Nathan, Bjorn, you are in the maroon minivan that Ginrai rented, currently southbound on I-5 out of Sacramento. Now that you've grabbed a few real changes of clothes, this could actually work out....
"Do we have tickets already at LAX?" Bjorn asks, stretching out a bit in the seat.
"Nope, mainly on the grounds that I wasn't sure exactly what -our- plans are. I mean, we have two and a half days to kill, and getting to Alabama doesn't take two and a half days. Nor is there anything to do when we get there except to meet Victor. Got anything in mind?"
"Well, unless you think it's a good idea to sift through the remains of the Workshop to find what we can find, my best suggestion is to get the hell ou of California. That being the case, two options come to mind. We can go straight to Montgomery; there's a couple things I wouldn't mind doing there before we head to the mountains. And the other is to stop by, uh," fumbling one-handed in his right front pocket, Bjorn manages to pull out his wallet, which opens against the steering wheel and reads, "Austin, Texas, and find out what goodies we got in my new place."
"Well, I'd probably want to ask Relm about that first, because . . . I don't know how valid those addresses are. But if there -are- goodies there, we could at least get your credit card."
Bjorn shrugs. "Well, we've got until we reach Los Angeles before we decide, anyways." Bjorn squints in thought. "If I remember correctly, if you don't stop, you can go from Los Angeles to Austin in about twenty-four hours. That'd help cover our tracks, but....
"Anyways, ask the Oracle -- Relm? -- what she thinks. What about you? Got any ideas?"
"Nope, although if we -can- pick up your credit card - and maybe someone else's, it'll be handy down the track. I emailed her when we stopped for lunch, so I should probably check my email again . . . not while we're moving, though. Bad for the uplink."
Nodding, Bjorn passes a slow car in the fast lane, and then continues. "One thing we've got to take care of, I think, is making sure that Lazarus and the rest of 'em have a way to contact Relm. So either we need to get the right hardware -- computer, uplink, generator, God only knows -- probably pretty hard to do in the time we got.
"What I was thinking of was getting a P.O. box in Montgomery. Set it up in one of our names, take the key with us and give it to Lazarus. That way Relm can send whatever she thinks they'll need, and they can keep their hiding place hidden."
"Sounds like a plan. I'm almost tempted to leave the uplink there, actually, but we'll see what Relm has to say on the subject. And I don't know about you, but I'm kinda hungry."
Bjorn grunts. "Then we should do that before we get out of Sacramento. Unless things have changed more than I think they have, there ain't much worth stopping for between here and Los Angeles. Keep an eye out, tell me if you see anything good. And, uh, don't pick Jack-In-The-Box."
"Really, I've got no idea what anything except McDonalds is, over here. You're better off doing it, trust me. And what's Jack-In-The-Box?"
"Jack-In-The-Box is a burger chain that got in trouble for minor health code violations. You know, like raw sewage on the floor, people dropping on the floor with botulism, sorta thing. That was a while back, but hey, why take chances?
"And you know what? Damned if I care where we go. I'm just going to stop at the first place we see that doesn't look like it'll make us need a toilet every five miles hereafter."
"Oh, don't sweat the minor stuff. But, sure, take your pick, as long as it's not Taco Bell."
"I don't even like real Mexican food. Why would I pick a disgusting imitation of it? Oh, hey, look. There's an In-N-Out. California exclusive. You'll like. Comes close to being the only thing I miss about his godforsaken state."
Bjorn wheels into the parking lot (cutting someone off as he does so, all his Los Angeles driving instincts coming back into full play), and shuts the van down. "You want to use the uplink before, after, or both?"
"Mm, may as well use it before. Won't be a minute."
With well-practiced familiarity, Rez pulls out the uplink and his laptop, and sets them both up . . . then checks his email.
"Yah, we may as well swing past your place in Austin and see what the deal is. You do, in fact, seem to own a place, although it's been abandoned a fair while and might have vagrants."
Rez closes the uplink and laptop.
"Anyway, let's eat."
"Sounds good. Good to know I have at least one home. I wonder what happened to my place in Toronto?"
Leading the way, Bjorn takes Rez into the In-N-Out to experience the relative joy that is the Double Double.
"Well, I doubt you've been declared legally dead - although we could get Relm to check - so I imagine it's going to, well, stay there for a while. Hope you turned the gas off."
"I guess Relm should look into it. If she can get her hands on my assets, all the better, I guess. But, really... I don't think I actually want to know. It'd be... easier to do this if I didn't think too much of what I have to leave behind, if that makes sense."
"Best to just leave it, for the same reason I haven't tried touching my accounts or anything. People may notice, and that could be very bad."
Bjorn nods, a bit sadly, and then makes Rez eat. After that, they head back out, where Bjorn skips across the street to a convenient 7-11 to buy some drinks, snacks, etc. for the long drive to Austin, while Rez busies himself with the uplink some more.
Edit: it is not the Warrior Eternal's job to know how to spell!
Rez closes up the uplink and laptop, packs them away, and . . . waits for Bjorn to get back from the 7-11.
"You know, I miss Ayame."
Bjorn comes back with a few bags filled with beef jerky, trail mix, etc. -- and most importantly, bottles and bottles of liquid caffeine. "If you're all done, let's get going. To my great regret, Austin will not come to Archimedes, so Archimedes must drive to Austin."
"Hardy har. Stop calling me that, I'm not him."
"No, you're just his modern-day version, with a better fashion sense. Now, shut up and get in the van. I'm so nice, I'll take first driving shift. You don't really want to drive in California."
"Mm."
Rez gets in the van . . . and they're off!
"We're not them, though. I mean, maybe we have the potential, but we're not them. Seriously, please don't call me that, it reminds me of stuff."
"You're right," Bjorn says, seriously. "We're not them. But at the same time, if you believe Ezmereth, we're the same type of people as them. They're examples of what we can accomplish, the sorts of people we can be.
"But what do you mean, it 'reminds you of stuff', exactly?"
"Mm. I know we have the potential . . . eh. Relm. She's not Ayame, in the same way I'm not Archimedes and you're not . . . well, whoever you were. She has the potential to be as skilled as Ayame was, and she knows pretty much everything Ayame did. I mean, I *like* Relm, but I still miss Ayame . . . they're different people. If that makes any sense."
"Somewhat. I mean, I didn't know Ayame -- or Relm, for that matter. But that's a really different situation, right? I mean, Relm knows she's a reincarnation, down to remembering most of her previous lives. It's not really the same deal as you and me, right?"
"Not entirely, no, but that's not really what I meant . . . it was more just illustrating. I mean, she a fair bit - not all - of what Ayame and the incarnations before her knew, right back to the original Oracle. It's just that she really is a different person . . ."
Rez sighs.
"I like her, but . . . she's like a little kid, half the time. And on the one hand, it's nice to see, but on the other hand, it's . . . well . . . I don't know."
"It's a little upsetting to go from being guided by the Oracle, to having to guide the Oracle?" Bjorn guesses, dryly. "I can understand that.
"Or does it have more to do with the fact that she's not Ayame? As in," Bjorn gropes for a delicate way to put it, and then gives up, "Ayame's dead, and you feel like it's your fault? Sorry for the bluntness."
"It's not so much that - she is the guide, and all, and I'm not really guiding her any . . . it's just such a shift in perspective." A shrug. "I'm not offended, blunt is preferable. Yeah, I do feel like it was my fault some - if we'd gotten to Manos faster, that sort of thing. On the other hand I blame her, for bloody well vanishing and hardly giving us a why . . . if she'd just asked for help we might have been able to do something - what the hell did she think this thing is for?"
Rez gestures with his right hand.
"But on the other hand, when it came down to it, she could have asked for help off the guy who killed Rasputin before he could finish her . . . and she didn't. Relm didn't know why . . . but she guessed that Ayame did it because Relm has less, well, restrictions on her than Ayame did . . . gah! I don't understand, and I hate being useless like that!"
"Well," Bjorn says, thoughtfully, "you have to think that Ayame had a different sort of perspective on things. I mean, she wasn't Ayame -- she was the Oracle of Delphi, first and foremost, and then Ayame after that. As long as she could make sure Relm was safe -- and she did that, with the stuff she did, which includes you -- she didn't die, in what I hafta think is the only way that really mattered to her.
"And then... Look. She'd been a prisoner for how many years? You don't... get over that, not easily. It kinda messed me up, I think, and hell, that was only three days. Being reborn, especially the way the Oracle manages it, is maybe the best healing she could have gotten."
"I understand why it made perfect strategic sense for her to die. That doesn't mean I'm going to like it . . . and I don't consider it healing, I consider it dead."
Rez sighs.
"No, I'm not dealing with it that well. Hell, I blame Shade, did I mention that? If he hadn't gotten himself captured - no idea how that happened - they wouldn't have known she existed until too late."
"I dunno about the Shade bit. Have to take your judgement on that. Except, all I can say is -- based on what I saw, blaming him for bein' an idiot seems perfectly reasonable to me.
"As for the other..." Bjorn shrugs. "What can I say? On some level, I agree with you. But that's because I'm human -- I think, anyways -- and I don't think the Oracle, either Ayame or Relm, is. Different perspectives.
"Anyways. What you gotta remember is you're the Guardian of the Oracle -- not Ayame's Guardian. Get hung up on Ayame-the-person too much, you won't be able to do your job, and I'm betting that's the last thing she woulda wanted."
"They're human enough," Rez sighs, "Maybe I should talk to Relm about this sometime. Anyway . . . you're wrong, really. I'm Relm's guardian now, and I was Ayame's before. If Relm could stop being the Oracle . . . I wouldn't overly care about the position. The main thing was, Ayame was a friend . . . so, yeah . . . I'm going to be cut up about friends dying. It's not something I see often, and it's not something I react that well to when I do."
Rez sighs.
"Not to mention certain stupid oracles who hand me a gauntlet then treat me like I'm made of glass."
"Talking to Relm is best," Bjorn agrees. "I'm just bullshitting here. God knows if I'm right at all about all this crap.
"As for treating you as if you're made of glass... shit, man, don't joke yourself. We are. Maybe if we had a couple years to train, get used to this whole metahuman, magic, whatever business, really learn about the Contest... maybe then we'd be real players. Maybe that's what the Oracle intended for you."
Bjorn half-smiles, his lip curling enough to give me an almost wolfish air. "But it didn't work out that way, did it?"
"No. And I realize, yeah, I'm fairly easily killed. But so is everyone else, and I think we've already demonstrated that even AIs are not immune."
"It just pisses me off, losing friends. I tried, I really did, but it wasn't good enough. And that shits me. Anyway . . . I should get some sleep, I'm pretty tired. Wake me up when you need me to take over," Rez stops, "Oh! If you have anyone, like family or friends, you want to send an email to before we vanish for god knows how long in Gibraltar, tell me and you can write it in Austin. Relm can send it untraceably, so hey."
Rez lies back and tries to doze.
At Rez' last words, Bjorn winces, and drives on in a cold, grim silence.
The road rolls by underneath you in silence, until you reach Los Angeles, at about midnight. It's now early morning on January 21st.
Bjorn breaks the long silence. "Alright. Time to make up our minds. Do you want to fly from here to Austin, or do we get ourselves on the Ten and start trucking?"
"Mm, I'm easy, really. Flying shouldn't be that expensive, but alternately driving saves us money and . . . well, you already bought the snack food."
"Then driving it shall be. We'll tank up here, and then head out. Do you want to take over now, or wait until we hit Nevada?"
"I'll wait until we hit Nevada, if that's alright. Wake me when you get there, or you're tired and need me to take over?"
Rez, realizing it is cold, wraps himself up in his polar bear fur and tries to get comfortable on the seat again. Sleep is gooooodddd . . .
Bjorn tanks up the van (pilfering cash from Rez' wallet to do so), cracks open a Mountain Dew, and heads for the I-10 East.
Other than a brief start when the radio is first turned on, Rez sleeps soundly, all the way to (after consulting a map and making some course adjustments) Arizona.
Bjorn pulls over by the side of the I-10, and wakens Rez, much more gently than he actually feels like doing. "Your turn," he grunts. "Wake me up in Austin, or whenever you need a break."
And with that, he passes out himself -- as much as he's able with all the constant distractions and awakenings that come when sleeping in a moving car.
Rez manages to get himself awake, and gets to driving - after having spent several minutes reading up on the map, so as not to get himself lost.
Then he starts driving.
Stupid Americans and their wrong-side-of-the-road-ness.
You find that this route is eerily familiar. Almost as though you had driven it before, just in another direction....
...and the landscape is just as boring this time around.
Rez starts humming 'Highway to the Danger Zone'. Quietly, so as not to evoke a bitchslap from an irately woken Bjorn.
But apart from that, he keeps driving until he hits Austin, hits something, or has the pressing need for food.
After reaching the edge of Arizona, it's about fourteen hours (and you lose another two thanks to changing time-zones) before you reach the Texas border. Bjorn is already awake at this time, and you're feeling a mite cramped at the length of the drive.
