because they had an image.

Tom goes to the news paper and looks under the last few days for major local cases.  He is particularly looking for law firms representing white collar criminals.  He then picks the one with the most names in the title, or the one that clearly looks to be the best.

He then goes to the phone book (or whatever it might be), finds their address...and takes a cab to their office.  He will go in, find the secretary and say, "I'd like to meet with an associate if possible regarding a rather...unusual situation.  This will require complete confidentiality but potentially be worth quite a bit to the firm."

You go to Sampson, Beckman, House, Stemper & Collier.  They've been retained by three senators who are suspected of accepting bribe money from an overseas nation that is supposed to be a NorthAm ally, although some people wonder.  A three senator rating seems a good shot to you, so you take the cab over to their impressive office filling the fiftieth floor of the Kensington Building.

You walk in, and make your pitch.

The secretary, a man studies you, and nods.  He invites you to take a seat as he gets what information he can from his boss.

A few minutes later, a rather young fellow in suit, and tie, comes walking up to you with his lean hand held out to shake.

"Hello, I'm Carl Beckman.  New accounts manager, and a junior partner.  What can I do for you?"

PT

"<blue>Let us say, hypothetically, that I had a relative, a very brilliant relative, who was able to create a mathematical algorhym to create hit songs from artists that are guaranteed to be a hit....the thing about these songs is, not all of these artists actually exist.  This relative is no longer with us, I'm afraid, hypothetically speaking, but his work is.

Some of these songs do exist, but many of them don't.  Many of these songs are of a timeless quality that could earn millions.

Then let us say that our dearly departed hypothetical man's hypothetical cousin once worked for a corporation that has since....gone bankrupt, but as part of his employment contract, this employee, who hypotheticaly might look like me, hypothetically did not exist in any known government database. This is only hypothetical, because the company used many cover ID's so there might be a doppleganger out there, but that isn't our hypothetical person.

So, to sum it up, our hypothetical situation here involves someone who needs a legal ID and has the potential to earn millions for the right clients for hit songs with no strings attached, and has the only source to that information, and the ability to destroy it at any time.

Would that hypothetically interest you Mr. Beckman?"

He blinks, and you can see the wheels running in his head.

"We'd have to hear a sampling of these songs, with some professional critics attending.  No recording devices allowed of course.  That is, after I, and a colleague of mine, a Miss Stewart who is noted in our firm for her music collection, hear a preview just to make sure you have something worth our bother.  I assume, you've got a recording with you now?"

He gives you a cool glance.

"If we got things set up, in this manner, I think a fifty percent  of royalties to our partnership would be appropriate, don't you?  In return, we would provide legal assistance, an identity, and the backing of our firm.  Perhaps an office in our firm, and a secretary while you got things arranged with the record companies, and ..."

He smiles a smile that leaves you no doubt he's a lawyer.  Its how a shark might smile.

"They have some very good lawyers at the record companies, but not as good as us.  We would definitely help you out with the contract."

PT

"An office in the firm would be delightful.  I think you will find me less than a stupid man Mr. Beckman.  I think you will find that in many ways I am not a man to be trifled with; 50% in any creative industry is outrageous.....at least, it is for an agent.  But I agree to your terms.  Not on any misguided belief that I couldn't get a lower percentage...." he smiles, "but because I know power when I see it.  I also know that you get what you pay for, and I want someone looking out healthily for my interests.  Let us say for now that...if this ends up being a mutually agreeable arrangement, this could be a very good long term deal for both of us.

Long term and 'very good' in ways that you cannot imagine.

Bear in mind that I'm hardly an expert on what is currently popular, so I'll be using a wide variety of songs.  There are a lot available. Now that you've had the good faith to listen to me patiently, allow me to demonstrate..."

He takes out the iPod, "

He picks a selection of somewhat random songs.

(Sittin' On) The Dock Of The Bay (Redding/Cropper) - Otis Redding, 1967.

I Heard It Through The Grapevine (Whitfield/Strong) - Marvin Gaye, 1968.

That's All Right (Crudup) - Elvis Presley, 1972.

