..............................
Damien, This letter is premature, but, Welcome back.
From what i'm told, you found the SF & got a little memory back...good! because that tells us that we can take our peliminary 'experement' results to the Green Front. I'm sure they want to put a team to it ASAP & train some Pathogen Sleepers.
Sorry, I'm thinking out loud & getting ahead of myself.
I got the news from Dengue that you allowed yourself to be shot down by Inquisitors. I NEVER understood that habit of yours...Trust me, sometimes you simply HAVE TO SHOOT FIRST!! Personally, I hate the feeling when cockpit coccoon mesh wraps me up, not to mention all the pain.
After you volunteered for your current mission, I'm convinced your more of a massochist than any of the others.
Since your big on sayings & metaphors, open your ears & listen up:
Your 'Trial by Fire' begins now. (I think it's Hilariously ironic that the Universe picked the 'Inquisitors' to burn you.)
Anyway, you are to fight them only when threatend. The Universe created them to maintain a balance, & it's not our place to question Gaia.
But, if they go out of their way to bully you: Kill them.
If they kill you, then, it's because you were not paying attention.
Time to Learn & Burn, boy... That's an Order.
K. 'Caul' Alexander
.......................................
Caulobacter Phage sealed the letter by pouring black wax on the back of a blank envelope, & stamping a bio-hazzard symbol into the quickly cooling puddle.
He tossed the envelope into the air ahead of him, towards a shadow cast by the door to his dark office.
Rhiannon O'Donnell stepped out of that shadow blowing on the wax & fanning the envelope dry.
With a wink & a smile, she left the office & made her way back to Edinburgh without saying a word.
"Creepy Bi*ch" Caul sighed to himself while shaking his head.
Rhiannon O'Donnell stepped out of the shadows & knelt down at Marburg McEwans' bedside.
She proped his letter on the nightstand, & put her knife to his sleeping throat.
She kissed his cheek & slid her blade over his neck with the lightest of pressure, so that only a small trail of blood from a tiny nick would be the only other proof she was ever there.
Then, disapearing into the same shadows she emergeged from, made her way full circle, back to the Shetland without ever making a sound.
Marburg was already half-dressed this morning before he even noticed the envelope leaning up against the alarm clock.
He broke the seal, & read it...over, & over, & over.
The first time he read it, a number of memories rushed back into his mind.
The second time, he tried to think of a way around what he read.
The Third: became angry when he couldn't.
Right now, He's facing the wall, leaning his sweating head on the cool plating, while re-reading just one line for the past five minutes:
"...Anyway, you are to fight them only when threatend."
He's looking at the letter in one hand, while absent-mindedly punching a bloody red smear on the wall, where he broke all the knuckles on his left hand somewhere around FOUR minutes ago by now.
At least this time it was mandated by the doctor in the Med-Bay, instead of by himself in the Bar.
His shattered, swollen, black & blue hand should heal up just fine...just as long as he doesn't do anything else stupid.
For the time being, he's sitting on a boat with himself in the middle of a small small isolated loch nestled in one of the mountian ranges on the surface of Gaia, tossing stones into the water:
"....So, I reckon then, that Pathogens are the stereo-typical Gaian?"
'Not Really, they are more like a small-scale neccessary evil'
'The stereo-typical Gaian is a victim of propaganda...' Damien continued '...The Green Front does what it can to change public perception, but, the media machine is always partial to those with the most cash on hand'
"Yer gettin' off track."
'Just roll with me here: The GF funds our humble little division, & because of that, we are required to jump an occasional hoop...They hold our leash, as it were.'
"Yer thinkin' the're more like a choke-chain though, ain't 'cha?" Marburg confirms to himself.
'Exactly!'
"They just get in the way of doin' our duty fer the Universe by mostly chokin' us with paperwork."
'YEAH! you got it!'
"Yer still off track."
'OK, Alright... Blood Cells, Clotters, Antigens, AND Pathogens...now THESE are the stereo-typical terrorists. I don't like them for the same reasons that I can't stand the Antigens, so, think of them as psychoPATHs. They are the ones who do the types of attacks that shock the public & freak 'em out. The GF have direct control over them, & we stay out of their way on this... OUR parts in all of it have to do with one of those hoops I mentioned'
"I went & volunteered ta have my whole life wiped just so the GF could see if that Sirius Federation fella shootin' me down would maybe trigger my memory? ...THAT'S what yer gettin' around to tryin' ta tell me?!?! Marburg asked himself menacingly, but already knowing the answer.
