I didn't make it back to Edinburgh yet...I figured i'd search for a way back home close to the top of Sirius, so I wouldn't have to fly back through Liberty & Bretonia (those are dark skies fer little 'ol me)
It was late, so, I decided to get a room on Freeport 11 for the night.
I bumped into an old buddy of mine there, & we had a beer while talkin' bout his wife. (It's a long story, so I ain't goin' into it right now.) I'll just say that he's had a really hard knock on that front, & I'm helpin' where I can ta bloodhound the murderin' weasel into the open. If we find the hombre, I'll be happy to watch Riley smack some justice into 'em. (& I say that, even though I know what my buddy has in mind for the dude.)
Anyway, I got up this mornin' & disembarked from 11, & shortly discovered Toledo...Nice place... bad neighborhood, but, very homey...In a 'hope ya don't freeze yer butt off' sort of way.
I decided to spend the late-mid-early morning lookin' to procure me a Nomad thruster, & when I cleared Toledo's docking ring, I was in the thick in no time.
There were Hunters & Nomads goin' after each other, & I figured i'd snipe 'em both.
I got in trouble again when the BH gunboat & some really big Nomad boat showed up. I decided to play the odds, & bet that the two big boys would shoot each other & ignore me....I was still in trouble though.
This fella named Zeroslasher came throwin' his weight around, & I helped him clear the radar. (twice:))
I owe this guy my life, & he don't want anything from me for it...save doin' my part to clear Toledo's sky from...'pollution'. Well, in this case, from now on: Thank you, Su Casa es Mi Casa away from Mi Casa, Amigo.:)
I've got some mapping ta do, so, I'll say more later when I have somethin' more to say.
Customers in the "Pub" on the Shetland were sparse when Moira entered. The "theme-ish" Irish tenor of the Pub made Moira gag. Meant strictly for the rich tourists who came to see Planet Gaia, the cute clovers and pub signs and other blarney looked tacky and dated.
It meant only one thing to be Irish anymore in Sirius. You had either ended up mining gold and fighting for your lives as a Molly; or, you still believed that Gaia was a living Spirit who inhabited living planets; and that both needed to be protected and defended at all costs.
Moira continued on to the bar, and casually looked from the corner of her eye at the striking barmaid who was chatting with a lone tourist at the far end. Eventually, the barmaid noticed Moira, and a look of surprise crossed her features. She pinched the tourist on the cheek and winked at him, and came slowly towards Moira.
"Well, Ebola.. ain't it a bit risky for ye being seen around these parts in the open like this? And, I had no word from the others t' be expectin' ye..."
"That was completely the idea, Rhiannon. We didn't want you hightailin' for parts unknown at word of a visit.
"Marburg has not been heard of in weeks, and I'm hear to see if you might have some kennin' as to why that might be, wench."
Rhiannon's eyes narrowed for a brief second, but she quickly regained composure. "And why would I be knowin' anything about that oaf's whereabouts? I just deliver the odd message to him when instructed. You wanted me to stay clear of him so's to not bring up any unpleasant past memories about.. his wife..."
"Exactly." nodded Moira. "But we have our suspicions that you may have delivered more than those messages, Rhi; and perhaps given the lad more to think on than we had planned. The other Dogs and I would be very displeased it that were the case. Very Displeased."
Rhiannon's freckled face went ghastly pale as Moira's stare punctuated her last words. "Truly, Ebola, I have no idea where he's gone, and I've told him nothing about..."
"....about the murder of his poor wife? ...and the fact that you were the one we found standing over her body? Moira leaned very close to Rhiannon. "Oh, we doubt you told him any of that, Rhi. Otherwise, you would sure 'n begorrah be dead yourself, instead of standing here peeing in your dainty panties!"
Moira leaned back, reached into her bodice, and withdrew a folded piece of paper. "Deliver this to Marburg, and contact me immediately when you see him. Don't give us any more reason to doubt your services, Rhiannon. Bar tarts are a dime a dozen.. and murdering ones only slightly more."