Hurricane (Dylan)

Monkey Wrench (Grohl/Foo Fighters)

Big Hat, No Cattle (Newman)

It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And If Feel Fine)

(You're The) Devil In Disguise (Baum/Kaye)

Yesterday  Paul McCartney & John Lennon

Baby one more time - Britney Spears"

"I also think that it goes without saying that if this device isn't constantly updated with a numerical algorhytm that only I know, everything on it is deleted."

They listen, nod approvingly, and Liselle Schiarro and Paul Beckman, and Tom Day get down to writing out a contract.  You realize that they are skipping the music critic part since both were so enthusiastic.

It takes about five hours, but with the aid of lunch they order out for, and some aspirin, you wade to the end of the contract.  Its not ideal, but you caught a few 'fast ones', and you think it looks pretty good, so ....?

PT

Tom signs it.  A part of him wants to take it to another lawyer, but ultimately, he knows these people can and in some ways have run legal circles around him.  Doesn't matter.  If they give him what he wants, then he'll keep giving them songs.  They know that too; and if they're wise, they'll deal with him smartly.

"Right.  A few things I want right off the bat.  I need a body guard.  I prefer two or three.  The music business can be a violent one.  Even if I am meant to have a violent end, I want as much time as I can before I pass this place.

Second, quite frankly, if the artist for any song from the algoryth exists, I want that artist's permission first.  I am a writer.  I know the value of my own work....dealing in daylight is always good in the long run.  Let us also be clear that I have absolutely no qualms at all about royally ripping off any company's that have ever dealt badly with ANY artist in their repotior.

I leave the legalities to you.  Where rights exist, then you will be able to determine far better than I as to what are applicable.

I will need a list of all the popular artists for the last fifty years.  I will need to compare them to the algorhyhm's production.

I also need two things done immediately.

There is a pawnshop in [insert name of Pawnshop I sold the lap top at].  I need you to send someone there right away and buy back the lap top I sold there.  There is software that my Second Cousin developed that may have commercial value as well.  I recommend doing this in a low key fashion.

Second, and most important of all.....

I need you to find me someone who procures items in a rapid fashion.  Someone who knows what they are doing and someone who is low key but doesn't ask too many questions.  I have a shopping list, and want these items as quickly as possible.  Some of them will be quite unusual."

You see their heads jerk at a few of your requests, but they nod, and soon enough you're esconsced in a small office.  The walls are lined with law books.  There is no window, but Mrs. Shandow is your secretary.

She shows you how to access the roof cameras so you can 'pretend' you have a window on your computer monitor.

They place a security guard outside your door, and point out that in the office, there would be at least two other security guards someone would have to pass.

A guy, Mike Ransom, comes by.

"I'm a hotel concierge.  Accustomed to getting anything from last-minute ring side tickets to fixing car tickets."

A few minutes later, Mrs. Shandow comes in.

"I'm sorry, sir. The laptop is already sold.  Courier guy we sent over there said 'it felt weird'."

PT

To Mike Ransom -

"Hi.  Here is a list of things I require:

1)The name of the best weapons designer you can find.  I want someone who can do orders on short notice and do really wierd custom jobs.

2)The best small portable computer you can get me.  Preferably one with a small AI or very advanced user interface system.

3)Copies of all the top 100 hit songs in the last five years, as well as the top 100 movies.

4)100 Industrial Diamonds.  I want these by the end of the day.  They can be cheap, but they need to look impressive.

5)The best portable cook kit you can find on the open market.

6)There must be someone out there that makes secure bullet proof armored clothing for VIP's.  I want something that looks natural but is as secure as I can get.

7)A high definition recording device.  We need to get the product ready for export for the firm as quickly as possible.
"

To Mrs. Shandow,

Thank you for your prompt help.  I need the following:

A legal ID and passport.

An apartment in an extremely secure facility.  I want something low key but built like Fort K...an extremely impenetrable facility.

I also want a private detective, the best you can find, to find out what happened to that lap top.  'Weird' is not an acceptable answer to that lap top.  Either the pawnshop owner has kept it, or someone else has their hands on it.  It is vital that that lap top is found and secured."

To Mike Ransom -

"Hi.  Here is a list of things I require:

1)The name of the best weapons designer you can find.  I want someone who can do orders on short notice and do really wierd custom jobs.

