I don't know what kind of writer I am. You tell me....
Quote:
I unlocked the door with a quick rake of the pins, narrowly missed being knocked back down the stairs by a ginger-colored blur. Dodging the cat, I set my groceries down on the counter and dialed eleven digits from memory as I set out food for Quantum, who immediately re-materialized, protesting the delay in his supper. The receiver picked up after the third ring.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end was coming from the West Coast... a little faint, but clear.
"Bobbi! It's Beck. I just saw your flick! It was great! Did you do all the effects?”
"Beck! Good to hear from you again! Yeah, most of them....”
"I'm amazed there aren't union rules against acting and working the effects in the same movie....”
We talked about the film for a few minutes. Live version of a popular Japanese animation... the lead part, a beautiful female agent with a taste for explosives, might have been created for Bobbi. It had done pretty well locally, not hurt by the notices I'd put up in the bookshop and the free plug in ShadowRag. I had reports back from around the Net, too. Anime fans and SF fans had both picked it up... it was developing something of a cult following.
"I doubt I'll get any Oscars, though," she complained, jokingly.
"Nah, Hollywood's still too stiff for that sort of thing." There was a knock at the door.
"Hold on a sec, will you Bobbi? Gotta get the door." I set the phone on the counter, peered through the peephole. It was UPS. Maybe it was that back-ordered shipment of graphic novels....
I opened the door, nodded to the delivery guy. Not Fred—he must be on vacation this week. "Sign here," he told me, handing me the digitizer. I leaned over to check the label. Addressed to me, but not the graphic novels... oh well. I signed, looked up, about to say "So, Fred on vacation?”
There was a pop... and I looked down to see a boxy looking gun in the man's hand.
"Goddamn it, Bobbi, I've been shot!" I tried to slam the door, but already my reactions were slowing. The phony pushed his way in, shut the door himself. I staggered a little, recovered. Some kind of paralysis... I felt the sting, finally saw the dart sticking out of my shoulder. "Drugs... Oh, you son of a bitch. You'll pay for that." And thankful that Bobbi had made me take those classes, made me stick with it, I aimed a snap-kick at the bastard's groin—connected.
Spectacular. He shrieked, actually beat me to the floor by maybe a half-second. Out cold, by the look of it, and I was headed there myself.... I heard Bobbi shouting through the receiver, heard myself muttering a steady stream of Yiddish curses I had forgotten I remembered... felt everything wobble. Something else in the dart besides muscle relaxant—an instant's panic, until I remembered the computer was turned off... in the distance I heard sirens....
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Cyberpath (unpublished)