Also, you missed out on the opportunity to check out the meteor crater again.
"Hey Bjorn,how about we get some dinner, or whatever, and thenif it's alright do you mind if I give you the driver's seat? Otherwise I'm barely going to be able to move once we get to Austin."
"We have beef jerky. What the hell else do you need? Yeah, fine. Sounds like a plan. Stop wherever. I picked the last time."
Rez pulls the car over at the next Burger Joint Looking Place they pass.
"Here. You walk around, stretch out your legs. Gimme your wallet, I'll go buy something to take out. We can eat as we go."
And saying such, Bjorn suits actions to words -- buying a couple easy-to-eat burger-and-fry combos, coming back out, hustling Rez into the back seat (so he can nap), and then getting back on the freeway, heading for Austin, adv... well, Austin, anyways.
Thos Burger Joint burgers are starting to sit pretty heavily in your stomachs. Long hours of uncomfortable sleeping and non-stop driving begin to take their toll ... but towards the evening, about three hours after sunset, you reach it. Austin.
It's bigger than you were expecting, and yet, at the same time ... less impressive.
After stopping at a gas station for yet another refueling, and a local street map, you manage to find the house that ostensibly belongs to Bjorn (or, more appropriately, his fake ID).
The house is a ramshakle single-story affair with a certain 'lived-in' feel that only comes from properties neglected by their owners for a number of years. The sign in the yard says, "Sold!" and the door is unlatched. This place is just as dusty, and a good deal more drafty, than the house in Ripon.
But there is a credit card (and a surprising amount of junk mail) on the floor near the mail-slot, along with the house keys. At a guess, you were either lucky, or the place was deemed too crappy to be worth breaking into.
There's a letter of contratulations taped to the inside of the door, thanking you for your purchase. You get the idea that the realtor was afraid to go any deeper into the house, judging by the state of disrepair.
Further searching suggests that while (kind of) furnished, the decor is decidedly, "What was too messed up to steal," as earlier pickings-over would suggest.
Evidently, everything worth taking already was taken.
"Well, you . . . own a house again. I dunno about you, but I think we're better off just hitting a motel somewhere for the evening."
Bjorn scoops up the credit card, and surveys the wreckage of Jacob Housner's home. "Sounds about right to me. Let's activate this card, get a decent meal first. Then motel, then airport. How's that sound?"
"Sounds like a plan, yep. We'll try booking tickets to Mongtomery tonight."
"Okay." Bjorn stretches. "Actually, minor reschedule. Let's find the motel first, so I can take a shower and change. I don't feel fit to face even the dubious civilization of a Chili's."
He leads the way back out to the van, with the intent of finding the nearest Motel 6 or equivalent.
This is accomplished relatively quickly, and you're shortly fitted out in a single room with two beds (funds are waning at this point) with all the ameneties. After the van, or the dump that belongs to one Jacob Housner (alias Bjorn), the durable commercial carpeting and bedding are downright palatial, and the mold-free towels and bathroom are fit for the kings you're living like.
"Okay. I get the shower first, because I'm bigger than you, and you can't stop me."
Bjorn showers, changes clothes, and turns on the TV to hunt for a news show to watch while waiting for Rez to finish his own tidy-up.
Once Bjorn's done, Rez goes and makes use of the bathroom for roughly the same purposes.
Then he cmoes back out, looking . . . vaguely human again. Yay!
"So, anything interesting on?"
The news says that some "Forge" terrorists attempted to re-create (on a smaller scale) the scene of September 11th on a flight over France that was headed to Gibraltar from England. According to the little information they share, some people aboard the plane managed to fight off the terrorists and land it safely. Two of the terrorists are dead, the other three are hospitalized, and the French government has taken custody of them. They also refuse to give out any more information than the fact that they have the terrorists at this point in time.
Then, on to sports news, which recieves twice as much coverage and attention, since the act of terrorism wasn't in America, and is therefore not important.
"Gibraltar? You don't think..." Bjorn sighs. "Shit. So much for subtly scouting out the area, and the advantage of surprise."
Clicking off the TV, he says, "C'mon. Let's go eat, and get an early night's rest. Maybe we can catch a redeye to Montgomery."
"Food sounds good. I don't want to know what those guys managed to get themselves into, but . . ."
Rez sighs,
"Well, looks like they know we're coming. Aaanyway. FOOD!"
Rez leads the way out to the car, and gets going towards the nearest food place.
Subway's. Wheee, sandwiches for all.
The place is small, nearly empty, and you're given peace to enjoy your meal.
Once 'dinner' is over with, Bjorn and Rez head back to the motel.
Once there, Rez pulls out the uplink and sets to checking out plane tickets to Montgomery, while Bjorn does . . . Bjornly type stuff. Who knows?
Plane tickets to Montgomery are far cheaper than tickets to Gibraltar, as it turns out. The nearest airports are ... Austin, and Dallas. Austin costs 50$ more per ticket.
And Rez, after having checked out the options, purchases a couple of tickets for a plane leaving Dallas for Montgomery at . . .
11am the next morning.
Score!
The tickets are purchased at a grand total of 426$ for two seats. Since it's a larger plane, and not booked, you'll get to sit next to one another and fight over the window seat.
Double-score!
Rez immediately remembers to get a wakeup call for 7am. He REMEMBERED, for once.
Triple-score!
At seven AM, Bjorn is woken up by the shrill, insistent ringing of the wake-up call -- and by the incredibly irritating realization that Rez, in fact, has not been.
Rolling out of bed, he barks, "Get out of bed, you lazy bastard!" Without checking to see if Rez actually follows the suggestion, he heads for the bathroom for morning routine. And to fill a glass with cold water. For no particular reason. Really.
Rez mutters a few foul words and smacks the phone. Blearily.
After a few good hits, the handset is dislodged and falls on the flloor, neatly stopping the obnoxious ringing.
Fifteen minutes later, Bjorn emerges from the tiny motel bathroom, showered, clothes changed, and freshly shaved. Seeing Rez still asleep, he walks over to the bed. "Oi! Get up. Last warning."
Rez doesn't quite ignore Bjorn, but does bury his head under a couple of pillows.
Bjorn sighs, forcibly yanks the covers back from Rez' head, and starts dribbling cold water in his ear.
Rez yelps, grabs the nearest thing to hand - a pillow - and attempts to sweep it around and smack Bjorn in the head.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!"
Casually blocking the pillow-strike with his free hand, Bjorn remarks, "This glass is still three-quarters full. You still thirsty, or are you going to get up now?"
"Alright, alright, I'm awake, dammit."
Rez gets up and stomps off to th bathroom, muttering imprecations.
While Rez showers, Bjorn meditates. But carefully watches the bathroom door, too.
Vaguely clean, clothed, and even having (for once) shaved, Rez comes out of the bathroom and notices flashyness on his mobile.
He promptly reads the message, sighs, and hands the phone to Bjorn.
"Well, what do you know . . ."
"Jesus. Even dead he can fuck things up." Bjorn scowls. "Okay. So that was definitely them with the hijacking. The Cabal wasn't looking specifically for them, though. That's good. But they're going to start looking into things, and what then?"
"Then, depending just HOW much attention Drac and co drew to themselves - worst case, a lot, so we'll assume that - they'll know who they are, and they'll probably be able to find out that Ryan McGrail's credit card was used to buy both their tickets . . . and two tickets from Dallas to Montgomery, just after the hijacking. Fuck."
"Yeah. Fuck." Bjorn says glumly, and then thinks. "Okay," he says, after a while, "let's assume they know your name. The thing we have to do is divert their attention from Montgomery. So we do that by not showing up for that flight, or even in Dallas at all. That way, they'll think it was a decoy, and ignore the two locations." He grimaces. "I actually tried to pull that same stunt just before they picked me up. If they remember that....
"So the second part of that is making sure they can't trace us when we do go to Montgomery. We're supposed to meet Victor tonight, right? I don't think we can make it driving, so we're gonna have to fly out of Austin."
"Which involves us paying cash, which thankfully I have a fair bit of to hand - I just need to change it away from Australian money."
"Cash? Why... oh, I see. Shit. They'll know about Jacob Housner now, right? Pissbuggarfuck."
Bjorn sighs, and scratches his forearm. "Okay. We can get the money changed at the airport. So let's get going, and find a hotel close to the airport. We can park the van, leave it unlocked, and take the hotel shuttle to the airport."
"Not neccessarily, but they might find out, so it's probably better if we leave no trail. I like that plan, except . . . " Rez produces the warbag, "figure out what you want in here, like Shinmyouken, because producing it outside of here is probably not the best plan."
"Dammit." Bjorn makes a face, and then hands Rez Shinmyouken. "You'd better take this. I don't think it's worth the risk." He grins, crookedly. "And since I don't own anything other than the satchel that's got my clothes, that's about it. Nice and convenient, eh?"
"Tell me about it." Rez is about to offhand the bag again, then catches himself, "Oh - I should probably tell Relm what we're doing, actually. One sec."
Rez starts digging out the uplink.
"Dammit!" Bjorn blurts. "One sec."
Stooping, he pulls up his pant leg to reveal the baton that's he's strapped to his right shin. Straightening, he hands it to Rez, and smiles sheepishly. "Sorry. Forgot about this. Not used to carrying concealed weapons."
Rez stops typing.
"Hm. Relm has gone and switched the transaction records so that it now looks like Ryan McGrail is heading for Hawaii . . . and the Dallas to Montgomery trip is on Jacob Housner's card. That's probably enough, if we're careful with your card and vanish as fast as we can."
"Huh. So we can still use the Dallas flight? Useful girl."
"Sounds like a plan, yes it does," Rez starts shutting down his laptop,"So, food, then we drive to Dallas and ditch the van?"
"Drive-through food, but yes. Ikuzo!"
"What?"
"It means 'haul ass.' Now git."
Bjorn ushers Rez out the door, to the van, and onto the glories of McDonald's.
Breakfast sitting in your respective stomachs like lead weights, you quickly manage to hit the road, and from there ... Dallas.
"Behold . . . Dallas!"
"I'd rather not, thanks. You want to stick with the hotel-and-shuttle-bus idea?"
"I have always liked that idea," Rez says expansively, "but yeah, this place does look like something of a dump. When do we leave again?"
"I dunno," Bjorn grumbles. "Credit card bills to the side, I didn't order the damn tickets."
"11am. Not soon enough. So, let's find a hotel and go, shall we?"
"Sounds like a plan."
Bjorn drives off in the direction of the airport, looking for a Sheraton or Marriott in close proximity to same.
One of each is near the hotel, in addition to a Hyatt. All have vacancies.
Bjorn parks on the street outside the Sheraton. "Leave your door unlocked," he advises Rez, locking his own. "Now, grab whatever bags you've got," seizing his own satchel, "and let's go. We'll go into the hotel, browse around the lobby shops for a couple minutes, and then head out and wait for the shuttle."
Rez nods, gettig his laptop bag - the warbag being offhanded - and follows Bjorn.
You're probably only perusing the arcade for about fifteen minutes when you see a few other people start streaming towards the exit, and presumably, the shuttle.
Rez taps Bjorn on the shoulder and they both head out to the entrance, where the shuttle bus is hopefully waiting . . .
Bjorn follows Rez.
The shuttle is waiting, and no one is asking for reciepts or anything else outlandish ... everything appears to be in order. Shortly, the driver scans the steps up the hotel to see if there are any stragglers (there aren't), shrugs, and closes the doors.
The shuttle is actually pretty full, which is odd for this hour -- especially on a Monday. It was last week that was Martin Luther King Jr.'s memorial day.
Regardless, you're quickly unloaded at the airport.
"All right," Bjorn says, shouldering his satchel. "We have some time before the flight, right? First order of business is probably to find a money exchanger, then."
A money changer is located, though it takes them a minute or two to load up the current information on Australian exchange rates (most flights from Oz go to LAX or Orlando). However much money you wish to exchange is exchanged shortly thereafter.
"You done?" Bjorn says, once Rez is done. "Then let's get through security and to our gate."
You approach the gates warily, Rez wearing a long-sleeved shirt, and his (now customary) gloves. Normal gloves instead of archery gloves.
The metal detector awaits ... after placing your bags on the security conveyers through the x-ray machine, you walk through the forboding metal arch.
Nathan, in the back, watches the little meter spike from two green bars to eight green bars and two yellow bars (clear of the red zone, at least) while Bjorn walks through, and then, it's his own turn.
Then the moment is passed, and he's through the sensor without any beeping. Everything seems to be going well when the worst possible scenario happens -- security guards corner the pair of you, and demand to do a more thorough search.
Of Bjorn.
Bjorn spreads his hands -- not wide, but just enough to keep them clear of his bodies, palms facing out towards the officers, as if to say, 'hey, I'm harmless.' Out loud, "Certainly. What would you like me to do?"