----"Give me one or two hours, and unless you're willing to pay a hefty premium, you might have to wait a week in order to get in line.  Top-notch guys tend to be busy."

**********"Not a problem."

When he gets me the guy on the phone, I ask for the following:

I want an air rifle, that can be disassembled into small parts and easily cleaned.  I want it to be as powerful as you can make it with the most powerful power supply you can think of that is under 10 pounds, capable of firing at least 10 shots of compressed air.  Each shot can take up to an hour to charge (ie suck the air into) but should be lethal within a hundred feet.

The power source must either be extremely long lasting (like say a fusion cell if they have them here or solar or the like.)

2)The best small portable computer you can get me.  Preferably one with a small AI or very advanced user interface system.

--"AI, sir? I'll have to check, but I don't think there are AI's, although I can certainly get you a very good system.  Are you wanting a Husky system...designed to withstand shocks, or just a regular laptop.  Note a Husky is going to be about ten thousand marks more."

******Definately want a Husky.

3)Copies of all the top 100 hit songs in the last five years, as well as the top 100 movies.

--"Thats easy."  He borrows your computer, and does an Internet search, and in two minutes has about five pages of data being printed off on your printer.

***"No.  I mean I want the actual recording, not just the artist."

However, since it has been done, I'll compare that information to what I have in the Ipod (which thankfully hold thousands upon thousnads of songs) and find the people who do NOT show up.

4)100 Industrial Diamonds.  I want these by the end of the day.  They can be cheap, but they need to look impressive.

--"Right, not high quality, even for industrial, but flashy. Can do."

**When received, put these into a nice leather sack and put into the pack.

5)The best portable cook kit you can find on the open market.

--"That would be the Simoletic 4000. I own one myself.  Its great for backpacking."

**Also put into the pack.

6)There must be someone out there that makes secure bullet proof armored clothing for VIP's.  I want something that looks natural but is as secure as I can get.

--"I'm not sure sir.  I can definitely get you a kevlar vest, but cloth..."  He looks doubtful.  "However, I'll talk to some people.  Might take a few days."

***"Do your best."

7)A high definition recording device.  We need to get the product ready for export for the firm as quickly as possible.

--"Right. I know the company to call right now." So saying, he calls, and orders one with his celphone.
"

***Use this to transfer songs from the Ipod to a format useable by the Firm. Start off with 25 or so.  I can provide a specific list if you want.  Avoid those with existing artists save the Elvis and Beetles Songs they've already heard.


To Mrs. Shandow,

Thank you for your prompt help.  I need the following:

A legal ID and passport.

--It will take a while. Government buearuacracies are slooooowwww.

***Noted.

An apartment in an extremely secure facility.  I want something low key but built like Fort K...an extremely impenetrable facility.

--"Dexter Tower is very good, not the best, but Hampton and Coburn both have six month waiting lists, and DeeToo is the one several senior partners use."

***"Get me a space in DeeToo.  If it is good enough for the execs here, it is good enough for me."

I also want a private detective, the best you can find, to find out what happened to that lap top.  'Weird' is not an acceptable answer to that lap top.  Either the pawnshop owner has kept it, or someone else has their hands on it.  It is vital that that lap top is found and secured."

--"Right, sir, we frequently use Misty Reynolds. She's tough and smart."  She fishes out a business card from her Rolex.  "I'll let you talk to her because I'm not quite sure I grasp what your business is, and I think it would be best if you talked to her."

***"Greetings Ms. Reynolds.  Here is the long and the short of it.  I have a computer that I sold.  I pawned it at a pawn shop.  Supposedly someone already bought it.  I have reason to believe the pawn broker sold it immediately after I left or is lying.  I need it retreived."

My receptionist was out running errands, so I picked up the phone.  Reynolds Investigations...  This is Miss Reynolds.  How may I help you?

When the caller identified his problem, but not himself, I almost hung up the phone.  Business was going really well.  I was getting some second-hand Insec referal work, which paid well enough and the straying husband gig was always profitable.  Still, there was something in his voice which cried out for help.

I'm located in the First NorAm Bank Building on Central Avenue.  Take the elevator to the third floor.  My office is the second door on the left.  Bring all of your documentation with you.  If you don't want to tell me your name, just let my receptionist know that this is about a missing computer.  I do not charge for the initial consultation.  Should I take your case, my fees are three hundred marks a day, plus expenses.  I will require two days worth of my fee up front as a retainer.  When should I expect you, Mr. ...