'I was going to, but obviously, you don't need 'me' to tell you that...however, you should know that you didn't volunteer for this...you were VOLUNTEERED'
"WHY?!" Marburg yelled to himself as he bolted to his feet, rocking the boat they were BOTH in.
'You're about to wake up, so, i'm not going to tell you.' Damien replied to his angrier, dimmer self.
He tipped the already rocking boat hard to the left, & Marburg fell into the water and sank into his bed in the Islay Med-Bay as ALL the day's pain came back to him the moment he opened his eyes & gasped for breath.
I ain't been sayin' much lately ta y'all cause nothin much is goin on.
I ended up gettin' ahold of another 'o them old-school letters with the wax on 'em, & accedently shattered my triggerhand just a little bit, for a short piece of time while I was ganderin' at it.
It said a few things that I didn't take kindly to, & turns out that the Universe must've seen me comin' from a mile off, cause (even though this ain't really any 'o y'alls business) I was thinkin' that if I gotta take a 'hands-off' approach with these 'Inquisition' mudthumpers, then I could still find one at a time & shadow them.
Eventually, I figured I might could play 'psyche' with their Zen 'till they 'decided' to fire first; leaving me clear to defend myself.
Anyway, I never got a chance to take my plan out fer a spin, cause like I said, the hand I steer & shoot with got a couple of dents in it now.
It's kinda embarassing, so, I ain't gonna tell y'all how it happened. Hell...ta be honest, the whole thing is a big blur to me now. I figure I'll just keep that little corner of my private life...ummm, private.
The ultimate point I don't seem to be makin' is...
I can't touch the mudthumpers lest them fellers play bully on me, cause the Universe is playin chess with 'em, & my C.O. says I can't fool with 'Mother Nature' basically.
Now here's the part where the Universe has my number: Before I even finish thinkin' up a way ta break the rules...the Universe takes out my shootin' hand while I wasn't lookin'.
Them thumpers better enjoy the time they have while they got the wind at their backs...Cause the advantages of having the wind at yer back ain't nothin' compared ta havin' the Universe on yer side.
Well, when I said that much ain't goin' on, I might've been stretching the truth a little like they used to stretch a guilty fella by tyin' his parts to four different horses runnin' in four opposite directions.
First off, I had a visit down in the Green Hell with Joey Romack. (He's the guy that runs the Islay Mission Commission...Got one hell 'o a sense of humor too.)
Anyway, he set me up with a beefy bounty hunter rabbit-run, & on the way out, I noticed an Outcast hombre' named Mon'Star. I was on the clock, so I left him be...all the while thinkin' I should turn back & make sure he's mindin' his manners.
It's sad to say, but in the interesting times we all happen to be cursed to live in...sometimes, yer work's gotta come before family.
I figured if he wants ta rumble with me, he'd say somethin'.
After I counted all the hunter escape-cocoons in my hold to make sure they were all there, I headed back home where Mon'Star was just lounging all geo-synchronous atop of Islay. I figured that if he ain't fending off my Kin, then it ain't my place ta tell family what's what.
We sat fer a spell & ended up takin' snapshots of each other fer the 'ol scrapbooks. (I figure if this hombre' gets famous one day, I can sell the 'early days' picture on the nueral net.)
I found out that his transponder was chirpin' Outcast, but he's aimin' ta self-employ as a pirate. (Don't knock it y'all...Pirates are good people, provided ya keep yer credits in your front pocket when the're around.) Anyhow, I know what it's like to ping out a wrong first impression.
I left him be, & he docked & made himself at home...I shortly roped up my own boat & was hankerin' ta call it a day & hit the racks, so, I headed bedways.
I therw my duster on the chair to the left of my door... (as is my custom)... & turned with a start, to see little Ms. Rihannon Von Somesuch kickin' back on my bed with another one of them wax-sealed letters restin' on her stomach; & staring right at me.
Who the ruddy Hell do these Inquisition snarfers think they be dealin' wi' here.. some three-headed beasts from the pits o' Hades?
Last time I checked, me equipment was all normal. No fookin' strange genes to speak of either.. unless ye count freckles!
And why are ye wankin' around wi' em, Laddie? Just explain that you're as human as the next son o' Eire; and if that don't satisfy 'em, by Brigit, you let me know, and we'll arrange a few places for their heads above the mantle!