They basically pat you down and make sure you're not carrying any concealed weapons, then eye you like they know you're up to something ... and let you go.
"That always happens to me," Bjorn grumbles, under his breath. "Maybe I need a different haircut or something."
Louder, he continues, "Anyways, let's get to the gate."
"Sounds like . . . a plan," Rez yawns, "the sooner we're out of here, the better."
Bjorn eyes Rez balefully, but says nothing. Instead, he looks around for a departure info terminal (to get the gate number and the status of the flight), before leading the way to the gate.
You find your flight and are shortly shuffled into a plane which then (somewhat less shortly) takes off.
Your flight is blissfully uneventful, with a notable lack of terrorism, until you land, and realize that not only have you flown to Alabama, you've done so largely of your own volition.
After your travel, it's now about: 2:45 PM on January 22nd, 2007.
Pausing in the gate lounge to stretch out kinks, Bjorn asks, "When are we supposed to meet Victor again? We need to get out of here before I start making the obvious jokes."
"10pm, at Coreen's. We were gong to get a PO box if I remember, but that was about it for the afternoon."
"Shit. Seven hours to kill? Goddamn. Well, first step is to get a PO Box, I guess. Might take us a while, since we'll have to bus or taxi. Any other ideas?"
"Yep, buy a couple of train tickets east on your credit card."
"Hmmm." Scratching his forearm thoughtfully, Bjorn replies, "Okay. I can see the point in that, but how are we going to get out of Montgomery? If we buy train tickets now, and then tomorrow get a flight, they'll know we weren't on the train, and that we were trying to hide something."
"We leave via greyhound bus, and pay cash. They'll probably just figure we were trying to lose them - IF they get out trail. Besides, they don't actually keep track of what train tickets got used like they do with aircraft. Sound like a plan?"
Bjorn shrugs. "If Montgomery even has a train station. It probably does, but ya never know." Eyeing the airport, he says, "Let's get going. Probably isn't the best place to discuss this, anyways."
"Alrighty. Post office first, I guess."
Rez follows Bjorn out of the terminal.
Bjorn looks around for a mass transit terminal.
You find one after a bit of searching. It's not as large as you might expect ... but then again, neither is Montgomery.
Bjorn studies a map of the system. "What do you think? We could just go straight downtown, or head for the train station -- if there is one. There'll probably be a post office either place."
"Train station first, I think." Rez nods.
One of the bus routes deposits you at a train-station where a bunch of grade-schoolers are apparently heading back to school from a field-trip. Apparently, there was a relatively (locally) famous incident between Martin Luther King Jr. and some authorities in 1956.
The post office (a holdover from the days of the Old West, most likely) is directly across the street from the station, where you're deposited after disembaring from the bus.
"All right. Why don't you go and set up the PO box? I'll go buy the train tickets, and meet you there."
"Better if you do it . . . I may have to give ID, and they're less likely to spot it if you give it."
"Buggar." Bjorn rubs his forehead. "Well, hopefully by the time they clue in to my name, Lazarus'll have set up a PO box on his own. Okay, let's do that first, then the train station."
Leading the way, Bjorn heads into the post office, and looks for a "Get Your Post Office Box Here" counter, or, failing that, an information desk.
They have both. But filling out the paperwork takes only a minute. Longer is the wait in line for an attendant to help you out. You're billed 14 dollars a month for a 10x12x40 (cm) mailbox, and they scribble down your driver's license information on the form, advising you to update them with your Alabama license once you complete your move, and thank you for choosing the U.S. postal service, please come again, may I help the next customer in line?
Bjorn pays cash for the mailbox (after borrowing some from Rez). As he explains to Rez after the fact, this particular PO box will have served his purpose before then, and this way the existence of the PO box won't show up on his credit record -- making it that little bit much harder to track.
With that disposed of, he heads over to the train station, to buy two tickets for Montreal.
Tickets to Montreal cost quite a bit, and the train doesn't leave until tomorrow morning. They're also a bit pricey, about the same cost as air-fare, considering the slow movement rate.
Bjorn checks to see how many stops the train would make
The train would end up making one stop in each state along the way, were you to take it to Montreal. Also, one stop in Montreal itself.
Bjorn shrugs. "Good enough," and makes the purchase on his shiny, new, not-quite-unused-but-unused-by-him credit card.
The transaction is processed smoothly, hitching only for a second as you remember to sign 'Jacob Housner' instead of your own name. You now have tickets, a P.O. Box, and about six hours to kill in Alabama.
Not that it matters what I sign. No one can make out my handwriting anyways.
"Well, priority number one, at this point, is probably letting Relm know the PO box number. What about checking in to a hotel so you can make a phone call?"
"Not much point getting a hotel room, but we could just duck into a 'net cafe. I'm sure there must be one around somewhere . . ."
Bjorn shrugs. "Works for me. We can look around here, and failing that, hop on a bus for downtown."
"Right. Also, turn your mobile off, and it stays off until we're well gone from here. They can't -pinpoint us-, but they can tell which towers we're close to, which for these purposes is bad enough."
"Hm? Oh." Bjorn fumbles in his pocket, and produces the cellphone, before putting it back, somewhat sheepishly. "Moot point. Forgot to turn it back on after the airplane. I always do that. Anyways, let's go find us a net cafe."
Rez snickers, and makes sure his own mobile is off, then . . . goes looking for a phone booth (and more importantly, a phone book).
There is a phone booth within walking distance, right in front of some bizzare East Coast 7-11 clone.
Quickly figuring out Rez' intent, Bjorn points in the direciton of aforesaid booth. "There's one over there. C'mon, let's go get an address."
With that, he quickly marches over to the booth, grabs the phone book, and looks up an internet or gaming cafe.
It takes a while, but the city has a handful. One of them is even (if your memory is correct) reachable by the bus-line back at the train station.
"Easy enough." Bjorn shrugs. "Okay. Let's get going." He makes a face. "I don't know why I'm rushing. It's not like it'll get us out of here any faster."
Having said that, though, he harries Rez back to the bus stop, hops on the next appropriate bus, and goes off to the net cafe.
Some thirty five minutes later you reach a Family Entertainment and Computer Center, a combination arcade (racing/fighting/BeMani games only) and internet cafe. There's a roller rink in the back, but it's abandoned at the moment.
As you enter, a large man with an apron over his long-sleeved flannel shirt yanks off his headphones and declares, "UNSTOPPABLE!" This causes the people at all but one of the other computers (all lined up in neat rows) to groan, and shake their heads.
The apron-clad man hits a quick series of keystrokes, then marches around to behind the counter. "Anything I can do for you?" he asks, leaning over the counter and raising an eyebrow.
"You're playing UT? Are you guys open for another player?"
Rez looks hopeful.
Bjorn smacks Rez across the back of the head. "Priorities. Email first. Then you can game."
"I wouldn't call it playing as much as me completely owning some scrubs," the owner defers. "But, yeah. Access to a system is ten bucks an hour -- UT's preinstalled, along with Wacraft III, Diablo III, Half-Life 2, Team Fortress 2 ... well, pretty much all of the new stuff." After a pause, he adds, "No Counter-Strike," pointing to a hand-written, 'Poser-Free Zone' sign on the glass door.
"Innnnnteresting. It's been a little while since I've had the chance to play," Rez digs into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, "I mean, all I wanted to do was actually write a couple of emails, but . . ."
Rez hands over $10, and grins.
"If I take you down, can I get a second hour free?"
Bjorn rolls his eyes heavenward, and makes note of the time.
"I'll give you a free hour if you can match my kill-count," he replies, smirking. "I could use the challenge."
"I'm not all that great, but I can kick the ass of the average schmoe and usually hold my own, so . . . if I lose, it's at least something to do for an hour."
Rez hands over the money, and heads over to a computer to write an email.
Once that is done, UT-age shall commence.
Rez promptly gets owned.
Quite thoroughly.
;_;
Ignoring the bitchy hotmail message for now, Rez clicks on his mobile phone to check his messages . . . notes one from Drac . . . and hands it to Bjorn.
"Erm. I don't think she's going to be able to get them new IDs in the next day or so, so . . ."
Bjorn reads the hotmail message, and rapidly (thanks to mad text-message 5k1llz developed in Japan) punches out a response:
We didn't actually see your faces on the news, so obviously you're not being unsubtle enough. No go for new fake IDs. Advice: don't go to Gib. You're no good for scouting now. Lay a fake trail somewhere else, try to sneak back later. Failing that, don't get shot.
Punching 'send' and tossing the cellphone back to Rez, Bjorn acidly remarks, "Well. Now that you've wowed the owner with your 'mad leet skills', do you have any more emails to send? Or do you just want to slink on out of here in disgrace and defeat?"
"Well, hey, it was fun, even if I did get wiped out. Nobody wants to play that game anymore."
Rez hums.
"Besides, I haven't had the chance to game for weeks. I'm going into withdrawal. Got anything better to do?"
"Unless you got emailed something worth discussing," Bjorn shrugs. "On the other hand, we could go to Coreena's now, and hope Victor shows up early. At the very least, that'll be cheaper."
Rez nods, waves to the owner, and heads out the door.
"Not a great deal interesting, really . . . " Rez continues once they're outside, "but . . . ehh. Do you really want to hit the bar this early? Victor's probably going to be punctual, there's got to be SOMETHING to do around here."
Reflexively glancing up and down the street, Bjorn replies, "Unless you have a pressing interest in the history of American racial relations, nothing springs to mind. Besides, we need to conserve money -- especially if we have to avoid using credit cards. So, like I said, unless you have an idea of something to do... We can find Coreena's, scout out the area, maybe get dinner, and then set ourselves up at the bar."
"Fair enough, I guess."
No more UT for Rez.
;_;
Bjorn leads the way back to the bus stop, with the eventual goal of finding Coreena's.
Coreena's is relatively easy to find. It's pretty close to the airport, though according to the sign, it doesn't open until after sunset.
Which is still about three hours off.
"Christ," Bjorn sighs, "we're just not getting any breaks, are we?" He shrugs. "Let's wander the neighbourhood. If we something interesting, then great. If we don't, at least we'll be killing time. Maybe we can find a good restaurant or something, have a good dinner. We'll come back when this place opens."
Rez nods, then perks up.
"Second-hand bookshop! There's GOT to be one or two around somewhere!"
There is a handful of resturaunts, but largely, the area around the airport actually seems pretty deserted. There is a bookstore, but it's not second hand.
Rez goes straight into the bookstore and starts perusing.
This is liable to kill at least an hour or two, unless Bjorn drags him out by the ear . . .
Cursing his own weakness, Bjorn loses himself in the bookstore's history section, occasionally checking the time. When it gets around time for Coreena's to open, he promises himself, he'll leave. Really.
Sometime after dark, you're pried away from your respective distractions by a somewhat annoyed clerk, and told to buy something, or get out. Realizing the time, you quickly make your way to Coreena's.
The bar is open, and there are a handful of people around.
You'd expect, with the 'not until sunset' opening hour that this place would be somewhat gothy ... and the decor is. Most of the furniture is dark, the walls are lined with black velvet (or reasonable imitation) curtains, the bar itself has a padded (black) leather rail.
The tables are all swathed in dark tablecloths, candles burn low at all of them (even those that are not booths), and the mirror is oddly backlit with ultraviolet lighting, making it nearly impossible to make out your own reflection from across the room.
The barkeeper is a spindly, pale man with very thinning hair and possibly too-large eyes who eyes you mistrustfully.
There's not a television, dartboart, or arcade machine in sight, and there are no windows. Traces of cigarette or pipe-smoke hang in the air, glowing ominously in the UV lighting over the bar.
The rest of the patrons, however, just look like your standard after-sunset bar-crowd, if more subdued.
"What," Bjorn pronounces, under his breath, "a fucking stereotype." He shakes his head. "I woulda hoped Victor had better taste. Oh, well. Go grab us a table."
Without waiting for Rez' reply, Bjorn heads off to the bar to order drinks, looking about for a clock at the same time. How long til Victor shows, anyways?
You think he said ten, and it's only eight or so.
After you have found yourselves a seat at one of the booths (there is an empty corner, surprisingly) you are attended by a waitress. She's wearing a lot of lace, a scandalously short leather (green) mini-skirt, and a green-and-white lace bustier.
She eyes you dourly, and asks, "What'll it be, gents?"
Bjorn closes his eyes, and then smiles faintly at the waitress. "What do you have on tap?"
"We've got guinness."
Bjorn cocks an eyebrow. "We'll have a round of that, please. Thanks."
Once the waitress is gone, he turns to Rez. "So. Any important news from Relm?"
The waitress walks to the bar, fills two largish mugs with ale, and leaves them at your table in silence, quickly moving on to attend the other customers.
"Not really. A little more background information, but nothing particularly notable."
Bjorn nods, and takes a sip of his beer. Staring down at the table, mind wandering, his body unconciously slumps, projecting an aura of exhaustion and depression.
Rez leans in to the table.