"Underhill.  Call me Mr. Underhill.  I am currently under the patronage of a large and prestigous firm.  I can easily have my receptionist fill your receptionist in on the details.  They sent a courier earlier and he simply said that the pawnbroker had behaved in a 'weird' fashion.  The lap top in question is old.  Archaic by today's tech standards, but it has software on it that I need.  It is unique and potentially valuable.  I needed some quick cash and sold the thing to get cab fare.  As for my documentation...all requisite details on such will be provided by Mrs. Shandow.  I have strong reason to believe that I might be the victim of a random unfortunate accident, so I won't be going to the bank, Ms. Reynolds, though I am willing to pay more to have you come here.  Double your first day's retainer.  I understand you are a busy woman, but I'm a rather paranoid individual of late.  Oddly, on some levels I don't need to be....but I am nevertheless."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:10, Tue 02 May 2006.

Great, another nutcase.  Oh well, I needed an excuse to get out of the office.  I'll play along.  It's either that or do Insec background checks...  yuck.  I took a deep breath and spoke quietly into the phone, trying to keep the smile out of my voice.  I understand.  Are you at liberty to divulge your location over the phone, or are you in imminent danger?  I'm not running all over town to pay phones for a self-admitted paranoid nutjob.

"There are three reasons I'm keeping low profile.  One of them doesn't matter where I am.  The other two are the reasons I'm concerned about the lap top.  One of those two possibilities will already know where to find me, so giving you that location is not a problem.  I'm at Sampson, Beckman, House, Stemper & Collier.  I will make arrangements to see you shown to my office."

I know that address.  I will be there presently.  Maybe the nutjob did have a few marks for a hard working, ex-Insec gumshoe.

I got dressed for the occasion, this being a potential client with potential money.  I shrugged into my shoulder holster amd adjust the double mag pouch on the other side to where it was comfortable.  My NorArms P-40 was the civilian version of the standard Insec sidearm, as well as an old friend who had seen me through many cases.  I could never get used to those puny 9mm handguns.  They might have more ammo, but I'll take stopping power any day of the week.

I called down to the garage to have my Defender brought out.  I didn't think it was time to bring out the sports car or the motorcycle.  The Defender was big, impressive, and according to the pamphlets from the dealer, had one of the best armor ratings in its class.

I also left my receptionist a note:

Steffan,
Called out for a new client.
Do the Insec prelims.
I'll do the legwork later.
Terri

The drive was nice.  I entered the building and asked the receptionist for a Mister Underhill.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:44, Tue 02 May 2006.

(Assuming said receptionist allows her up)

The office is small, plain and not recently occupied.  Several piles of papers lie strewn about, though there are some rough diagrams drawn on the wall, including what looks to be some kind of odd looking rifle.

She will notice a security guard posted outside the door, who looks both mildly puzzled, bemused and bored at the same time.  He is definately armed, but doesn't seem (I presume) to be too worried about immediate danger of attack.

Once she is in, Tom Day has her sit.

"My apologies for my abrupt manner earlier.  I have a great deal to do and little time to do it in.  Many people have religions, I have my own, but of late I've aquired the belief that at any given moment something karmically horrific could happen to me.  'The universe' is a vague way to gauge a threat, I know, but I figure an armed guard and a little bit of caution can't hurt."  That and the fact that I've died twice in the last 24 hours might have something to do with it....

"I know you've got questions, so I'll start with the basics.  The other two threats, in order, might be-the government and people who bought the lap top.  The government simply because they might have found out about the lap top....I am a man without an identity.  Or, if I have one, it is a false one.  I'd use an allusion to fiction, but I'd rather not waste time trying to find an anology....so I'll be more specific.

I have two significant secrets you need to know about.  The law firm does and since they're paying the bills until my royalties come in, there is no reason you shouldn't either.  I presume you'll keep it confidential since you come highly recommended.

