Thorson's Trade [Verhaal]

[O11]

Sci-fi in de traditie van William Gibson als het per sé een naam moet hebben.
Sci-fi over kleine criminelen en sjacheraars temidden de 'urban struggle'.
Niets ontziende mega-corporaties met ongelimiteerde macht.

Dat dus...

Een begin van een kort verhaal.



THORSON’S TRADE


T H E F U T U R E S O L V E D N O T H I N G



And Harry Thorson walked alone.

The road was hot; he could smell the bitumen melting under the midday sun. It wasn’t an unpleasant walk though. Every now and then a dusty gust of wind relieved the pressing heat that seemed to come more from the hot surface of the new, yet badly laid asphalt that passed under his feet, than from the sun.
His phone buzzed in the front pocket of his jeans. The screen of the device; rendered opaque by countless minute scratches, said it was Ickx calling he knew, without looking. Not again. A sigh escaped him as the phone kept buzzing.
Thorson felt strangely disconnected from his senses. His body carried itself automatically along the road and his mind was already mulling over the hassle that lay ahead. The Twinkler given to him by Ickx rested heavily in the left pocket of his wind breaker. In a pointless gesture to make sure it was still there he fondled it. The oblong ceramic case felt smooth with rounded edges, he let his fingers run along the sharp grooves that ran across the larger planes of the thing. Thorson didn’t know what exactly it was. When Ickx had given it to him he didn’t seem to be treating it with particular care, so he figured it wasn’t fragile or dangerous. But what was its function? Ickx didn’t seem to want to tell him, if he knew at all. Thorson’s first hunch was that it was data, some sort of hard drive.
The exchange was to take place at the Cropper industrial park. It was mostly crumbling structures that occupied the area now. The park had been built some decades back in the hope that as long as the infrastructure was present, industry would come. It didn’t though. Instead it had just laid at its location, and slowly the urban slum that had always formed the south side of town had grown and grown towards the park and slowly had engulfed it so that it laid today as an island of still, lifeless, industrial desolation in a sea of bustling, living, urban grime.
Today, midday on a sunny Sunday, it all didn’t seem so cruddy at all though. The sun highlighted the green of the plants that grew between the dilapidated buildings. In the long grass that hugged the roadside there grew red and yellow flowers; Thorson decided it were poppies as he glanced at them with absent eyes. Flashing through the scarce shadows small rabbits seemed to have found their homes among the steel ruins of the abandoned architecture.
The contacts would expect him at the bottom of the tall old chimney he had been walking towards for the last hour and a half. A man named McCartney would be waiting there, Ickx had said when he had let him out of his Honda about four miles back, at the edge of the park. The contact had demanded there’d be only one man at the exchange. How much money Ickx was getting of this deal was unclear to Thorson, McCartney would not be handing him money or goods at this meeting. Maybe they’d paid Ickx beforehand. There was a lot that confused Thorson about this deal, however doing business Ickx’s way always was a turbid ordeal. Four years of dealing with the fellow had made him get used to that.

The chimney rose up before him out of a low concrete building. The frontage of the building had crumbled to such an extent that several man-sized holes gave a view of the abandonment inside. Thorson stood there for a minute, trying to figure out the best thing to do until he decided that just standing there out on the road certainly wasn’t it. So he walked slowly towards the façade of the building. As the chimney seemed to grow and grow as he came nearer, so did his disquiet about being alone in the middle of nowhere to meet some unknown dealer. Out walking in the sunlight it all hadn’t seemed too big a deal. But as he entered the building’s shadow that grew larger now the sun had passed its highest point he noticed the silence of the area and his aloneness. The small Kel-Tec .32 behind his waistband that he had taken with him against Ickx’s advice now felt very reassuring. It wasn’t much in an armed confrontation, but he’d at least be making some noise and causing a distraction should he have to get out of there in a hurry.

[chief108]

moar?

[roy s]

sci-fi begint spannend..

[ataraxia]

meer?

[O11]

meer...