The color had still not returned to Rhiannon's face five minutes after Moira had left the Pub.
Moira...Goin' AWOL ended up doin' me a heap 'o no good.
I'm gonna see if Islay will see fit ta update my landing permit here shortly.
Phage is gonna rip my head off when I mosey back into his office & report in...If I survive that, I'll ring you up & see if any of my bridges kept from burnin'
My nightmares are back, & I think there might be a little somethin' rotten in Edinburgh. I dunnow, I may end up bein' wrong, but, I'm pretty sure Gaia has herself a bit of a tumor.
I need your help...I can't rightly explain now, but you're the only one I know I can trust.
I've taken steps to make sure that I make it home under the "Dogs" radar, but, I'm hoping you will keep the news to yerself.
If ya find it proper NOT to help me, fine...I deserve that...but, if that IS the case, know that I aim ta go all rogue & rabid all by my lonesome, & you & the Dogs would do best to keep the hell outta my way.
And I shall be there six ways from Sunday when ye call.
As to the NLH mob, they've already gotten wind of the foul stench in Edinburgh. A possible move in the offing.
Now, they're a well-meanin' bunch; and I fear the Dogs have dug 'emselves deeper holes than even you, 'burg. So, ye may want to consider includin' yerself in our wee ranks. But, if ye ken it best to be goin' it alone on whatever wild journey, then Moira will have some kennin' of 'er own to do, eh?
I suppose I'm sayin' you're still our bastard, Dami.
I've gone & settled in quicker than ah expected, so, clear skies fer you now.
I went to Glendale, & the "Dogs" office is all boarded & welded up tight. Then, I went to the dead-drop on Gaia twice now, & still...no word from Phage, OR Pestis.
I know you think i'm nuts, BUT! ... if my nightmares really are JUST nightmares...then where the HELL are all my Kin?? (BTW, Ebola's still here, up & about, kickin' everyone in the nethers; & she says hi...) BUT WHERE ARE THE REST?
I'm tellin' ya: Somethin' is rotten 'round here.
Good news though: The NLH seem like good folk...I've met a few so far.
Uhhh...what else?............naw, forget it, that's it fer now.
Pay yer tab, leave NY & get a job ya lush!
After that, all ya gotta do is wait for the signal.
Previously- Living The Life of Riley: Green Hell" (Prologue)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"The Green Hell" (Part I)
Damien is having another nightmare.
His sheets are soaked with sweat... He writhes on his back & repeatedly mumbles something while sluggishly punching at the air, as if he's fighting someone while submerged in water.
It's difficult to watch, but, something like this happens almost every night.
Don't worry though, he'll wake up soon enough, & should be fine.
As long as his guard is down, let's pilfer around in his head & see what we can find.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
::Location- The hippocampus::
::Memory from three months ago::
"It took awile, but I found what you asked for."
Damien sat at the bar, hunched over a drink that he's not drinking, & kicked the stool next to him without bothering to look away from the untouched, locally distilled silver moonshine.
Riley Mackenzie accepted his best friend's invitation to join him, and grabbed the still-wobbling stool & took a seat.
"I found out that the 'Anacostia' is a number of things, but it looks like it ultimately traces back to a river on ancient Earth." he said, as he spread a dozen pages of information on the bar in front of his brooding buddy.
Damien looked among the disarrayed papers as Riley quickly swiped the drink out of his comrade's hand & downed it with the grace of a cat, as the former Plague Dog barely, yet successfully, kept his "short fuse" in cheque.
In the normal run of things, Dimi would bolt up, & toss his stool aside...& act like a dog seperated from his bone...but, when it comes to Mr. Mackenzie, Burg knows when to pick his battles.
"So, yew gonna tell me the good word Mr. Book-Smart?"
"Only if you lighten up abit" Riley replied.
"::Sigh:: Alright, I reckon that's fair enough."