"Something up? I mean, apart from the obvious . . . eh, you know what I mean."
"Huh?" Startled out of his reverie, Bjorn takes stock of his situation, only to realize his demeanour. Straightening himself up, he grins, crookedly. "No. Nothing apart from the obvious." His brow furrows. "I just wish we didn't have to wait. I don't want... a chance to think too much. If you know what I mean."
"I have a rough idea," Rez sighs, "Workshop, what we're doing here, anything in particular?"
There's a silence, as Bjorn stares at the dark depths of his stout, before he says, rather conversationally, "I'm dead, you know that? I can't go back to my life. I've lost my job, and my career with it. My parents must be starting to worry, but I can't get in touch with them. What am I going to say? They wouldn't believe the truth, and... Shit. We could be gone for years. They might be dead by the time I get back, and I won't have been there for them. All I can do is not get in touch, hope that they get left alone, and try not to think about what this is doing to them, and let Gestur Bjorn Christianson die.
"And what's killing me... is that I'm not bothered by that half as much as I should be."
Just as things are getting nice-and-angsty, the door opens, and Victor strides in, pausing, as though taken aback by the decor. He seems to have a thing for fashion, because he's wearing yet another new suit.
Frowning at the barkeep, he scans the room, spots the pair of you, then nods, and moves over to the table. "Mind if I join you?" he asks, turning a quick glance over one shoulder at the approaching waitress.
Rez raises his (still full) glass to Victor.
"Sure, sit down. Want a drink?"
He nods, and takes a seat. The waitress stops, and looks at him coolly. "I take it Coreena is no longer here?" Victor asks delicately, looking at the decor as though it were some elaborate prank.
"Nope," she replies. "What would you like?"
"If Coreena's not here, I doubt her house red is here, either," Victor grumps. "Water. I'm driving."
The waitress shrugs, and trundles off, returning with a small glass of water for Victor before moving off to attend the other patrons.
"Not quite what you were expecting, then?"
Rez takes a sip out of his guinness and swirls it around slightly, glaring at it.
That's some heavy stuff, dark beer.
"The place has changed," Victor says flatly. "Time does that. I suppose it's lucky that this place is still here.
"I trust the journey has treated you well?"
"Well enough. We didn't have any real problems getting here, anyway. You?"
Bjorn raises his glass in greeting to Victor, but for now, is content to let Rez do the talking.
"It was quite boring," Victor replies frankly, grimacing. "Regardless, we're here now. Where are the others?"
"France. You hear about that failed hijacking of a plane to Gibraltar by some Forge terrorists?"
"No," Victor replies, taking a sip from his glass of water. "Hmm. Well, regardless. This place is not what it used to be. Shall we be on our way?"
"Sounds good to me." Bjorn rapidly drains off the remains of his Guiness and stands, politely gesturing to Victor to lead the way.
After walking outside, Victor leads you to his car -- a beat-up looking nondescript station wagon. "Anyway," he mutters, frowning. "We should be on our way to the mountain, and then ... to Lazarus and his little colony, if all goes well." After getting in, he reaches over to unlock the passenger door, and waits for you to join him before starting the car up.
Bjorn slides into the front seat, letting Rez take the back seat. "Do you expect problems?"
"No," Victor says, putting the car into gear and pulling out of the parking lot. "But, I expected Coreena to still be around."
"Fair enough," Bjorn concedes. "About how long til we get there, if you don't mind me asking?"
"An hour," Victor says, squinting at the gas gauge. "Maybe less."
There is a moment of awkward silence between the two mortals and the vampire.
"Radio's busted," Victor contributes thoughtfully.
"So how was your trip?" Bjorn asks. "FedEx everything it's cracked up to be?"
"I had originally thought that, 'this side up', was not open to interpetation. But it remained dark, though warm from the sunlight."
The car's headlights and the surrounding darkness seem to consume the miles, and you're quickly out of Montgomery, and into mysterious dark lands without many lights. Whatever's out in this area, it isn't residences.
"Mainly farmland out here, then?" Bjorn looks around, trying to make out anything in the darkness. "Seems like a good place to start out hiding, anyways."
Victor shrugs. "Used to be plantations. Mostly farms. We're headed up into the last edges of the mountain range, though. Lightly wooded. Abandoned mining village, most likely. Open. Far enough away from civilization to avoid attracting attention. A decent place to begin, certainly."
Bjorn grunts. "And no one's going to notice when an abandoned village suddenly becomes occupied again?"
"Depends on how they manage it," Victor says with a shrug. "But there's a difference between a meeting point and an established residence."
He frowns. "Unless they plan on staying there, as well."
"We'll find out," Bjorn says, and watches... well, nothing, since it's awfully dark out.
"So, how's about those yankees?" Rez pipes up.
Victor glances at the rear-view window, but says nothing. Eventually, you begin to go up a slope, winding around a few largish looking trees. It takes about fifteen minutes of this before you end up driving into the middle of a street. "This is the place," Victor announces, turning off the car, and climibing out of the driver's seat.
Rez climbs out of the car, and looks around the place curiously.
You see nothinbg, and a whole lot of it. It's REALLY dark.
For a moment, anyway. Before you really have time to do much but appreciate the pitchness of the black, the moon rises, and the cloud cover over the sky lifts. The moon is only a sliver, but the stars shed a surprising amount of light.
You're standing in the middle of a wide dirt road, a few abandoned houses on either side of it, broken and gaping windows peering at you ominously. If this place was a mining town (and it looks like it was, about a hundred plus years ago), it's sure not up to anything now.
"Hmm," Victor muses. "Maybe we took too long."
"Well, maybe. On the other hand, I wouldn't be making myself visible to a random car either. "
Rez produce The Warbag, extracts a flashlight, and offhands the bag again.
This is about the same time that you notice someone standing at the far end of the street. At that range, he's only barely visible in the starlight.
Rez clicks on the flashlight and points it at the guy at the end of the street.
"YO!"
Oh, wait, you recognize that guy! It's the TK from the Workshop.
"Christianson?" he calls out. "Is that you?"
"Yeah," Bjorn replies. "And this is Nathan. You remember, the archer? Where is everybody?"
"Hiding," the man replies. "Lazarus will take them out of cover, now. We saw the headlights while you were coming up. Just wanted to make sure you were friends."
As you watch, lights flicker on in the depths of the surrounding buildings. Most of them are hand-held flashlights, as more and more people (Workshop residents, as you recognize them correctly) start poking their heads out of the doors to peek at you.
Mr. Christianson? Lazarus's 'voice' is scrawled on your mental chalkboard as he steps out into the street and begins walking towards you (the TK falling in a few steps behind him). What brings you here?
Bjorn stumbles at the unexpected contact for Lazarus, mentally fumbling for his mindboard and discovering that he did, indeed leave it turned in. That means... oh, shit..
Out loud, he says, "Bit of a long story, Lazarus. Maybe you'd like to sit down to hear it?"
Certainly, Lazarus thinks, looking at Rez and Victor curiously. It's not much, but we have a bit of space where we can meet.
He enters one of the buildings on the side of the road, this one looking like an old saloon, though it's in marginally better condition than most of the other buildings. At least, what you can see of them, at any rate.
Taking one of the seats, Bjorn studies Lazarus. "How are you all doing? Did you all get out safely?"
The chair is rickety, but servicable. The room is illuminated with an old gas lantern, which the TK adjusts before hanging on a rafter. Another lantern in the far corner helps shed minimal light across the area.
All of us got out, yes, Lazarus replies. He eyes Rez, and then you sense ... though this is odd ... that Rez is now part of the mindlink, too.
Did you come here to join us?
After lighting the second lantern, the TK joins you at the table. Lazarus and Victor sit down a moment later, though both the TK and Lazarus eye Victor warily.
Bjorn grins crookedly. "Somewhat the opposite, in fact." He takes a deep breath, the grin fading, and tradesa look with Rez. "Nathan and I have entered the Contest, Lazarus," he says, seriously. "Do you know what that means?"
Not entirely, he sends slowly. The TK seems completely ignorant of the meaning of what you're saying. But I suspect that this has something to do with what we were being held in the Workshop for ... yes?
"Yes, it does," Bjorn says, slowly, "but to be honest, I don't completely understand how." Resting his hands on his knees, he looks Lazarus levelly in the eye. "The people who ran the Workshop are playing for power -- power like they studied in the Workshop. If they win this Contest, then they'll have what it takes to reshape the world as they see fit. And what they see, for you and I, is the Workshop, or something even worse. They'll take everyone with anyone power, and we'll either serve them, or be their experimental subjects."
Still resting on his legs, his hands spasmically clench into fists, and then relax again. "We -- Nathan and I, and three others -- we don't intend to let that happen. If we win, then the power will be... spread out. Metahuman powers, magic, whatever you call it -- it'll become normal. Equality. People will have what it takes to protect themselves."
Bjorn's eyes flick about the room, meeting the gaze of all the others, one by one. "The other players are bigger than us. They have more resources, more people. And that's why we're here. We're here to ask if there are any of you who will be willing to help us, to prevent the Workshop from returning."
Lazarus looks at you in surprise, then turns a more questioning gaze on Victor. The vampire hesitates only a moment before saying, "It is as he says, though I suspect he's cushioned the truth of the severity to you. It's just as bad as he says, if not worse.
"It's merely a question of standing up for yourself, or going to ground. Myself, I'd rather not be imprisoned again. And a little bit of revenge upon the people who kept me locked up for so long wouldn't be amiss, either."
Lazarus frowns, then looks at Bjorn again. We may not have much of a choice in the matter, he sends unhappily. And even if you are with us ... I doubt that we, as we are, are a match for the full power of whatever it was that was behind the Workshop.
How, then, are we to stand against those?
"You won't," Bjorn says, simply. "At least, not directly. That's what the five of us will do. But while we're doing that, we're going to be... out of touch. What we need are agents." Bjorn looks over at Rez, indicating that he should explain further.
Everyone turns to look at Nathan expectantly.
Rez looks faintly taken aback, then starts talking in something of a rush.
"Well, basically, all three of the sides in this contest have some sort of guide. For us it's, well, the Oracle of Delphi, who also managed to spend a fair time imprisoned by the guys behind the workshop. The problem is that she, like the other guides, is . . . well, an AI now. I'm not sure exactly how they managed to do that. But it means she doesn't have a physical body to -do- things with, and even if she did she couldn't be a hundred places at once. Even for small things; if she gets something shipped somewhere, she needs someone to receive it. That sort of stuff."
Rez pauses while he mentally sorts things out.
"What's liable to happen is that we're going to, well, vanish. We have to go to a few places around the world and complete certain tasks, but we'll be sort of in the dream world when we're doing that sort of thing and we don't know how long it will take . . . so to avoid our side being completely helpless while we're gone, we need some kind of help. I won't kid you, it could end up being dangerous, but none of us want pitched battles. But without your help we're almost certainly going to lose . . ."
Rez trails off.
"What we need," Bjorn explains, picking up the thread, "or, rather, what the Oracle needs, is that the Oracle have agents, to be her hands in the physical world while we're... doing what we have to do."
His lips purse in distate, though his voice stays smooth, as he says, "As Nathan said, it will probably be a bit dangerous. But," he focuses, again, on Lazarus and the TK, "not much more than the danger you're already in. Our strength, right now, comes from secrecy. I can't think there will be direct action, any glorious charges or daring operations that will endanger lives, because we can't risk it. Mostly, you'll need to do exactly what you're doing already: hiding. Keeping yourselves safe from the Workshop, and their ilk.
"But what we're offering you is the same thing as what you'll get out of it: a chance to not only hide, but fight back. To work together, for all of our safety, both short and long-term. As much as you can help the Oracle, she can help you, by warning you when the opposition starts to come close." Bjorn spreads his hands, as if to say, 'it's not much, but what more can I give?', and then folds them again in his lap. "In the end though," he says, quietly and seriously, "Victor hit the heart of it. If we fail, then you won't be able to hide. The question is, are you willing to fight to keep your freedom?"
"Well, shit," the TK says succinctly, trading a meaninful glance with Lazarus.
It is troubling, Lazarus echoes with a frown. However, while I think it may be for the best ... I cannot speak for everyone. How are we to speak with your ... the Oracle of Delphi?
"That's fine," Bjorn says. "I don't expect you to speak for anyone, or to make a quick reply. Take time to think it over. It's not a light thing.
"As for speaking to the Oracle -- Nathan can arrange that." Bjorn looks over at Rez, expectantly.
"Well, email. actually. Not that you guys have electricity out here, but I have my gear with me."
"We can take care of that, if we decide this is where we're going to hole up," the TK says with a shrug.
Lazrus nods in agreement. Can we ... speak with her now?
"One sec."
Rez produces The Warbag and sets up the uplink on the bench, then gets out his laptop and boots it up, logging into hotmail and typing up a quick message . . .
He also logs into AIM, as 'Invirious'.