I've been sittin' a spell, kickin' back, readin' my latest letter. From Dengue this time.
Tell y'all what though...the readin' ain't half as interesting as how I got it.
The waitress from the Sh*tland was streched out on my bed as I walked in, with that letter I mentioned, & I was all smiles.
This is where it got wierd:
I remember smilin' to her, & sayin' howdy, & how happy I was to see her...& I was thinkin' now is as good a time as any ta ask if she would like ta have dinner with me.
Problem was, while I was tryin' to set me up a date with her, I couldn't help but notice that my body was actin' all on it's own.
As I'm lookin' back on it, it's kind of a blur...I remember her smilin' back at me, & feelin' my innards fall floorways in slow motion, as I pull my gun on her, & pull the trigger.
My bullet splats into her right shoulder as she rolls off the bed; quick as sin, & bolts out my front door.
While I'm standin' in my doorway shootin' slugs at her down the hall, (& missin') ...she dives into a stairwell out of range...& I keep wonderin' to myself: If she didn't have some damn good reflexes, that bullet 'o mine woulda came to rest right inside her heart. I'm glad I didn't kill her, but at the same time, I don't understand why I'm also thinkin' that her still livin' is a bad thing.
Once I realize she ain't EVER gonna agree to go out with me NOW, I put my gun back in my pocket, & my smile finally dies.
OK, so...I'm not yet as together as I thought I was.
At this point, I don't 'spose it'd be funny if I told y'all that I really WAS just shootin' fer dinner with little Miss Blondie...insertin' a slug in her was not part 'o the original plan.
Maybe that part 'o me that likes playin' cryptic little games will be a little more forthcomin' with some relevential information if I plant our a*ses in the middle of a Nomad fire fer a spell.
I've heard so much about them fellers, & I figure it's time to see what all the hubub is about.
I high-tailed it from Edinburgh, straight on through to Alaska; my transponder chirpin' red ta everyone the whole way. When I got there, the first thing I see is a big 'ol Nomad rowboat that takes up most of my view, & takes out my shield with one haugk of a loogie from whatever they call guns.
I ran like hell, followed the lights, & docked on an LSF Prison Station, & now...
I'm sitting in their bar, having what may be my last drink, while jotting a little somethin' on a napkin:
I, Damien 'Marburg' McEwan, being of sound mind, do hereby shoot myself the finger on the way to Hell, if I don't come up with some answers for myself pretty damn quick.
I'm ready fer the skinny...tell me, or i'm zonkin' BOTH our Zen ta zero.
I finished my drink, & signed out my boat on the Dockmaster's Log... & Just to be on the safe side, I ralphed up that last drink just before I boarded.
I woulda hated ta die just 'cause of a beer.
Where do I begin?...ahhh, I found me a whole bushel of them Nomads, & they were on me like stink on fish.
They were some tough hombres, but I'd like to take this opportunity ta toot my horn a wee bit:
After I dropped off some slimy bad-guys back at the prison, I had my boat fixed up on-the-fly, & went out fer more...& I found me some Bounty Hunters instead.
Now, these ain't the type of Hunters in Edinburgh that try to squat & do their business on Islay's yard...No, these fellers knocked me fer a loop.
Back home, I'm used to bein' swarmed by 10 ta 15 Hunters at a time, but, I tend to go through them like a hot knife through butter.
In Alaska, I found a hive 'o Hunters & started up a thirty-minute fight that I'm gonna call: "The Battle of the Shorts-Change Short Change" for the rest of my days.
I got myself surrounded, & realized real quick, that these were not West Bretonian Hunters...these fellers were my equals...& this realization freaked me out a little bit.
Seemed like every time I took one down, two would take it's place, & by the time I lost count of all my party guests, I was ready to tuck tail.
Then... I remembered that THIS was the reason I came here, & that I left my survival instinct back on that prison station. I kept my foot on the gas & my finger on the trigger, & kept in mind that as long as I'm surrounded, I can attack from any direction.
I whittled 'em down to about five when the gunboat showed up.
If it wasn't fer my tractor beam, y'all would be readin' somethin' else right now...& after I cleared the fighters, I snapped, & decided to 86 the gunboat.
I accually did it.
Me & my survival instinct are goin' back home ta Edin w/ a new respect fer each other.
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