Damien traded a series of short hand signals with the bartender 20 feet away, which communicated the brand of drink, who to serve it to, the barback slated to serve it, & from the bartenders perspective: the temperature in hell unless some money is shown first.
The last hand signal was a single finger from Dimi, displayed prominately in front of exactly what the bartender was looking for, so, he gave a nod to his barback to put it in a clean glass.
Riley waited for the barback to pour before he continued:
I won't vouch for 100% accuracy...the records are really spotty, but, in a nutshell, it goes like this:
"Back on ancient Earth they had what they called 'World War I' ...& one of the factions involved, called the 'Americans' apperently promised a large monetary bonus to all it's war veterans. However, Their economy at the time was in the proccess of total collapse, & the faction leader refused to pay up. ...Well, the vets were very literally starving to death, so out of total desperation, around 300 hungry men & their families set out from the west end of their homeland, all the way to the seat of government on the eastern coast...living like vagabonds for months, taking any means of travel they could find.
By the time they reached the Capitol, 20,000 veterans congregated on the banks of the Anacostia river...Shouting distance from their leader's front door.
For weeks, the veterans lived on the riverbank in a shantytown that seemingly sprung up overnight, while trying to lobby their leaders for what was promised them.
They were dubbed by themselves & the media as "The Bonus Army."
The faction leader showed a sympethetic face, but because of the economic collapse, refused to budge.
Fearful that riots may break out, the leader called on a young General of his that would go on to make his own history...Anyway, The leader, fearful that public opinion was swaying in favor of the Anacostians, ordered his general to disperse the population & dismantle the town.
This man... under orders mind you, marched his infantry & Calvary down the front street of the capitol, affixed their bayonnettes, lit their torches, turned on their own....and razed Anacostia to the ground.
Men, Women, Children...
I'm not sure how many died, but it was at least 3....So,...There you have it."
"There ah have it alright...That explains a couple 'o things about at least a few of my 'mares."
Riley shot Burg a skeptical eye.
".........."
"You're thinking of going back aren'tcha." Mackenzie stated.
"I'm thinkin' ...yeah"
Riley fought the urge to hit his friend, took a deep breath and said, "This really sucks........... but you can go ahead & count me in...It's not like I couldn't see this coming from a mile off."
He got up, slipped on his coat & in another fluid motion, swiped Dimi's second glass from him just as Burg was about to have his first sip in months.
"Just let me know when your ready." Mackenzie said as he downed the stolen drink, & made his way out of the bar before the now instantly irritated Marburg could pick a battle.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bar around us blurs as Marburg wakes, bolt-upright, from whatever nightmare he was having this time...& we find ourselves back in his temporary room on Skye.
He spins & sits on the bedside covered in sweat and stares at the lit candle on the nightstand.
It's important to understand that Damien is prone to rage, & he habitually lights a candle at night as a centering tool whenever he has times like this.
After a few moments, he reaches over & takes a picture out of the drawer, and just stares for a while.
...after a number of moments, the Universe shifts, & Marburg's heart skips a beat.
He crosses the room, throws on his duster, & exits the cabin.
As we hear Dimi starting to lock the door from the outside, the air in his exiting wake lifts Rhiannon O'Donnell's photogragh off of the nightstand, and onto the still-burning candle.
In a very subtle way, History is prepairing to repeat itself.
Marburg turns the key... & the Universe clicks him into place.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Next- "Living The Life of Riley: Green Hell" (Part II)
Damien sat in his spot at the end of the bar, by the waitstation, inside Islay's other Bar, named "The Green Hell."
It's located on one of Islay's lower floors, not quite far enough away from the majority of the station's generator levels.
::: A quick word about life on Islay: Gaians prefer a lifestyle that flows as naturally as they have the technology to achive. The station's interior lights for example, are set on a rotating timer that mimics Gaia's dayspan, & coupled with a color of light that matches the twin suns of Edinburgh, it's loosely akin to standing under it's sky.