Shortly after logging into AIM, you get a message from Relm Tyrean saying, "Hiya."
>Hiya yourself. How goes?
"Well, she's online, if you want to talk to her," Rez waves Lazarus over.
> Just peachy, Rezzy. What can I fer ya?
I see, Lazarus sends with a frown, squinting at the screen. The TK leans back, but Victor rises to peer at it curiously as well.
"This is how you speak with the Oracle now?" he muses. "Interesting."
It is Lazarus agrees. What can it do for us, though? A voice and a thought are fine direction, but....
"Well," Bjorn says, gesturing at the keyboard, "why don't we let her answer that?"
>You can stop calling me that? Hope springs eternal. Anyway, the guys want words with you. I'll >put them on.
Rez moves out of the way. Reluctantly. Nobody touches his computer, dammit. ;_;
Lazrus and the TK look at Nathan blankly. Victor snorts, and says, "I think I can do this."
Experimentally (painfully slowly to a vetran computer user) he hunt-and-pecks out:
> Greetings.
He pauses before sending the IM, and looks at Lazarus. "The question is a bit broad, don't you think? Perhaps we should start with something simpler."
Lazarus nods, and looks thoughtful.
"Very well," Victor says after a moment, turning back to the keyboard.
> Greetings. Oracle, if you can, tell us where we will be safe from those who hunt us.
There's a pause, and then Relm replies:
> That's not even a question! But, okay. So, you'll be safe ... nowhere. The land offers no sanction to those who do not fight for a cause, it simply accepts them as a part of itself, to be moulded by the victors of the Contest.
"I like that word," Victor mumurs, before more loudly adding, "As Ezmereth said. As they have said. No hope without the courage to stand." Not waiting, he begins typing again, and spells out:
> And if we work together with you, how can you help us in this matter?
There's a much longer pause, while Lazarus nods approvingly, and the TK looks bored. Finally, Relm sends:
> I can get things. Anything that can be ordered online, I can obtain. I've got money, and with your help, could even make it look like it was from a legitimate source. I've got advice, and information.
> More importantly, I can change things. Official departments keep an awful lot of their records online, these days....
> I could make your little town be an officially established and long-standing city of the state of Alabama, with a little bit of work. At least, according to their paperwork, I can.
Lazarus nods, but looks unconvinced.
Victor types in:
> One last test, O Oracle, if you don't mind.
Relm replies:
> Go right ahead.
Victor frowns, and mutters that he wasn't done typing, but adds:
> If you see me -- or anyone else here -- what do you see of us?
There is a much longer reply, before Relm replies:
> There is a delicate balance to be struck, as you no doubt already know. However, I see that the power to change things still exists, even if it is uncertain which way it will go.
> I can see that ... your presence has not gone unnoticed. There are forces out there that will ally with you, if they realize there is already some small strength to your force.
> Do not think you are in this alone ... the sentiment has to be powerful enough for people to echo it to allow me, and the people who brought me to you, to even pursue our goal.
Victor turns to look at Lazarus, who looks up from the screen, shooting Nathan and Bjorn both calculating looks.
After a sharp glance at the TK, who nods, Lazarus sends, Again, I cannot speak for all. But perhaps ... perhaps it would be better to stand for something, even if it is less your goal, and more working with you for our own freedom. At least ... for now. Though he doesn't show it, you sense a small smile in that thought. Clapping his hands together, he adds, We should sleep on this, and consider things thoroughly. I will let everyone else know in the morning, what we shall do.
"Yes, morning," Victor says dryly. "Quite good. I'd like to be a part of this too, if you don't mind, so ... is there somewhere dark I can stay for the moment?"
Lazarus nods. There is an abandoned mine. It is not dangerous, at least ... not as far in as we have examined it. And that is far enough that the sun does not reach it.
"Excelent," he says. "I'm going to rest. Without nourishment, it takes ... some time for me to regain my strength."
"I see that as something of a sticking point," the TK says. "Um, sir."
We'll think of something, Lazarus sends. We'd much rather have you on our side, after all.
Bjorn rises to his feet, nodding at Lazarus. "In the end, Lazarus, we're all fighting for our safety. That's more than reason enough.
"But we can talk more in the morning. Unless you -- or anyone -- has questions, I wouldn't mind getting some sleep. I've done far more travelling in the past few days than I actually enjoy."
That's understandable, he sends, as Victor moseys out the door, presumably to the mine. The upstairs is somewhat unstable. Currently the best we can offer you is this room. There are blankets behind the bar. He rises, the TK following him, and they nod at you. Good night, and we shall discuss further in the morning.
>Well, that was surprisingly easy.
Rez goes back to his computre for a few minutes, as it occurs to him to check CNN.com and the like for news on the hijacking.
Bjorn waves as they walk out the door, and then turns to Rez. "That was short and sweet." Walking over to the bar, he continues, "Looks like we'll be on our way soon, too."
Picking up the blankets, he asks, "Does the Oracle have anything in particular to share with us? Since it seems she's feeling talkative tonight."
> You mean, that was it? Well, good.
> I think.
> Actually, I feel kinda positive about this. Maybe things will work out.
CNN.com has scarce info, just the names of the three brave crew members who fought off the terrorists, a rough sketch of the event (three heroic young men single-handedly battled five terrorists with guns for control of the plane, then managed to land it), and a note that while one of the in-custody terrorists died, three remain in guarded condition within the hospital.
"The Oracle has a fairly positive feeling about it all? Oh, and according to CNN three heroic young men fought off a terrorist hijacking attempt on a plane to Gibraltar, yadda yadda yadda."
Rez goes back to the laptop, not really tired enough to sleep right now . . .
>Well, they want to discuss it more in the morning, so we'll see.
>Hm.
>Up for a game of UT?
"They weren't heroic," Bjorn grumbles, "they were either unlucky, idiotic, or a combination of the two.
"A 'positive feeling'? Well, I guess that's actually a good sign, coming from an Oracle." He watches Rez for a second. "What are you doing, anyways? Trying to make more sense of those files from the Workshop?"
"Challenging the Oracle to a game of UT. And I was quoting CNN!"
Rolling his eyes, Bjorn says, "Never quote CNN. The stupidity might be catching. And I refuse to comment on the first. I'm going to sleep. Tell the Oracle 'hi' for me, and try not to sob too loudly when she kicks your ass. I'm a light sleeper."
"Have a good nap."
Rez goes back to tinkering.
Relm accepts your challenge to UT.
...maybe she's using an AIMBOT, or maybe, when you stop to think about it, she IS one. Either way, she's almost as good as the owner of the internet cafe you played UT at last time.
After an hour or so of that, you shut everything down to conserve power, grab some of the blankets Bjorn left behind the bar for your, and settle down to sleep....
You're both awakened (after sunrise) by the smell of a smoky fire, something cooking on it, and a quiet knocking on the door.
Rez gets up - reluctantly, pokes the still dozing Bjorn with his foot, then walks over and opens the door.
"Uh?" he says, eloquently.
The smoke appears to be coming from one of the houses across the street, where you see a number of people you recognize as Workshop escapees clustered around rickety-tables, eating something ... well, edible, you imagine. It looks like gruel, with eggs.
The TK has knocked at the door. "Lazarus and I will be speaking with the others shortly," he tells you. "Might want to get some food first."
"Sounds like . . ." Rez yawns loudly, "er, sorry. Yeah, sounds good."
He pauses a moment.
"Er, sorry, what was your name? I can't remember if I was told and forgot or if I never found out . . . I'm Nathan."
He stares at you blankly for a long moment, then shakes your gloved hand. "Bartholomew," he replies. "Bartholomew Buktin. I guess I never did give you my name. Sorry."
Rolling to his feet, Bjorn nods a good morning at Barthlomew, and heads out to eat, looking for people he knows.
Bjorn: You're only just outside the door when Bridgette and (a little more slowly) Mikey run up to you.
"Hiya, Mister B.," Mikey says pleasantly. "Isn't it a good day today?"
Bridgette, on the other hand, appears to be hand-signing to ask you about the location of another file, if you translate it correctly.
"All mornings are good," Bjorn says, somewhat drily. "The trick is keeping the rest of the day the same. How are you doing, Mikey?"
To Bridgett, he asks, "Are you asking where Ashnod is? Sorry," he hastily adds, "I'm still not very good with the handsigns."
"No such thing as a good morning," mutters Rez, "there needs to be a better way to start the day than getting out of bed."
Bart snorts, and says, "We've got coffee. No sugar, but coffee."
Bridgette nods, but seems to indicate that there's more to it, as well.
Mikey just beams. "Get some breakfast, Mister B., Lazarus says today will be a long day."
"I will, Mikey. Thanks."
Bjorn looks at Bridgett, very gravely. "Ashnod stayed behind. I don't know where he is." Closing his eyes, he says, quietly, "And I couldn't save Megan. I'm sorry."
Bridgette stares at Bjorn for a long moment, unblinking, then slowly nods, and shrugs, as if to say she had suspected as much the entire time.
Bart looks a little uncomfortable, and shows you where to get your grits and eggs before sitting down.
Bjorn squats in place for a bit, studying the ground between his legs. There is no sign that he plans to make any move towards the food.
Bridgette pats your hand comfortingly once before she goes off to join the others at the tables.
"You alright?"
"No," Bjorn says, shortly. He rises to his feet, and heads off to the table. "C'mon, let's get some food."
The food tastes pretty bland. But it's edible, and nourishing, and juding by the way a lot of the people are looking around and just admiring the trees and the sky, the freedom is more than worth it.
Bjorn looks around, an almost desperately curious expression on his face. "How long have you been set up here, anyways?"
"About a week," Bart replies from his seat, already polishing off his meal. "The last of us just straggled in a few days ago, and now we have to decide where we're going to stay, and what we're going to do."
Bjorn nods about it. "How'd you find out about it, anyways?"
"Lazarus checked everyone's minds on our way out the door, and left us all a message that it was where HE was heading, so if we wanted to follow him, great, if we wanted to go there later, that was good, too. Me, I never left his side. The guy's a genius, but he can't speak, and isn't much if it comes to fighting. A figured a little bit of TK at his side would be a good thing." He shrugs, and pulls at one corner of a ragged flannel shirt. You realize that everyone is dressed differently, now. Almost everything looks like a hand-me-down, of course, but no one is wearing the old jumpsuits anymore.
Bjorn nods again, and then studies the table -- and, specifically, the people around it.
All of them look like Workshop escapees. Except for the fact that you think there are less here than there were in the workshop originally. Also, Victor is nowhere in sight, and neither is Ezmereth.
On the whole, they seem much happier here than in the Workshop, and of course, they're all dressed differently. Bridgette is wearing a very smudged catholic school-girl's uniform, and Mikey is wearing a gigantic pair of overalls, and a flannel shirt. Bart is wearing some faded and slightly tattered levis, while Lazarus is wearing knee-length khaki shorts and a polo shirt.
While looking around, you notice that one of the more intact-looking houses has a pair of working rocking chairs on the porch, both occupied. In one chair, eyes closed, hand resting on a cane like a far older man, is Jonas. Next to him is the woman who healed Shade, and she too looks tired and old beyond her years.
You also realize, somewhat belatedly, that it's much warmer here than it is pretty much anywhere else you've been. And it's probably much warmer here right now than it usually is for this region.
Bjorn starts. "Jonas? He's alive? I was told he died in the Workshop."
"He very nearly did," Bart agrees, frowning. "If Anita hadn't found him when she did, he would probably never have woken up. As it is, he's still weaker than he should be. It'll take him years to recover his strength."
Bjorn grunts, staring down bleakly at his plate. After a minute of silence, though, he looks up, frowning at the sky. "Is it just me, or is the weather... exceptionally nice?"
A moment later, Rez blinks and looks up from his think-it's-egg-sort-of breakfast.
"Warm day. I wouldn't know, I thought this area was usually pretty warm?"
Bjorn shakes his head. "Wasn't this warm down in Montgomery, and it should be cooler in the mountains, if anything."
Bart looks curious, and is about to say something, when he raises his head slightly, and nods. "Time for the speech," he says, shrugging. Now that you look, you see that Lazarus is standing on a large tree-stump (the thing has to be a meter wide, and a meter and a half-high) at one end of the area where the tables are set out. Bart runs to the back of the stump, and appears to climb a ladder to the top, standing just behind Lazarus.
Pushing the remains of his barely-touched meal away, Bjorn adjusts his seat so that he can see Lazarus clearly.
Lazarus makes eye contact, it appears, with each and every meta-human in the benches before turning to Bart meaningfully. The TK coughs meaningfully, and steps to one side, while Lazarus edges back, and speaks for the older-looking man. "So, we've all made it here, out into the wilds. We've escaped the belly of the beast, and now we're on our own."
Just about everyone in the audience nods at this.
"Some of us never knew what we were before we ran into the Workshop. But we found out, and now we know ... for good or ill, we can't go back. It's just not that easy."
