The Plague Logs

[Marburg]

"The Green Hell" (Part IV)



It is presently night on Islay Station. Which is to say, it is a different experience.

As previously mentioned, Islay experiences the cycle of day and night, by means of a simple grid of motorized, & networked lighting systems.

The Station also endures changing "seasons" throughout the year, by raising or lowering it's base temperature to mirror Gaia's climate in the region facing Islay's "true north"

Mr. McEwan is on his way back to his cabin after an extended visit w/ the station's primary Dockmaster to prepare for what may end up to be nothing more than an extended mapping run.

When night falls inside Islay, the temperature begins to drop as the majority of generators switch modes to "standby" while the lighting system slowly dims, and changes hue to mimic the Edinburgh Ayr-light that shines outside the gigantic ice cloud that hides the humble Gaian outpost.

The result is a much quieter, much more peaceful place for the inhabitants to call "home"

Coupled with the cooler evening, it also currently happens to be winter across the station...& Damien shivers as he arrives, & opens his front door.

He finds his duster strewn across his cabin's small generator station, puts it on, & continues down the hall to the elevators that lead to Lower Islay. Marburg passes two very burly pilots while en-route to the lifts, & chuckles quietly to himself.

There is a stereotypical & derogatory "joke" that is passed down throughout much of Gaian society across Sirius... but, specifically on Islay & Skye:

'You can judge the level of a Gaian's bank account by the level of their conditioning."

What that means requires some explaination...All Gaian bases employ "Generator Stations" in every single personal cabin. This station is essentually a multi-purpose exercise machine that is directly connected to a personal energy generator that powers that individual cabin, & that cabin ONLY.

Each leaseholder is required to maintain a weekly minimum energy quota to ensure balance to that Deck's power station.

Any excess power accumulated from daily exercise, can either be applied to the following weeks' quota, or can be sold back to Islay's Power Station Authority at a nominal fee.

Those on station who are accustomed to having little more than lint in their pockets, are known to bulk-up their body mass, as they spend more time than most keeping their cabin batteries charged up to full.

While riding the lift to the lower levels, Dimi snaps his coat sleeves closed, & hops in place a few times to get his blood circulating,

The Elevator stops at level 66, & a cold, thick fog quickly rolls in as the doors open.

As also previously mentioned before, the rooms & coridors of Lower Islay are a combination of stone, steel, & ice.

During the day, when the generators run at full, the heat they create rises, & extreme humidity results as the ice melts around the stone, & the hot metal pipes steam heavily as they rattle in the unfrozen free space that houses their routes within the rock.

By mid-day, a hot and light haze covers the entire deck.

However, at night, The Green Hell changes completely.

When most of Islay's generators turn off for the night, the temperature plumets quickly...not YET below freezing, but cold enough to usher in a daily occurance that the Bar's regulars like to call, "The Freeze-Over"

Every evening of the year, hot & cold air clash to form a layer of fog across the pub complex that varies in thickness depending on the day & the season.

Eventually, within a few hours, the walls begin to re-freeze, the pipes stop their rattling, & the fog retreats to a thin layer covering the floor.

Sayings such as, "I'll see you in Hell!" or "I'll drink when Hell freezes over!" have a double-meaning with a subtlety that is only truly understood by the more "fringe" Gaian residents of Edinburgh.

As Mr. McEwans' eyes adjust to the dim orange light through the fog, he enters the spacious & dark lobby-bar of the deck-encompasing complex, & instantly remembers that tonight is the begining of something special.

Although considered illeagl on station, every year for the past five years, around the same time, is held a seasonal three day festival that celebrates the more base of human appetites.

It's called the "Festival of Blights" & admission is strictly regulated by a combination of the event organizers, & a code of silence that is rabidly followed by all those who desire the password to attend.

Damien is one of the hundreds of founding organizers, & always has a standing invite.

He makes it through the Green Hell sprawl, passing dozens upon dozens of rooms of different styles that cater to any number of club-goers, untill he finally makes it to the back...his personal favorite home away from home.

Dimi scans the room, & smiles as he spys what he was looking for.

He approaches a man in a dark corner, slumped over his table... passed out & dead-drunk.

Damien strikes up a conversation with the inebreated lush:

"I hear that this is considered ah time of wish fulfillment."

The man sluggishly looks up, & slurs his repy: "Whadda hell you gonna do do if alla your wisches were granted Sparky?"

"Realize that all my dreams would be destroyed." Damien calmly replied.

The glaze in the lushs' eyes dissapeared as if cut off by a switch.

He speaks something inaudible into his beer bottle, & past the table, around the corner, just out of sight of the rest of the bar...a small portion of the wall slides away revealing a long narrow path leading into the stations Warrens, that also just happens to be a huge complex in and of itself, & requires another time other than now to decribe properly.

Marburg disapears into the wall, as the "lush" passes out again, & waits for his next "conversation."

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Next- "Nature's Last Hope: Festival of Blights" (Prologue) ::NLH Message Dump #96 & #98::

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