Standing on the grass in the shadow he tried to listen for signs of the contact. Reluctance to enter the confinement of the building made him want to straggle. Moving quietly he edged closer to look inside through a particularly large hole; his senses tensed. The inside of the hall seemed empty. One large storage tank stood against the back wall and on the floor wide gutters ran an angular course between rusted mounting brackets that must’ve held more storage containers like the one in the back.
But in the middle of the hall; dead still, almost invisible in the irregular shadows, there stood a large dog. Thorson froze as he stood; peaking around the corner of the hole, looking at the animal. It just stood there with on its face some kind of streamlined goggles. Did it see me? He wasn’t able to tell for sure because of the goggles, but they didn’t seem to be pointing in his direction. Will it see me if I move? The dog looked like a kind of whippet but a bit larger so it had to be fast. Thorson didn’t doubt it could traverse the thirty yards or so separating them in a matter of seconds. It must be the contact’s. For a moment the thought of just stepping out of his cover crossed his mind. Maybe that’s what the contact wanted he figured, but then his eye fell on a small motion in the hall. A rabbit made its way across the hall straight in the direction of the dog. It didn’t seem to notice the dog, but the dog would have to see the rabbit. And it did. Slowly, in a strangely sentient way it lowered its stare until it was fixed on the rabbit. The rabbit remained oblivious to the dog’s scrutiny. As the rabbit made its way across the floor the dog’s goggles followed it precisely, as if its gaze was physically connected to the rabbit. Except for the head following its mark the black dog stood still. It was reasonably muscular, but Thorson guessed it wouldn’t be an attack dog since the goggles would be a major hindrance. Then it must be a sentinel of some sort, meticulously conditioned and adapted to perform its task. Growing up in the urban sprawl of Megacity his neighbours had had a naturoid puppy. The little beagle had played in their garden sometimes. But there was something wrong about these little machines… something eerie. At first they were puppies. But allowing for long enough time their behaviour accumulated into a disconcerting quality that could not be defined. They did not behave unlike real puppies- the simulation was near flawless, but in the mind of the owner something changed over time, the simple perpetuation of puppy-like behaviour set something askew, as if an act of subtle beguilement had slightly been unveiled by accumulating acquaintance to the habits. Though its behaviour didn’t change the puppy started to irritate its owner slightly more every day while it stayed adorable. Given enough time a kind of distrust grew towards the animal and it got switched off and disappeared to the attic, or sold. But most of the time it got its batteries removed, was laid in its puppy sized Everpuppy Basket® and ended up as some mantelpiece or as a peaceful little scene on display behind the window of a living room cupboard.
Human perception regarding unnatural behaviour was far more sensitive than thought. Even when non-human simulators were involved. The function of the mind that aroused affection towards the human features in inanimate objects, like stuffed animals, or even the face in the moon, also stirred into a special kind of terror.

But this dog had to be the real deal. Naturoids were rarely fit to be working animals. And even if they were it would make more sense to use regular machinery like a remotely controlled buggy instead.
The rabbit had crossed the hall now and crawled outside again through a hole in the wall. The whippet was still staring at the place where the rabbit left the hall. Now it turned its head again, slowly, until it stared straight at HIM!
A violent tremor travelled through Thorson’s body and his eyes widened as he felt the severe urge to flee. But the dog just stood there. Dead still again, looking at him with its goggles.
“Follow me.” It came from beside him. And Thorson whirled towards the sound, his hands shooting to his waistband in an uncontrolled fumble for his pistol.
Next to him, two yards away, stood another dog like the one inside.
“Follow me”’ It crackled from the dog as it stood there, looking up at him.
He saw the goggles were attached to a kind of mask that covered most of the animal’s face.The three lenses reflected the daylight cherry red.
“Ehm, what?” He muttered at the dog.
“‘Follow me.” The sound came from its face.
“Are you with McCartney?” He asked and startled as the first dog joined them and his heart rate shot up again.
“Follow me.”
“Where to?” He asked apprehensively, but the animal just looked up at him. “Goddamnit… alright.” With the back of his hand he swiftly wiped his sweaty forehead. And the dog turned and walked away silently.

In motion the dogs seemed more natural in their movements. Both of them walked in front of him, leading the way around the building. They made their way through ankle high grass in a kind of corridor formed by the outer wall of the building with the chimney and the adjacent one. Thorson’s eyes darted around the narrow passage as he surveyed it. This deal was heavier than he liked them to be. This contact evidently was a pro, maybe even a corporate. This wasn’t Ickx’s level.

[O11]

Feedback pikko's. Ik post het niet voor de kat ze keboets.