First, I have access to a mathemetical algorhym produced by my cousin that produces a product of incredible value.  So much value that a complete stranger was able to walk in from off the street and convince the law firm here to work with him.  We're talking millions here.  Which I'll turn into billions if they're smart about keeping their end of the bargain.  Second, I'm a man without an identity.  I may...or may not...exist on Insec Databases.  If 'I' do, they're not me.  If I don't....well then I don't.  Given my observation of paralalities, there is about a 10% chance I do.  I'm mildly curious about it, but not ultimately concerned.  My cover ID was well established for the company I worked for.  You will definately find no record of that company.  I'm all that is left.    I am the sole remaining proprietor.  The thing I need, the thing that is vitally important, is that a ...similar product....to that mathematical algorythm is on that lap top."

Ohhh...  Kaaaayy...  Assuming that I believe anything you have just said, I need to see the papers you received from the pawnshop.  They will tell me if you have any legal standing to recover your case.

I smiled at the sane looking man in front of me.  Also, if I were you, I would get some advice from your high priced legal people about getting registered with Insec.  Not being registered or having a fake identification are really bad ideas.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:32, Wed 03 May 2006.

Tom gives her the reciept he got from the Pawn Shop.  "I'm already working on getting registered with Insec.  To be honest, it was my highest long term priority." He ponders a moment, "You seem to know a bit about Insec.  How good are your contacts in the government?"

I looked at the reciept.  It wasn't a pawn stub.  It was for the sale of a computer.  I am unable to take your case.  You sold your computer.  You are not the legal owner.  The legal owner, the man who purchased your machine, may do with it as he pleases.  Perhaps your friends here can help you negotiate a more positive solution to your problem.  I cannot.

"Really? I see.  Well, such is life.  Learn a lesson permanently they say.  Next time I'll be careful to examine the peice of paper more closely.  Having gotten that little bit out of the way, perhaps you can talk to the courier and find out just what was 'weird' about it all?"

I was getting some mixed signals from Mister Underhill.  First, it's that million mark 'Al Gore Rhythm' will change the world thing.  (And I never knew that the foreign political commentator could dance.)  Then, it's 'Oh well, live and learn' in the next breath?  I doubt anyone could make such a complete attitude switch.  Something was very wrong here.

I've got a couple of problems with your story.  How did you avoid getting in Insec's files?  I'm also interested in how you got a computer from a company that doesn't exist.

Everything in my experience was telling me to walk quickly to my Defender and drive right over to the nearest Insec office.  Curiosity can get more than cats killed.

Driving an unfamiliar vehicle can feel weird.  Eating in a different type of restaurant can feel weird.  It was your computer.  What do you think would make it weird?  And why would you still be interested?  It isn't yours any more.

"Because I was never put into their files.  And if you will recall, I said the company doesn't exist any more.  Furthermore, I said the computer came from my second cousin, not the company.  As to the 'weird' bit, I don't know.  I had the law firm send a courier.  He is the one who said it was 'weird'.   I haven't spoken to him directly.  It isn't my computer any more...fair enough.  But in my experience, that doesn't necessarily mean much.

Let me put this another way.  You're a private detective.  Let us assume you do everything legally.  I commend you for that, and believe me, that is my intention here as well.  There are, however, people in the world who don't.  More importantly, there are perfectly LEGAL ways about gathering information about someone and something to perform a preliminary analysis about the facts.

He has my computer.  It is legally his.  I want it back.  I intend to buy it back from him for a considerable amount of money, but to do that, I need to know if he has sold it to someone else or done something worse with it."

Tom did not like the vibe he was getting from this woman.  Her innate hostility indicated that she was not someone who was interested in working for him at all.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:23, Wed 03 May 2006.

Paul Carl Beckman stepped into the room.  His eyes searched intently for clues, and then he nodded.

Misty, you know him as Beckman Junior, a young, but nearly mature shark.  His father, Mr. Beckman, has pictures of the President and the former President of the other party on his wall, shaking hands with each at a private party held in this building.  Their reputation is of sharp dealing.  Not breaking the law, but cutting it right to the edge at times with some very creative undertakings.  This firm is also a major client.

Tom, he steps up to you, and whispers in your ear.

"We don't object to what you've spent so far, but perhaps you could reign things in, until, some more cash flow starts coming in, okay?"  Its politely phrased, but you know the free-spending is over.

Then he turns to both of you.