A few startled or disappointed noises sound from the scattered seventy or so people you can see from your seats.
"We're here, now, and we've got choices." Lazarus looks across the audience meaningfully, as though he were speaking, and Bart was merely a speaker, or an amplifier for the man's thoughts. Which is likely true, when you stop to consider things.
"We can hide."
A few of the people nod uncertainly.
"We can fight."
Less nod, but more vigorously.
"Or we can make a stand."
Curious glances are exchanged at this.
"That's right," Bart says, while Lazarus nods emphatically. "We can make a stand. We can live here -- where we already know we accept one another for what we are, and what we can do. We can choose to make this our home, where we will stay, and hold it against all comers.
"We can make this place a haven for ourselves ... for others like us. We can build our own future here, without throwing our lives away in a reckless and foolish act." Bart steals a glance towards Bjorn and Nathan, but quickly resumes speaking. "Without running, hiding, and seeing how well we can bide our time before we get caught again."
Bart shrugs, and Lazarus spreads his hands wide, in a helpless gesture. "The choice is up to you, of course. Each and every one of you must make your own minds up on what to do. But I--" Bart cuts off, and shoots a dark scowl at Lazarus, who tries to hide a smirk. In words you know are his own, Bart continues, "We are going to take a stand here." He returns his gaze to the crowd, and smoothes his glare into a challenging stare. "And any who wish to remain, are welcome to do so."
You know, I still don't know if this works or not... Bjorn turns out his mindboard, and in big, bold letters, he scrawls, Lazarus? Have you changed your mind about our proposal?
No, he replies thoughtfully. Bartholomew is not as apt with words as I would have hoped. Bart flinches slightly at that.
"Some of us," the TK says, clearing his throat, "are going to be fools anyway. And having a haven ... a home to come back to might make it that much easier." Lazarus frowns dubiously, and Bartholomew looks flustered.
Christianson, Lazarus sends, perhaps your own speech might be a bit more motivational. I cannot contact this many minds at once, or else I'd do it myself, and Bartholomew isn't as adept at picking out my meaning as I would always hope.
The TK ducks his head, his face reddening in embarassment. "I'm uh, sorry," he says more quietly. "I'm not so great with the word thing."
While they were paying attention before, the crowd is now uncertain.
Bjorn rises to his feet, and, without waiting for acknowledgement, says clearly, "Taking a stand is fighting."
He pauses for a second, waiting long enough for most of his audience to focus on him, and then continues, "Both mean that, sooner or later, we will come face-to-face with the people who created the Workshop, or people like them, and we will have to fight for our freedom. Because hiding is not an option. They will look for us, they will find us, and if they have our way, they will enslave us again."
He meets the gaze of several of the audience members, the ones who look most receptive, holding it for a second before moving on to the next. "But there's a difference between taking a stand, and simply fighting. Taking a stand means that we're fighting for something. It means we have a home to protect. It means we have a dream to protect -- a dream where we don't have to fight, where we can take our lives back, where the Workshop cannot and will never again exist.
"Now, I'm one of those 'fools' Bartholomew was talking about." He grins, self-deprecatingly, but then turns serious again. "But I don't think I'm being foolish. I'm taking a stand. I'm going out to fight, because the Workshop had no right to exist. I'm risking my life, yes, but only because the price of not fighting is the same, or worse. I do it because I hope to have a home, one day, that no one can take away from me, where I don't have to hide who or what I am. A home that you can start building, here and now, if you are willing to fight to protect it."
Spreading his hands wide, he continues, "So, then, the question that you have to answer today is: do you want to run and hide, and hope that somehow things will all work out? Or are you willing to take a stand, and spit in the eyes of those who would put you back in the Workshop?"
3d6 for Oratory check:
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Bjorn ... : 3d6 --> {8}
There's a series of low murmurs, as for a moment you completely lose the crowd, and they begin to converse and argue quietly among themselves. But it's only a moment, as the arguments and conversations reach a quick conclusion.
Sharing decisive nods, and with grim certainty, each of the Workshop refugees there raise their hands, and yell out their decision. It takes a moment of yelling from Bartholomew, and hand-waving from Lazarus to calm them down, but the end decision is:
They will work with you.
Bjorn sinks back down into his seat, and rests his forehead on his hands. "Christ, I hate speaking," Bjorn mutters to no-one in particular.
Seeming charged, and now knowing that this run-down falling apart community is going to be their new home, the refugees begin to scatter across the town, stopping occasionally to check with Lazarus and Bart before scurrying off to manage some task or another.
You see that Bart is pretty good at dealing with smaller numbers of people, at least.
Watching all the bustle for a minute, Bjorn says to Rez, "You should talk to Bart, talk about what it'll take to get a permanent connection to Relm set up here. In the meantime, if you'll pardon me, I need to go talk to Lazarus for a second."
Without waiting for a response, Bjorn heads away from the table towards Lazarus.
Lazarus looks up as you approach, and smiles when he sees you. Things appear to be in order, then, he sends. How shall we begin?
The first step is setting this place up, Bjorn replies. Specifically, we have to make sure that you can contact the Oracle, and vice versa. Nathan is going to talk to Bartholomew about starting that. After that's done, Nathan and I will head for Gibraltar.
Before we do that, though, I'd like to repeat some of the experiments we did with my power, before. Apparently, some part of them did come from my bracelet, and that power is basically gone. I'd like to sort out exactly what's changed, if you don't mind.
Rez nods - which Bjorn doesn't see - and weaves his way through the people over towards Bart.
"So you guys are going to need an internet connection? Don't suppose you have a generator, so we'll need to figure out power first?"
Lazarus looks thoughtful, and nods. Something about you did seem different, he agrees.
"We've got a handfull of cars," Bart says doubtfully. "No generators, electricity, or running watter. There's a pump-house behind one of the buildings we've been using to pull up water by hand."
"Hmm. OK. We'll go have a chat to the Oracle in a sec . . . hm, got any mechanics or anyone who's good with computers?"
The first, obvious questions is: can you feel any sort of resistance when you try to contact me? Upon writing that on his mindboard, Bjorn immediately turns it in and "hardens" it as much as he can.
After a cautious second, Lazarus sends, No ... but it's like ... it is ... hmm. Have you attempted to reach the minds of others? And how did you lose your bracelet? I can still see it on your wrist. Or ... did something else happen?
Bart nods at Rez, and says, "Any help getting this kind of stuff set up would be appreciated. So ... yeah, one of the women here -- her name is Sally -- can actually fix mechanical stuff really well. She says she's not so great at building new things, but fixing broken stuff. She can ... weld without heat, for metal.
"As far as using computers really well, I bet some people can use them decently, but all of us in the workshop weren't given a chance to use them much, so ... that's going to be iffy. For what it's worth, I think we can find someone who we can train to be pretty good at it easily."
When Rez turns his cell-phone on next (for whatever reason) he finds this message waiting for him. Apparently this place is within range of a cell-tower....Rez, important, what resources does Relm have to help us out in france? Can she get some fake trails made for us here?
"Sounds good. You don't need a genius, just who'll get the principles down in case something goes wrong."
Rez walks over to a mostly-empty breakfast table - if there is one, attempting to get some space clear if there isn't - and produces The Warbag, setting up the uplink and laptop on the table.
While doing this, he asks Bart a quick question:
"Hm, can you get me a couple of people? I'll give you guys a quick overview as to the basics - then we'll figure out with the oracle how to get that stuff shipped out here."
No, Bjorn writes thoughtfully. I haven't tried that. The bracelet got... split between myself, Nathan, and our other three friends. Why? Do you feel something odd?
Yes, Lazarus replies slowly. Try, if you will ... imagine, reaching out with your mind, instead of simply presenting a thought for another to pick up. Try and ... send a thought, or a message to me, instead of merely recieving my own.
Bart nods, and Rez quickly finds himself with three people who look willing to learn, and reasonably computer competent.
Rez fires up his laptop and spends a while making sure everyone knows the basics of email/using-a-satellite-uplink/net connections/aim chat/etc.
If they know enough to -talk- to the Oracle, she can show them anything else they need.
After this, Rez logs into hotmail and writes up an email.
Bjorn nods, slowly, and then writes Did this work? on his mindboard, before imagining "pushing" the mindboard out towards Lazarus.
Bjorn: It works, and you can tell before Lazarus sends you. It's like you extended the board towards him, and he took a hold of the far end. It's strange, actually sending thoughts instead of just letting people read them ... but interesting, at the same time.
This is interesting, Bjorn writes, somewhat sardonically. I've gone from being an anti-telepath to a regular telepath.
Now, one more experiment, if you don't mind... With that, Bjorn imagines exuding a defense shield, as he did back in Ripon.
Bjorn: There are no visible effects from it. And you're aware, peripherally, of Lazarus, but it's like he's got chalk, and you've put a layer of glass over the board. He's tapping on it, but can't write.
Bjorns lets the glass dissolve back into graphite, and writes, Well, that seems to work -- though now I have to actually try, and it doesn't seem to feel as strong. Impressions?
You have a skill much like mine, Lazarus sends. I'm rather partial to it, myself. But you should be able to use it to share thoughts and ideas with your friends in silence. This is always useful, especially if you wish to say one thing, and do another.
I can see that. Thanks, Lazarus.
Bjorn looks around for Rez, and then, acting on sudden impulse, pushes the mindboard out towards him, without actually writing anything on it.
It feels like (even if he's unaware of it) he's holding one end of the board. There's notes being scribbled on the edge of it, too, though you can't really make out exactly what's being there, thanks to the angle the board's held at. Trying to change it makes it so you're less holding two ends of a board, and more stepping into his head to say, "Hello." And you can see what he's looking at, even if you can't read his thoughts, and he seems unaware that you're there.
Bjorn cocks an eyebrow, and then withdraws the mindboard from Rez, and offering it to Lazarus again. Okay. I'll go talk with Nathan and find out the current status is on making this place the new Delphi. After that, we'll need to get on planning how to get to Gibraltar. He grimaces slightly. Preferably attracting less attention in doing so than the rest of our team.
After withdrawing the mindboard from Nathan, you feel some resistance ... some residual Nate-ness on the mindboard, like a smudge. Even without looking, you get the idea you could re-form a link with him.
Or Lazarus. Though, if you were to let your board fill up with smudges, it'd probably have almost no usable area.
Frowning slightly and staring off into space (note to self: learn to be subtler about this stuff), Bjorn first hardens his mindboard into diamond, and then tries to bring the Dracos-smudge back into focus.
It takes serious concentration, but you manage to do so. You're reasonably sure that if you try and send a message, he'll pick it up.
(Some telepathy posts happening in Ordinary Days.)
Coming back to focus entirely on his surroundings, Bjorn ambles over towards Nathan. Standing on one side, just inside Nathan's periphial vision, he waits, arms crossed, for acknowledgement. After listening to several minutes worth of lectures on the inner functionings of the uplink, however, he shrugs, and quietly sits down at the laptop to commandeer Rez' Hotmail account.
Rez does take a second to glance over at the email Bjorn is writing.
And so it is that he taps Bjorn on the shoulder just after Bjorn has sent the email with a suggestion: "Cookies are much better than olives, they just didn't have those back in Delphi."
"It says here she wants gifts of bronze," Bjorn points out, as he taps out a reply. "I could cut off your hand and find out if she thinks that's close enough."
Finishing up, he turns to Nathan. "So. You might want to go talk to Lazarus. The bracelet may well have given you some powers." Bjorn half-smiles. "It seems it was messing up mine quite a bit. Among the things that it was doing was hiding the fact that I can connect minds, much the same way as Lazarus. Not telepathy -- can't read minds, but I can talk to people mentally, and probably let them talk to others through me.
"Did you read those emails?"
"Nifty. I will, once I'm done here. And it's gold, not bronze. Neener-neener-nyah. Are you -sure- we can't just offer some cookies to the priesthood?"
Rez hums.
"Oh, and yes. My over-the-shoulder-fu is strong."
"Sure," says Bjorn. "I'm the priesthood, and I'd like some cookies.
"Anyways," he stretches, standing up from the laptop, "emails pretty much summed it up, except I left out the bit about Drac thinking that Paul is an idiot, more or less. I'll get in touch with them in a bit, let 'em know what Relm said." Bjorn pauses, scratching his jaw. "I'm pretty sure I can connect more than one person. You want in on the chat when I do it?"
"Make a note, Mr Christianson. Cookies for the priesthood. And sure, I guess."
Rez goes back to winding up his explanation of the-stuff-he-hopes-they-know.
Letting Nathan get back to his business, Bjorn looks around New Delphi, looking to see if there's anything he can do.
Unless you can fabricate raw equipment, probably not much they've already got under control. It's probably lucky for them that it's warmer here, given their somewhat small supply of clothing and decent housing....
The weather... Bjorn frowns, staring up at the sky, and then (when it's available), heads over to the laptop to look up today's weather reports for the state of Alabama.
Today's Alabama is: Cold. Very cold.