[chief108]

bek houwe

[O11]

Ik ros je kop achterstevoren als ik je tegenkom.

[chief108]

maar...

verhaal is goed te doen, maar ik betwijfel het ten zeerste of mensen wel zulke lappen tekst lezen op een forum
wordt al snel een brei van van dansende lettertjes

zou het opdelen in kleinere hapklare brokken
overschat je medemensch niet man...

[chief108]

Ik ros je kop achterstevoren als ik je tegenkom.
moet je eerst een keer uit je hol kruipen bolle

[O11]

maar...

verhaal is goed te doen, maar ik betwijfel het ten zeerste of mensen wel zulke lappen tekst lezen op een forum
wordt al snel een brei van van dansende lettertjes

zou het opdelen in kleinere hapklare brokken
overschat je medemensch niet man...

True... true...

moet je eerst een keer uit je hol kruipen bolle

Daarom, ik kan van alles zeggen op interweps, ik kom toch niemand tegen.

[chief108]

prima dus...

ga nou maar weer fijn verder met whatever je aan het doen was :)

[Socra]

Is dit jouwes?

[O11]

Yup.

[roy s]

knap.

..kan het ook in het nederlands, of klinken de kunstzinnige zinnen beter zo?

[wilhelmus777]

he uitslover met je engels
kan het ook in het hebreeuws als je toch bezig bent
ik lees graag van rechts naar links
en denk ook dat die zinnen beter tot hun recht komen in het oud hebreeuws of laat oud grieks

[wilhelmus777]

maar wat chief zegt. grote lappen tekst leest niet lekker op een scherm.

beetje enteren hier en daar, opdelen in kleinere brokjes

dan ga ik het ook lezen, hoewel ik niet zo van science fiction ben.

vind die creatieve uitspattingen van jou echter wel fascinerend

what's next ? beeldhouwwerkje ?

p.s. Ickx, daarom heb ik niks met scifi wat is dat nou voor naam, Ickx ?:laugh:

[O11]

p.s. Ickx, daarom heb ik niks met scifi wat is dat nou voor naam, Ickx ?:laugh:Niet zo'n hele vreemde naam hoor.

he uitslover met je engels
kan het ook in het hebreeuws als je toch bezig bent
ik lees graag van rechts naar links
en denk ook dat die zinnen beter tot hun recht komen in het oud hebreeuws of laat oud grieks
Nederlands heeft niet dezelfde nuances als het Engels.

[flip-mo]

Ok.... chief heeft al gezegd wat ik wou zeggen, Roy ook en Wilhelmus ook...

uitslover met dat moeilijke engels en lap tekst...

sorry dikke ... maar ben niet verder als regel 2 gekomen

[flip-mo]

he uitslover met je engels
kan het ook in het hebreeuws als je toch bezig bent
ik lees graag van rechts naar links
en denk ook dat die zinnen beter tot hun recht komen in het oud hebreeuws of laat oud grieks

ik denk dat hierogliefen het beste werken... :laugh:

[O11]

Niet janken, de Transformers spraken ook Engels.

[flip-mo]

ja...normaal engels... dit engels is hoe zeg je het... je hebt er teveel je best op gedaan

sorry

[O11]

Je begrijpt dat Transformers gericht was op kinderen?

[flip-mo]

aaa gossie... wat schattig ...011 kan niet tegen kritiek

het leest gewoon niet lekker weg dat engels van je... thats it.. thats all

[O11]

Je kan geen inhoudelijke kritiek geven als je het niet gelezen hebt, schattebout.

[flip-mo]

lees nou ff wat ik schrijf.... ik heb het geprobeerd te lezen maar het leest niet lekker weg....schattebout....

011 die niet tegen kritiek kan... hahahaha schattig...

en ik geef ook geen inhoudelijke kritiek over het verhaal maar puur over je schrijfstijl

[O11]

Waarom, dat is de vraag.

[flip-mo]

Omdat mijn intelligentie niet van het niveau intelligentie is als wat ieder ander hier op het forum bezit, dus met andere woorden ik ben te dom om het te begrijpen.

Daar doel je op toch?

Maar nee, sorry... dat is het niet... HET LEEST GEWOON NIET LEKKER WEG!

[O11]

Dat zijn je eigen woorden. Ik vraag naar feedback over de inhoud.