"While this is an unusual situation, and certain of Mr. Day's requests may seem, ah, 'eccentric', the Firm feels that it is important that Mr. Day's situation be regularized, and brought into compliance with existing law. We are talking with certain friends in the Department of Foriegn Affairs to see about obtaining an emergency residential and business permit since he is an overseas visitor.  We've considered applying for asylum on the basis of persecution, but feel this is simpler. We wish no legal challenges to this endeavour, and since possession is nine-tenths of the law, all too frequently, we do not wish a music corporation in possession of this device. And then, once this is certain,  his device then be made available so that the Firm and Mr. Day can benefit from a regular profit stream.  Now, as I said, we would like to have the only source of the device, and I'm afraid exigencies forced Mr. Day to perhaps unwisely part too early with such, and so I would like you to bend your efforts to finding and buying the device back.  Hopefully, by the end of the business day, today, if at all possible."

PT

Tom listens.  He's about to say something, but stops short, and then smiles.  He hands the first 25 of the recorded songs to Mr. Beckman and then leans back in his chair and watches Misty for her reaction.

Once things are over, he will ensure that the money already spent is delivered to him [Ie....those Industrial Diamonds are the main thing he wants in that pack in case he gets blown away and sent to a primitive world....]
This message was last edited by the player at 19:13, Wed 03 May 2006.

Whatever Beckie wants, he usually gets...  I will look into the matter, Mr. Underhill.  I believe there was some discussion of my retainer?  Also, I will need to speak with the courier.

I'm thinking more and more that I should have let the machine pick up the phone while Steffan was running errands.

"Well I think that since that was already spent, then that'll be taken care of...." he looks at Beckman.  He looks at Misty one more time, pondering, "And do me a favor....keep your eyes open while doing this for...weird things.  I mean besides me.  If something unusual to your experience happens, no matter how small,  I want to know about it.  Call it omens.  Call it what you will."

I looked at Beckman the Lesser.  He was really going to hate this part.  Did your client inform you that he has doubled my usual retainer?  I assume that this offer was made due to the sensitive nature of his problem.  I smiled sweetly.

Beckman frowns.  Looks at Tom, and rubs his face a bit, and then valiantly summons a smile.

"Perhaps, Mr. Day is right.  It is a serious problem, and needs priority."

He sighs.

"We pay you quite well already. I don't suppose you'd be interested in your regular fee?"  Sigh again.  "No, I suppose not."

He straightens up, and says.

"All right, I think we are done here.  Let me walk you to the front door, Ms. Reynolds.  After all, right now, you're getting paid more than me."

And Misty and Beckman the Lesser exit the room...

PT

Tom begins recording songs.  In bulk.  If they were kind enough to place a computer in his office, he'll make a neat little spreadsheet to show them the title of the song, artist, and genre.  He will then compile that information onto the recording device presented to him.  He then gives the songs to the lawyers.

At this point, he is exhausted.  He will call the Concierge and find out if the suite he asked for was procured before the spigot was cut off (after all, SOME money had to be spent somewhere besides Misty, otherwise Beckman the lesser wouldn't have been so pissed....).

If Beckman stopped it, Tom sighs and takes a cab with his OWN money to a cheap hotel nearby.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:10, Fri 05 May 2006.

You pick up the diamonds in a small velvet bag with a lock and key on the top of it.  The Husky is there as well.

You take a cab to your apartment in DeeToo.  Its very nice, and at the same time has a kind of claustrophobic feeling due to the high levels of security.

You wake up the next morning a bit out of sorts from sleeping in a strange bed, in a strange universe, and reflect that you're going to have to learn how to be a wanderer.

PT

Tom is quite concerned here.  He isn't sure why but he has a nagging feeling that to stay in one place for too long makes it easier for the universe to kill him.  On the other hand, it helps to be in a secure place.  What he needs is a Humvee like mike had....but instead be a Nuetronium Tank......well, one step at a time....

The question was staying or going.....he had fulfilled his half of the contract and given them the songs.....more importantly, he could still do that here....but the security on this place was good.

Decisions.  Decisions. Decisions.

He stayed at his complex here and burned about 250 more songs onto the recording device.  He then returns to the office.