The walls themselves (at least on the lower levels) are a combination of rock, ice, & steel...but, it's common among many Gaians to gague time by noting the slowly moving position of the lights highest intensity on the coridor walls & celings, & deem any other method of timekeeping as both unnatural & unneccessary. :::
Back in the bar, the heat radiating from the station generators rise to the upper level heat shield, and thus, keeps the Green Hell in a unique climate all it's own.
The Bar holds bragging rites as the hottest, coldest AND lowest inhabitable place on the entire station.
By Judging the various plants densely scattered throughout the large & sprawling pub, and breathing it's thick & heady air, during the day at least, The bar sometimes feels like a humidly oppressive rainforest.
Hence, "The Green Hell"
As Marburg sips his room-temperature, high-alcohol stout, he uses his old militia training, & concentrates on a conversation held at a table 30 feet away. Doing his best to drown out most all sounds of music, chatter, & white noise...A young, drunken, bloody-knuckled Corsair "tourist" waxed eloquent to his table-mate, a seemingly third-hand-tall-tale of a clan of "living" cyborgs.
Burg is nothing, if not imperfect, & human...so the only information he was able to glean from just under the Hell's dull roar, was that they are somewhere northeast of Edinburgh, & are refered to as "Krylon's" or possably "Cylon's" ...It was hard to tell.
Damien turned up his glass, & swallowed it's contents, while almost taking a moment to almost entertain an almost insane concept.
"Livin' Robot my A*s!" Said Dimi, as he made his decision, & slammed his now emptied glass on the bartop.
"WHAT WAS THAT AGAIN!?" loudly replied the Bartender from Hell, over the the ruckus of the bar's many patrons.
"NUTHIN!...I'M JUST GONNA GO DO SOME FACT CHECKIN'!"
Marburg exited the bar, as the Bartender gave him a "thumbs up" to what he belived to be Marburg's intention to locate & spend the night with a "rather large woman" or two.
He shook his head, & chuckled to himself as he took a second to rub his one good ear, & returned to rinsing a sink full of glasses.
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."
"...Sir! what the hell, Sir?!..." yelled Jacknife questioningly into his helmets microphone as his rear-view monitor witnessed the Anacostia shrinking into a small black speck into the quickly growing distance.
Marburg is, at the moment...dazed.
He would like to blame it on hunger...he would like to blame it on his having to spend a very uncomfortable night in the cockpit of his ship...he would even settle for blaming it on the tiny chunk of yesterday's breakfast muffin (or waffle) that is still sitting on his console, still continuing to do it's utmost to dry out.
He inhales a breath, while picturing in his mind the Universal pattern, the perfect system that allows the whole of everything to exist...the "Grand Chessboard" that allows him to pick up a piece, & place blame onto it's proper square.
Simply put: Caulobacter Phage threw Damien for a loop.
"Caul" was the one that invited Damien into a family.
He was the one who took the time to teach Dimi how to learn, & eventually...how to recognize the "Universal Pattern"
He was standing at Marburg's side, on the banks of a small isolated loch nestled somewhere in the mountian ranges of Gaia, while witnessing a wedding for another friend that he personally helped make happen.
And... he was instrumental in setting in motion a series of events that allowed the tumblers of cause & effect to click into place, & open a door to the path we are about to quickly travel on now.
Caul is like a Father to Marburg, & he has alot to answer for.
"...SIR!...I REPEAT: WHAT THE HELL??..."
As Jacknife's irritated plea echoed Marburg back into the present, the shaken "Son" hits the gas & slams the afterburner, & begins his effort to reclaim a big piece of sky.
![[Image: SophieAd.jpg]](http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o108/Shamus_FL/TAZ%20Images/SophieAd.jpg)
![[Image: 08-RhiannonShetlandODonnell.jpg]](http://i263.photobucket.com/albums/ii151/Erinloch/08-RhiannonShetlandODonnell.jpg)
![[Image: GreenHellFoyer-1.jpg]](http://i263.photobucket.com/albums/ii151/Erinloch/GreenHellFoyer-1.jpg)