[flip-mo]

Is dat zo... dan vraag je dat op een hele rare omslachtige manier...

Maar over de inhoud kan ik je niet veel vertellen aangezien ik je schrijfstijl niet lekker vind lezen ben ik gestopt op de helft van je eerste stukje.

Hoe vaak wil je dat ik mezelf nog herhaal?

[wilhelmus777]

"...Today, midday on a sunny Sunday, it all didn’t seem so cruddy at all though. The sun highlighted the green of the plants that grew between the dilapidated buildings. In the long grass that hugged the roadside there grew red and yellow flowers; Thorson decided it were poppies as he glanced at them with absent eyes. Flashing through the scarce shadows small rabbits seemed to have found their homes among the steel ruins of the abandoned architecture..."

and there you lost me...:sleep:
al die klote uitweidingen

ik ben meer van "de stier zag een koe en neukte haar"

ipv

"tevreden grazend, koesterde hannibal de stier het late namiddagzonnetje. de kleurtjes in de wei waren groen, geel, en een beetje bruin. lange grassprieten wuifden zachtjes in een aangenaam koel briesje, dat sinds een uurtje of zo wedijverde met de zonnestralen om in het gevlij te komen bij de loom genietende stier. aanvankelijk werden de overduidelijke avances van Clara de koe dan ook niet door hem opgemerkt. toen het hem eindelijk duidelijk werd dat clara onoirbare intenties had achter haar aanvankelijk, zo leek het hem, zinloze geparadeer nam een oerdrift, waarvan hij zelf het bestaan nog niet kende, bezit van zijn anders zo rustige aard.
briesend besteeg hij clara's bevallige koeienkont en niet meer gehinderd door enige vorm van terughoudendheid plantte hij zijn roede in 1 keer diep in haar aars. dat zou d'r leren, die ouwe geile rotkoe !
en zo geschiedde..."

[flip-mo]

waarom heb je je reactie verwijderd roy???

[ataraxia]

"...Today, midday on a sunny Sunday, it all didn’t seem so cruddy at all though. The sun highlighted the green of the plants that grew between the dilapidated buildings. In the long grass that hugged the roadside there grew red and yellow flowers; Thorson decided it were poppies as he glanced at them with absent eyes. Flashing through the scarce shadows small rabbits seemed to have found their homes among the steel ruins of the abandoned architecture..."

and there you lost me...:sleep:
al die klote uitweidingen

ik ben meer van "de stier zag een koe en neukte haar"

ipv

"tevreden grazend, koesterde hannibal de stier het late namiddagzonnetje. de kleurtjes in de wei waren groen, geel, en een beetje bruin. lange grassprieten wuifden zachtjes in een aangenaam koel briesje, dat sinds een uurtje of zo wedijverde met de zonnestralen om in het gevlij te komen bij de loom genietende stier. aanvankelijk werden de overduidelijke avances van Clara de koe dan ook niet door hem opgemerkt. toen het hem eindelijk duidelijk werd dat clara onoirbare intenties had achter haar aanvankelijk, zo leek het hem, zinloze geparadeer nam een oerdrift, waarvan hij zelf het bestaan nog niet kende, bezit van zijn anders zo rustige aard.
briesend besteeg hij clara's bevallige koeienkont en niet meer gehinderd door enige vorm van terughoudendheid plantte hij zijn roede in 1 keer diep in haar aars. dat zou d'r leren, die ouwe geile rotkoe !
en zo geschiedde..."

:laugh:

Maar ja, dat beeldende hoort wel een beetje bij het genre. Ik heb er wel een zwak voor. Zou het verhaal ook zeker blijven lezen...

[O11]

"...Today, midday on a sunny Sunday, it all didn’t seem so cruddy at all though. The sun highlighted the green of the plants that grew between the dilapidated buildings. In the long grass that hugged the roadside there grew red and yellow flowers; Thorson decided it were poppies as he glanced at them with absent eyes. Flashing through the scarce shadows small rabbits seemed to have found their homes among the steel ruins of the abandoned architecture..."