About five degrees above freezing cold.
The weather map shows heavy rain across most of the southern state, clear of where you actually are.
Bjorn focusses on the Lazarus-smudge. Lazarus, is there anyone here who can control the weather, or something like that?
The weather? he sends, and you sense his curiosity. No. None of us are from this area, though ... is the weather strange?
Yes, Bjorn replies, very strange. Everywhere else in the state, it's freezing cold and raining. It's not entirely impossible to have a small patch of good weather, but coincidence worries me.
As the imaginary chalk flies across the mindboard, Bjorn types out a new email to the Oracle.
Relm replies to the e-mail with the speed of those who live at their computers. Or, in her case, IN their computers.
After reading the email, Bjorn stands up, and looks around for Lazarus. Has the weather been like this since you got here?
It was a bit colder when we first arrived, Lazarus sends. But it warmed up after a few days.
Did anything happen about that time? Bjorn asks. Anything out of the ordinary?
Not that we can recall, Lazarus replies wryly. But then, we don't know this area well yet.
Grunting thoughtfully, Bjorn looks around. I'm going to look around, then. Victor's staying in a cave around here, right? I'll start by checking that area out, and ask him if he's got any opinions. Could you tell me the way?
The mine? Lazarus thinks. That's just up the road, towards the mountain.
Thanks. Let me know if anything comes up.
Grabbing Shinmyouken from the Warbag, Bjorn heads up towards the mine. Before leaving the village, though, he makes sure that he's hardened his shield, and that he's pushed the mindboard (though not actually using it) towards both Nathan and Lazarus.
You get the idea that Lazarus is actually taking notes, almost mentally 'mumbling' to himself on the edge of your mindboard, though just out of your mental view.
Armed, mental defenses ready, you approach the mine. It's actually almost right out of a cartoon -- large, trapezoidal aperature with two large round posts and a square crossbeam, and mine-cart tracks (severely rusted) leading into darkness. The town is about eighty meters behind you, and this area is thickly carpeted in dead weeds.
A light. Fuck. Nice going, Einstein. Bjorn looks back at the village, back at the mine, and then down at his bracelet. Tentatively, he gives it a mental prod. I don't suppose you'll cooperate with the glowing bits any more?
The bracelet maintains its non-glowing status, as though mocking you.
Bjorn sighs, trots back to the village, and pokes around for a flashlight (or flashlamp, if he's any so lucky), before returning to the mine and examining the mouth of it.
You find an authentic aging lantern, filled with (by the smell) genuine kerosene. It provides light and is shielded from wind, at least. Someone has either cleaned the glass housing, or just shattered it and made a new one by hand, though. It no discernable light in the midday sun.
Should work passably in the depths of the mine, though.
Grabbing a pack of matches as well (just in case), Bjorn heads back to the mine and makes his way cautiously into the shaft.
You are in the mine.
It is dark.
You have a lamp, though it is dim, and takes your eyes some time to adjust to the change in light-level. The floor is hard-packed dirt without any footprints showing in it. It's worth mentioning that the rails here are much less rusted, and only covered by a very thin layer of dust. Given that the place looks to have been abandoned decades ago, that's somewhat surprising.
After a few steps in, you find out why, however. There's a distant (if hushed) groan, and you can feel cold, heavy air flow across the bottom of the mine-shaft, rushing past you and into the darkness.
Behind you, the entrance is a square of welcoming brightness and daylight. Ahead of you is nothing more than the vanishing tails of tiny indoor dust-devils, and shiny rails leading into the unknown.
Bjorn moves cautiously deeper into the depths of the mine, straining all his senses and moving slowly.
Your senses honed into a fine-tuned machine of awareness, you creep cautiously forward, the lamp held to one side, and slightly behind you to avoid blinding you with the glare. Your eyes adjust to the darkness, and you can see about 10 meters in any direction clearly.
The mine continues, unbranching, until you're a good 50 yards in. Now the welcoming patch of sunlight looks terribly distant, you can see (though not lit) lanterns hanging on the walls. It looks like someone recently replaced them, or the glass on them. They may or may not have fuel in them, but hang every ten yards apart.
At this point, the mineshaft curves sharply to the left, the right being an ancient cave-in and pile of rubble. You think you can see light ahead somewhere, and hear a distant, sibilant whisper.
Not like I can be very sneaking carrying around a latern, anways. "Victor?" Bjorn asks, not shouting. The walls look stable, but....
Without waiting for a response, he heads down the left passage, though still moving cautiously.
As you round the corner, the sound becomes clearer, and you realize that you are seeing light ahead of you. It's reflecting off of a wall, and allowing you to see that there's an area where the tunnel takes a sharp zig back towards the outside of the mountain before (presumably) zagging back into the depths.
The whispering is more clearly singing, though you can't quite make out the words or the melody yet.
Bjorn looks around, trying to determine where the light is coming from -- and, possibly, what sort of light it is. Sunlight? Lamplight?
It's dim, and flicktering. Probably lamplight. From a fire, at any rate. It's still only reflected light from ahead of you, though, so hard to be certain.
Before continuing further down the mineshaft, Bjorn draws Shinmyouken, holding it in his right hand with the lantern in the left. Better safe than sorry. Of course, "safe" is back in the village. Jesus.
After rounding the corner (slowly, gingerly, carefully) you come into view of:
Victor, reclining on a rock-pile, lookin up at the cieling with unfocused eyes. A lantern hangs nearby, lit, and shedding light across the area. Victor is distractedly singing, "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine," and looking very bored.
He stops when you approach, and then makes a vague gesture towards you, launching into a new verse.
Bjorn squats where he is, waiting patiently for Victor to finish his song.
After the next verse, he sighs. "Still light out, I imagine?" he asks. "I don't calculate any convenient eclipses for some time."
"Afraid so," Bjorn replies. "Feel like doing a little exploring to pass the time? In talking to Lazarus, it turns out the weather has been significantly and disturbingly nicer here than it has been anywhere else around the village, since shortly after they showed up. Makes me a little suspicious."
"The weather, hmm?" Victor noises, climbing to his feet. "As long as 'exploring' means 'deeper into the mines', and not 'out into the sun', I've got not problems with that." He furrows his brow in thought, and extinguishes his lantern, leaving only yours to provide light. "Well, I had noticed it didn't seem as cold last night. Being a mountain, deep winter, and ... the other forces playing about, cold would be expected. I'll have to consult with the others to find out what the initial temperature was when they arrived."
Victor dusts some dirt from his clothes, and squints, peering deeper into the mine. "I used to be a scientist," he confides. "Long, long ago. Hmm. Will Nathan not be joining us?"
"Deeper was the plan," Bjorn says agreeably, rising in turn. "Since the others wouldn't have explored this place very much, seemed like the best place to start.
"Nathan was busy working on setting up a connection for the Oracle in the village. Let's see if he's done...."
Bjorn quickly scrawls on Nathan's portion of the mindboard, Hey. It's Bjorn. You done with the tech-talk and talking to Lazarus? Victor and I are going to explore the mine a little. The weather's not natural, as you might have noticed, and Relm doesn't have a clue. Figured we might as well look around.
The Nathan jumps visibly, not that Bjorn's around for it to be visible . . . er . . . yeah.
"The mine? Sure, I guess. Not that I'd noticed anything weird about the weather, but I don't know what normal is around here . . . I gave them a rough idea of what-to-do, so once Relm manages to ship some stuff out here they'll probably be fine. I'll be right down. Anything you want me to bring?"
A lightsource would be good. Flashlight, ideally, we have two lanterns already. You'll need that anyways. If you can find some rope, that'd be good. Other than that, just the bow.
Once you're in the mine, turn left at the T-intersection -- not that you have a choice. Follow the tunnel, and you'll find us. I'll leave this "connection" open, just in case you need to get in touch with me, okay?
Out loud, Bjorn says, "Nathan's on his way. He'll be a few minutes, and then we can get going."
"Flashlight I have, rope I'll ask about."
Rez hmms as he starts packing things away . . .
"Er. Where is the mine entrance?"
After receiving an answer to this most vital of questions, Rez packs up the uplink and the laptop and stashes them in the car, and wanders over to ask Bart about possibly getting some rope . . .
It takes very little time to assemble a lightsource (hooray lanterns!) and a rope (thankfully, not vintage). You've got about 30 meters of cord. Nylon, looks pretty sturdy. The hardest part is navigating through the mines until you find Bjorn, fist clenched around a handful of air, and a lantern in his off hand.
Victor is there, carrying a much shorter (and more aged) piece of rope, and another lantern.
"Well," he says, once you arrive. "I had hoped you were coming. Now shall we find what secrets this ancient lair of earth and steel will yeild?"
"That's the plan," Bjorn says. "Shall we?"
After waiting for confirmation from the two, he leads the way down the mineshaft.
"Ahm, one sec. If you actually want me to have my bow -ready- . . . are we expecting a particular amount of trouble?"
"Let's say 'yes' and be pleasantly surprised, shall we?"
"Ych."
Rez buckles on his quiver and gets the bow out of the bag before reoffhanding the thing.
Holding the bow in his left hand, and carrying the flashlight in his right, Rez nods at Bjorn. "Ready when you are, I guess."
Nodding, Bjorn glances over at Victor. "If you don't mind...." Reaching over, Bjorn briefly touches Victor's hand, and then pushes the mindboard out towards both Victor and Rez.
There. Assuming this worked, we should all be able to chat without talking -- which would probably be prudent, under the circumstances.
Fun for all! Victor replies, though the mesage skitters across the board and bounces into Nathan's mental territory.
Nodding at Bjorn and Nathan, Victor strides into the unknown, looking as though he would prefer to be whistling a jaunty tune. It's dark that way, and appears (from your vantage) to proceed some distance in that direction without curving. But then, most darkness looks the same, to your eyes.
Bjorn follows Victor, studying the mine shaft as he goes along curiously.
This place looks like it's out of a cartoon, or some recreation of a mine, rather than a real mine. That's what you think -- until you start running into the spider-webs. These suckers are pretty big, about the width of a thread.
Victor pauses, and after a moment says, "Well, they look heavily dust-coated," but you sense a certain lack of confidence in his voice.
While old looking, there are well preserved pieces of equipment lying about. Shovels, pick-axes, rope (this has aged poorly, upon examination), and spare wheels for mine-carts, along with a few lengths of unused track, and the wooden boards that go beneath them. The track continues down the center of the tunnel, but Victor has paused, eyeing the webs warily.
That same rush of wind comes again, cold, heavy air being sucked along the floor of the cavern at about ankle-depth, causing the cobwebs to sway as though being drawn in by some massive creature's breath.
Bjorn follows Victor's gaze, studying the webs as carefully as he can. Are they strung across the tunnel, or along it? What sort of pattern is the weaving? What's stuck in the webs, if anything? Are they high on the walls? And do the webs look any more damaged, the lower they are?
The web immediately in front of you looks like strings, stretched across the corridor to capture unwary miners. There's no tears in it (at all) and it's taken on that dusty, gray color of an old abandoned cobweb. Looking at it closely, even though it does completely cross the corridor (from two upright wall-supports), it does not seem to have a spiral weave, or any points where the threads are much thickly grouped (aside from the center). It looks an awful lot like someone just stretched strings around the area, for some reason.
Further down, through this hybrid web/string barrier, is what looks like more of the traditional cotton-candy-thick cobwebs. Down near the bottom it looks like there's a gap (to the right of the rails) where you can crawl through without pulling any of the strings.
"Interesting," Victor says, looking at the two of you expectantly.
Bit of an odd thing, isn't it? Bjorn writes. Hold this, please.
Passing the lantern to Victor, Bjorn gets down on hands and knees and trie to wriggle through the gap in the webs.
Bjorn, you attempt to wiggle through the gap without touching the strings. <Faceless> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Faceless ... :3d6 --> {11} Whoops. Looks like more of that Workshop food stuck to your ... ribs ... than you thought.
On the positive side, you know it's not webbing, it's really strings someone threw across the corridor for some reason.
On the not-so-positive side, you've figured out that said reason is to ring a whole bunch of tiny bells, hanging on the ceiling above the 'web' array.
Victor raises an eyebrow at this, and peers into the darkness, cupping one hand to his ear as though to listen for something.
Snarling to himself, Bjorn rolls to his feet, getting Shinmyouken ready, and like Victor, strains his senses.
After a tense moment of silence: nothing.
Waiting, just to be certain, a minute longer: ...nothing.
And longer still ... the faint, breathy hiss as another rush of cold wind sweeps by your ankles.
Well, Bjorn writes, somewhat ashamedly, at least we can be pretty sure there's something down here. Shall we keep going?
Sounds like a plan, Victor agrees, managing to get through the strings and only causing one to ring. Rez has a little less luck, making more noise than you ... but apparently not enough to do anything. Now that you're closer to the 'cotton-candy' cobwebs, you can see that they are, in fact, that hollywood/special effects cobweb junk, and not real cob-webs.