However, once he returns and gives them (preferably an underline, not Beckman) the CD, he remembers that he 'forgot' his lucky pillow case.  He says this latter 'under his breath', but they already consider him insane (or eccentric...the difference being about a million dollars in income).  He then takes a random cab back toward the hotel, but changes mid destination, gets out of the cab and takes another cab, then takes a third cab and heads to a bus station.

pm

You're standing at the bus station,  owned by the Pony Express Lines, and not relaxing very well.  You're not sure whether to get up and go to the bathroom again, or get another cup of really terrible coffee.

The next trip south leaves in fifteen minutes, or so its claimed, but at the same time, you can see that the buses run, but not very smoothly.  Everyone takes a long time to get on, and get off.

And then you look up, and catch the eye of a security guard who is giving you a curious glance.  He turns away, and checks outside by glancing out the glass door into the busy street outside.

PT

Define 'curious glance'.  Curious as in, "What the hell are YOU doing here?" or Curious as in, "Say.....have I seen you somewhere before?" or "Gee, that guy looks like a crazy person..."

If I can't get clear read on the guy....I'll go closer toward him as if meaning to talk to him to see what he does.

The last two of them together, but you're not sure.  Its veiled.

You start walking up to him, and he turns left and then right looking for a path to 'casually' walk away.  There's none that won't be completely obvious that he's trying to walk away.

So he turns to you with a deliberately bored face.

"Yes? Is there anything I can help you with, sir?"

He's never going to be a good poker player, thats for sure.

PT

"Hi.  My name is Tom Day." He extends his hand, "Say, this is going to sound insane, but have you ever thought about being in the movies? No, listen, bear with me a moment here.  The difference between rich people and crazy people is about a million dollars.  I have strong reason to believe that I will be coming into some money pretty soon, assuming something dire doesn't happen, but I need something....real.  See, I've seen the stuff they call 'entertainment' around here, but its not REALITY, you know what I mean? Reality television.  Oh, sure they have a few things, but not the REAL reality television the way its supposed to be done.  I imagine you see quite a few odd types around here...."

"Oh, um, yeah, I.."  He shakes your hand.  "I don't think so, but thanks all the same."

PT

He smiles, "You sure.  You seem to have the knack.  What's your name? You seemed to notice something earlier....something about me...disturbing?" He asks the last somewhat jokingly.

He gives you his brightest smile.

"Not at all sir, you just reminded me for a second of my brother-in-law.  From a certain angle, that is, your face, it looks like his.  You know.  Um, you probably don't. Anyways."  He finishes with a weak smile.

You can see his name on a badge above his shirt pocket.

"Sanders."

PT

Tom smiles, "Really?" There was something about that name that was supposed to be significant to him, but he didn't know what it might be...not unless they didn't have KFC in this timeline.....

"What does your Brother-In-Law do, just out of curiosity? This might seem like an odd question, but I have sort of a good reason to think someone ELSE might be having a case of mistaken identity right now....the universe is a weird place.  I don't suppose you have his phone number?"

"Um look.  I need to go back to my office.  Do some paperwork. So see ya'."

He turns to walk away, heading toward the office door to the right of the ticket counter.

His attitude is, you decide, of someone who doesn't want to tell you about his family.  And why would that be, you wonder...

And you're pretty sure he did not buy your story of being a producer either.  Although you thought you did a decent job at it....

The hair on the back of your neck is not happy.

pt

Time to take another left turn.

Tom quietly whispers, "I wouldn't go back to your office if I were you.  I wouldn't raise a fuss either, but I've got enough plastic explosives in my Backpack to level this entire complex.  I don't how you found out about the organization but you're going to stay where you are and tell me exactly what you know or I'm blowing myself and this entire complex up."

This last part he says with absolute and utter conviction so there is no doubt the gentleman knows it isn't true on some level, "I am not afraid of dying.  So lets put the games aside.  Who do you work for, and what have they told you?"

The more rational part of Tom's mind is screaming, "This guy is just a security guard in a bus station!"

To which the more intuitive part of his mind replies, "Yeah sure....he's a security guard in a bus station....IN ANOTHER @#$@#$#$@ DIMENSION....who happens to think you look like his brother in law...so he's either lying out right because the lawyers have put out an APB hit on you, or he really *IS* the brother in law of our doppleganger and we need to find out who he is...."