and there you lost me...:sleep:
al die klote uitweidingen

ik ben meer van "de stier zag een koe en neukte haar"

ipv

"tevreden grazend, koesterde hannibal de stier het late namiddagzonnetje. de kleurtjes in de wei waren groen, geel, en een beetje bruin. lange grassprieten wuifden zachtjes in een aangenaam koel briesje, dat sinds een uurtje of zo wedijverde met de zonnestralen om in het gevlij te komen bij de loom genietende stier. aanvankelijk werden de overduidelijke avances van Clara de koe dan ook niet door hem opgemerkt. toen het hem eindelijk duidelijk werd dat clara onoirbare intenties had achter haar aanvankelijk, zo leek het hem, zinloze geparadeer nam een oerdrift, waarvan hij zelf het bestaan nog niet kende, bezit van zijn anders zo rustige aard.
briesend besteeg hij clara's bevallige koeienkont en niet meer gehinderd door enige vorm van terughoudendheid plantte hij zijn roede in 1 keer diep in haar aars. dat zou d'r leren, die ouwe geile rotkoe !
en zo geschiedde..."
:biggrin: Ik voel wat je bedoelt.

[roy s]

go...
011

[chief108]

ja

[roy s]

ja

[roy s]

jaja dus 011....

[chief108]

geen ontkomen meer aan
bolle naaktlopende vrind

[O11]

Que?

[chief108]

ja

[Jeru]

Doe effe een samenvatting voor me tijdens trainen. Lezen gaat me nooit zo goed af :D

[roy s]

deel 3 011?

[O11]

Thorson had known the lanky hustler for four years now. They met as colleagues at an automated cosmetics warehouse. They had started there simultaneously and had worked there for two months until they both got fired. Ickx had of course stolen merchandise from the first day on, until a female co-worker had filed a complaint with the manager about Ickx.
So, on a Friday he got called into the manager’s office. As Ickx went in Thorson waited inconspicuously outside the office. Ickx could be heard exploding into bellowing laughter mere seconds after he entered. Another few seconds later, with a lot of ruckus, he stumbled out the door, still laughing uncontrollably. Following him out of the office came the crisp white shirted manager, his face red, and shuffling behind him the co-worker, her face; a smudgy, chocolate brown mess, her cheeks glistening with tears.
Ickx had sold her the professional grade bronzing lotion he had pinched some boxes of some days earlier which didn’t really seem to match her skin type. Harry’s legs went weak as he gasped for breath; he collapsed onto his knees and joined Ickx in screaming laughter. The manager pointed a trembling finger at Harry and had yelled: ‘And you too!’
So they both got fired, and in a school-boyish way it had tied them together in camaraderie. And without an income Harry had been drawn into Ickx’s hustle and eventually into his apartment. The hustle had been small, the string of apartments shitty, but it was a living.

The dogs led him in to a clearing among the buildings. Into the chilly shadows and the moist earth smell so typical of places rarely frequented. ‘Put it down here’ a voice said, and Harry noticed the man, his dark suit immaculate as he gestured at a folding table with a smudgy plastic top beside him. Harry stood there, suddenly quite aware of the constricting nature of the clearing. Behind him he felt one of the dogs positioning itself between him and what seemed to be the only exit. This is fucked... The other animal stood beside the man, dead still.
'You McCartney?' His voice a timid utterance.
'You can call me that, yes.' White teeth flashed a broad smile from under a trimmed beard. His eyes hidden behind big, square, retro, tinted glasses. 'C'mon, relax this deal is no biggie. The oneiros, have you got it?'
Harry laid his hand on the jacket pocket containing the box. 'What's it do, what is it?' he asked, while he knew this was the time nor the place nor the company to ask questions in.
The suit flashed his smile again, a smile straight out of a toothpaste commercial. Big, square straight teeth in healthy pink gums. Just like the advertisement promises. 'Do you need to know?' The questioning, imploring hand gesture that accompanied his words revealed a dark gold watch with a square emerald face. A real vintage piece. 'Please, just keep to the plan so we can both get out of here to enjoy the evening. Put it down here now.'
Harry paced over to the little table while wrestling the thing called an 'oneiros' out of his pocket. 'Here.' The grey box thumped heavily on the thin plastic tabletop.' And Harry started to make his way out of the place...

[roy s]

heel dik..

[flip-mo]

Nou weet ik wat het is .... Je engelse grammatica klopt op sommige punten niet...

[O11]

Daarom zet ik het neer. Vertel.

[roy s]

next chapter...?
kom op 011!!