much description of ritual preparations and code incantations
> Out by the card table, the synthesized screams of agony mix with unfeigned
> howls of laughter. "Sick, truly twisted," sez Lisa.
>
> Or easily amused?
Zeitgeyser watches the horrific display at some remove. The "punks"
seemed to have turned to ritual cannibalism. They have spitted one of
their number.Shrieks of horrible suffering fill the air juxtaposed with
the happy laughter of an evening lawn party. Various daemons & bots
scurry around the grounds alternately tending to the beverage needs of
the revelers and to the torture and (lam)basting of the poor tribe
member selected for this ritual sacrifice. The stench of hot ketchup
fills the air. To his dismay he sees the victim is the gene (his best
hope for friendly contact rotates slowly over the fire). Perhaps he
has committed some horrible transgression of tribal law.
> Back at the holo-cookout, the guards (smiling now at the thought of
> somebody in pain) remove the body from the ketchup vat with 5 foot
> long platinum tongs, give it a cursory rinse with the garden hose.
> Ed plays emergency paramedic: clamps an enormous derm of endorphin
> analog below Gene's carotid artery before covering him head-to-toe
> with liberal quantities of Ella Mae LittleBear's Miracle Hair Tonic
> and Fast-Acting Full-Body Skin Graft Elixir.
>
> : Sometime later, a much more presentable Gene indicates that he is
> : ready to play. Shifting gingerly in his seat, he rubs again at skin
> : that feels like it has first been scrubbed with Brillo pads then
> : oiled and pummled by the entire cast of American Gladiators...
>
> No kidding. Even so, state-of-the-art Oklahoma folk remedies reduce pain
> and recovery time by orders of magnitude.
>
> : Smiling ruefully at Lisa, he shuffles the deck and prepares to deal.
> : Suddenly, seeing the all too bland look on Eyebrown's face, he
> : realizes what they were probably up to while he was distracted, and
> : chooses a different game.
>
> : >He loses two games of gin, three of Oh Hell.
To his amazement the victim is removed from the spit ministered to
briefly and in good humor then all return to the party. The gene
calmly sits down at the card table and enters the game as if nothing
had happened. Curious, very curious.
He is tempted to approach but the gene's shrieks of pain are still
echoing in his ears and he notices that the dreaded sym is perched on
one of the gables of the ranch along with another horrible monster.
His narrow escape from the beast earlier is still fresh in his mind.
Neither the bandy-legged shaman nor the punkmother known as Poly are
inevidence. He sighs - his timing is still less than perfect. He will
have to satisfy himself with simple observation yet again. Perhaps
next time he will carry simple trade goods with him. At least he trip
hasn't been a total loss - he pats the pocket where he stored the small
sample bottle with the What the Hell is a Cyberpunk thread (still
tightly capped thank God!).
Regretfully he activates the Hawking Hopper and steps back across the
event horizon.
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Zeitgeyser - the Old Faithful of pop culture
"Unity is always at least two"
(Buckminster Fuller)
The trouble with anarchy is that it
ALWAYS degenerates into government (me, heehee)
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