To which the rational part stopped arguing once the convesration reached, 'In Another dimesnion' and resumed gibbering in the darker corner of the mindscape.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:16, Mon 22 May 2006.

pm

He pales, and the bit of nervous sweat on the sides of his face suddenly multiply into drops.

Gulp.

"Look, man, I have a family, other people here have kids, you don't need to do this.  Just walk out the door, hey, if you want to, there's a bus over there, just idling. Walk on, drive away.  I mean, I don't know whatever your beef with High Command is, but they never said you were armed and dangerous.  so ..well..um..."

PT

Tom smiles, "Hey relax.  I was only kidding you.  Do you know how many sensors plastic explosive would set off if I lugged it around in my backpack? No.  Nerve gas is much more effective for that.  High Command.  Thats all the information I needed to know...and you know what? Because you do have a family, I'm going to give you three very valueable peices of advice...

First, this is one of those moments that will make no sense to you at all, but you will remember when the time comes.  Sadly, by merely talking to me, they're going to want to ask you questions.  I regret that, but there isn't anything to be done about it.  Sorry.  If it means anything, I doubt that they'll do much to you BESIDES ask you questions.

Second, if they do ask you questions, and threaten you...I'm going to give you a bargaining chip.  There are powerful people who want to see me dead, but they also want something I have.  If you wish, at that point, tell them that you will only speak to a detective by the name of Misty Reynolds. Tell them you have the names of the next big movie makers. Don't answer any questions until you speak to her and her alone.  That's just my suggestion.

Third, if they do let you see her, then tell her this....tell her that the truth is that I'm an unwililng god being bounced around the universe from world to world, and that I can't be killed, and that if I die, I'll be back and that the law firm had better represent my interests or there is nothing that will keep them safe from me when I come back....so if they're good little boys and put my money in the account where it belongs so I can access it when I get back, then we're partners, but if not, then no amount of muscle in the world is going to protect them from me, because sooner or later the universe will bounce me back to this world.

Now...just pretend that was a coded message and that you can forget whatever of it you want, because HEY, I could be wrong and they might not lock you up at all.  Oh...and if you really want to know, the names they want to look for are Steven Speilburg and George Lucas...assuming they're not already making movies in this world.

But, regardless, you'll pardon me, I need to go die/leave this dimension as quickly as possible, so just stay where you are and I won't release the nerve gas.  Oh, and if they have snipers watching me, tell them its tied to a heartbeat sensor.  Personally, I wouldn't call them for at least a half an hour, but I only told you because they might call you.  Have a nice day!"

He then leaves and walks out the door. He's looking for a bank.

He listens, and nods carefully.

You leave, and walk two blocks, and find a bank.

"First NorAM Central Bank."

Its not a huge place, but it does have an impressive marble facade.  Its wedged between brown brick tower, and a two story tall used book store that stretches down much of the block.

You've heard no sirens yet.

PT

Day takes a moment to think about this.  Its a tough call, but ultimately, the risk of the Lawyers catching him is too high.  On the other hand, if he is caught publicly committing a crime, he falls right into their hands.  In the end, even though the gun was going to be unloaded, the risk of someone getting killed is what convinces him to avoid the bank and head for the second most useful target...which happens to be right next door.

He mentally thinks, "Attention Project Star Gate, you have 15 minutes to call [insert name of Bookstore here] and page them that you are interested in contacting me or just directly telepathically contacting me before I blow this cookie jar."

He heads for the Used Book store.

He is looking for the top 10 books (which you don't have to list) that involve certain subjects.

3 That involve compilations of fiction, short fiction, plays etc
3 That involve compilations of mathematics, technology and invention.
3 That have lots of pretty art in them (which can thus theoretically be ripped out and sold by peice if need be)
1 Totally random book.

Factors for filtering are: It has to be small enough to fit in the pack....and he has to be able to afford it.

He buys them.  If 15 minutes have passed and no contact is made he goes to a restroom with pack in tow.  He takes out his pistol and loads it.

He concentrates very hard on 'Weird Science' or 'Super Heroes' and then...leaves this world.

Boom!

==============================================================================

And in the next world..."Day and xxxx" will be up later today.

PT