Mysterious. Victor looks extremely wary. This is very strange, he thinks.
Yes, Bjorn agrees, and worrisome. Someone or something is down here. They're very clever, and have quite a few resources -- how easy is it to come by fake webs that realistic? --, but not incredibly high-tech. That makes it unlikely to be the Cabal or Pax Arcana, I think. They've also be down here for a while.
And either they're asleep, or setting a trap.
Any ideas on the wind?
Victor considers this for a while, cautiously sweeping aside a curtain of 'web' after checking to make sure it's not attached to any bells or trip wires or anything of the sort. Well, he sends across Bjorn.net, as I recall, this is a feature of natural caverns.
He pauses, and you vaguely remember something of the sort yourself, but the details don't seem right.
Though, he adds, it was traditionally a single 'breath' in every morning and out every evening, as the temperature changes, and the air inside is a different pressure, thus ... well. I'm not certain if that applies. It seems to me much more certain that the cold air is sinking past us, than the warmer air is rising past us. Then, too, unless I'm mistaken, our course is level, not inclined.
Another pause, as he raises a lantern, peering past a few more curtains of 'webbing'. An underwater lake, perhaps? That could ... no. I can't imagine.... Perhaps there is an exit lower in the mines, in the hills? I'm not certain.
Or it's a ventilation system, drawing air down. I think it's best to assume it's not a natural phenomenon, at least for the time being.
So. Shall we proceed?
With that, Bjorn starts making his way deeper into the tunnel, carefully moving around the webs.
'Carefully' is a good word. After nearly pulling on a cobweb-cotton-rigging connected to another selection of bells (and managing to instead get past it silently), you take even more caution. This serves you well, when, about forty meters beyond the original bell-point (would it even be audible from this distance?) you encounter a grenade strapped to a cross-beam with wire and bolts, the pin tangled in thin wires that run down through the 'webbing'.
On the other hand, this seems to be the last of the fake cobwebbing.
From here, the tunnel opens up, and you can see lanterns hung from the wall without the benefit of restoration. Most of their glass has collapsed from age.
Unfriendly bastard, isn't he? Bjorn says, stopping to examine the grenade. Probably a safe bet that either he doesn't have to leave the mine very often, or he's got another way in and out. Even if he was willing to risk his own life and limb to a booby-trap, if this thing ever gets triggered, this tunnel might end up getting sealed off.
Examining the webs surrounding the grenade carefully, Bjorn tries to determine if he can cut the strings free of the pin without setting anything else off. He ignores the strapping, though, as he has no desire to take the grenade with him.
Cutting the wires is unlikely; they're fairly thick gauge. You could try to sever them with your sword, but whoever tangled them through the pin did so clumsily; you can quickly untangle them and leave the grenade there.
Interesting, Victor muses, rubbing a finger over the iron strap holding the grenade in place. This has been here for some time.
Working the wires free of the pin, Bjorn comments, Definitely looks that way. Which, I must admit, intrigue me.
Stepping back away from the grenade, he adds, So, shall we see what there is to see?
With that, he continues on down the mineshaft.
You reach a junction, and a wider area. To your left, is a much abused and ominous looking shaft, in the ancient, legitimate sense of the word. The cold air seems to be pulled into this dark hole in the ground that you can't see to the bottom of.
Beyond that, the path appears to curve around, possible back towards the other blocked off section near the opening of the mine ... though someone has stripped out the ancient elevator and machinery, reassembling them into a generator, which is idle, and coated generously with dust, and what looks like a small shed inside the mine. No light or sounds of life emerge from within. The shed spans the width of the far corridor, as opposed to the elevator-less mineshaft of unknown depth. It's made from plywood, and looks like it hasn't aged as well as the tools laying around further up in the mine, despite the fact that it's probably older.
Carefully, Bjorn moves over towards the shed, watching the ground for any suspcicious irregularities. People who like to strap grenades to support beams often develop compulsive booby-trapping habits.
You check the railings to see if someone put wires or what looks like pressure plates on them.
They seem clear.
No way to tell about opening the door of the windowless shed, however.
I can't imagine the shed is trapped. On the other hand, if I was a really paranoid bastard, I'd set up a fake house in order to exploit exactly that way of thinking. Anybody have any thoughts, or should I just go up and knock?
We're leaving footprints, Victor notes. I see no sign of anyone else's.
An excellet point, Bjorn concedes. Well, then. If I get myself killed, don't follow my lead.
With those words of wisdom imparted, he walks over to the shed, and raps on the door, listening intently. If there's no response, he opens the door (with his left hand), and sees what there is to see.
If there's a response, well then. That would probably represent a complication.
There is no answer.
Nor do you explode or ignite when you touch the doornob.
You open the door and see ... a large number of boxed wooden crates. You swear this could be a level from half-life. Crates. Crates. Crates.
Stacked ceiling high, and filling nearly the entire interior of the area. Crates.
The only clear spots are a narrow aisle through the shed, to another door, and a cramped area with a desk and an ancient wooden chair. There's a lot of paperwork under that desk, along with some wires running up, to a lightbulb (which is dark) and presumably back to the dead generator.
Nobody here. Looks safe, Bjorn sends back, casting a critical eye throughout the room. Lots of crates and papers. Can you bring the lantern forwards?
When the light has been brough closers to the shack, Bjorn goes forward to the desk and starts leafing through the paperwork.
The angle of the light, and its dimness, make for difficult seeing ... but with your healed eyes, this is not as bad as you were afraid. It seems to be a lot of inventory and book-keeping notes, along with an array of impressive monetary sums (totalling up to about two million, if you're reading them right), and references to pickups and dropoffs.
They're dated, too, though the last update is from 1976.
Bjorn cocks an eyebrow. As old as me. Whatdyaknow. Now the question is, what, exactly, were they keeping such detailed notes and books on?
Going over to the most convenient crate, Bjorn examines it closely.
It's unmarked, and unlabeled, except for a faded and half decomposed piece of paper, which you believe says, "Automatic" on one side.
Something illegal, I imagine, Victor thinks.
Bjorn smiles wryly, though it's mostly hidden by the lantern shadows. Not much of a guess, that. He glances about the shack. Do you see a crowbar, anything to open this crate with?
Victor looks at Rez, then shrugs, and sends, There were pickaxes, further back in the tunnel.
All right. Could you pass me the second latern, please? Taking an extra lantern (and lighting it, if necessary), Bjorn says, I'll be back in a second.
Ducking out of the shack, he slowly makes his way through the darkness to the pickaxes, where he chooses the most solid-looking of his options, and then returns to the shack with the intention of opening a couple crates.
You manage to find a pickaxe that does not require you to renegotiate the string-and-bell trap, and it looks pretty sturdy.
You return with it shortly, to find Victor and Rez peering (carefully) into the abyss. They both back away as another rush of cold wind creeps over the edge.
See anything? Bjorn writes, cheerfully. That's next, after all. Without pausing for a response (the joys of a conversational media with intercontinental range!), he heads back to the shack to crack open a crate.
Only darkness, Victor replies. But quite a lot of that.
Cracking open a wooden crate, you find: a number of assault weapons, and a large quantity of drugs.
Or powdered sugar.
Lots of bags of white powder.
Drugs and guns, Bjorn reports, heading back out of the shack and towards the abyss. Surprise, surprise. Vaguely hoping for something more useful, but that was a bit of a long shot.
Examining the shaft, he continues, Now, what have we got here? Holding the lantern out over the depths, he carefully studies the digging.
It's hand-chisled. And deep.
With a very crumbly edge.<Faceless> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Faceless ... : 3d6 --> {13}
The yawning blackness beneath you, the wind sucking at your ankles, and gravity combine to make your perch precarious.
You lose your footing, and start to tip into the abyss. Letting go of the lantern, you watch it plumet into the dark mystery below, as Victor (moving as quickly as you've seen him move) lunges forward to try and grab your wrist.<Brian> roll 3d6 for Victor
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for Victor ... :{16}His plan is flawless, except for maintaining his own footing. The two of you wobble unsteadily, having a perfect view of the dropped lantern just vanishing without a sound beneath you.
You will shortly join it, so it's a good thing to know, one supposes.<DeFactoRez> roll 3d6
<Chibi-Suu> Them bones was tossed for DeFactoRez...: {6}
Rez, however, has other plans. He manages, with the strength of a true Aussie, to grab Victor's wrist, and start scrambling away from the edge.
In a few seconds, the three of you are lying on the ground, dazedly, bathed in the flickering light of the lantern Victor dropped. Luckily, it did not shatter.
Well, that was fun, Victor opines.
Indeed. Apparently, I need a refresher course on mine safety. Sorry about that, guys, and thanks.
Now. Was it just me, or did that lantern vanish?
It did indeed vanish, Victor agrees. Methinks that, perhaps, 'down' is a direction left best ... unexplored. Otherwise, we always have a grenade to explore for us, and feet to carry us to safety.
He pauses. Once the sun sets.
Rez merely shrugs, having been further back, and therefore seeing only you two about to fall.
Bjorn taps his fingers across the hilt of Shinmyouken, a single rhythmic beat of each tip before stopping. I don't think we can leave it unexplored. Even letting aside the fact that we still don't know what, if anything, is causing the weather issues, this might be a threat to New Delphi.
But the point about being able to run is a good one.
Okay. Unless you or Nathan have an idea, it seems to me like the thing to do is explore the other shaft behind that shack. Thoughts?
This sounds promising, Victor sends, shrugging. I merely hope nothing emerges from this darkness behind us.
I do, too, Bjorn replies. But I wouldn't worry less if we sat here waiting for something to burst out, either. So we'll watch our backs and hope for the best.
Picking up the lit lantern and passing it to Victor, Bjorn lights the last lantern, and leads the way past the shack.
Out the back is more mineshaft. Looking back, you can see that the tracks continue beneath the shed, though they're covered with crates. This section of mine looks pretty much like the first, but seems to be curving back, probably towards the original cave-in.
Let's follow this a way, Bjorn suggests. If this does lead back to the cave in the early part of the mine, then good odds say that it was triggered by a grenade trap, or something like it. Might be some clues there.
After a while, you find evidence to suggest that a triggered grenade trap is exactly the cause of the cave-in. An unlucky survivor is now nothing more than broken bones in torn (and filthy) khaki pants and a hawaiian shirt. Victor raises an eyebrow. A particularly large rock seems to be half-embedded in the skull; most likely the blast didn't kill him, but the propelled debris did.
Putting the lantern down on the floor, and moving very cautiously, watching for any sign of further tunnel instability, Bjorn searches through the remains.
You find a switchblade (in passable condition) a .22 magnum, and a leatherbound (intact!) wallet. It contains an expired Miami driver's license, and belongs to one, "Montoya Ferino." Also, ten thousand dollars in five hundred dollar bills, a handful of business cards, and a 'punch ten, get one free!' card for a Midnight Lanes in Miami. Two more before you get a free game.
Cash and a name, Bjorn reports. One more useful than the other, but probably neither all that useful until after we get out of the mine. The knife and the gun probably aren't of much use.
Bjorn rifles through the business cards, looking for anything that might sprint out as being relevant. So, anybody have ideas as to the next step? Unless I missed something here or at the shack, the next thing to do would be to investigate whatever's at the bottom of the shaft, which doesn't seem like a good idea -- at least until dark.
Ah, the wisdom of entering a scary place when it is safest: night, Victor replies sardonically. It does expand my options, though.
He looks at Nathan questioningly. No ideas myself, but you, Nathan?
"Weaponry is always useful, in our line of work, so we might want to let the peoples upstairs know it's here. And . . . night or day, makes no difference to me. Equally dark down here."
Rez hums.
"And we'd better inform a few people exactly what we're doing, before we go caving. This kinda thing's pretty dangerous."
"Good call," Bjorn grunts. "Plus I should let the crew know what the Oracle said, before I get myself killed."
With that, he brings the Dracos, Ginrai, Paul, and Rez-smudges into focus, and enters into a mindboard conversation that conveniently happens in the other thread.
Having pulled the mindboard back from Dracos, Paul, and Ginrai, Bjorn then focusses on the Lazarus-smudge (with Nathan still attached to the board).
Lazarus?
Christianson? he asks, a whole slew of notes you can't read sliding away as you sense his mental focus shifting to greet his guest. You've been in the mine for a while now. Is everything alright?
We're not sure. There was something down here, certainly. We've stumbled across what looks like a smugglers' hideout. There's a shack down here loaded with drugs and automatic weapons. The latter might be useful. At some point, you should send some people to retrieve it. Be careful about the booby-traps.
But there might still be something down here. It's hard to say for sure, but we think that, deeper in the mine... I dropped a lantern into the shaft, and both Victor and I saw it vanish without a trace. We're going to explore more. I'll try to keep you posted.
Lazarus's thoughts carry a tinge of uncertaintly (it's amazing, when you think about it, how you can pick up these details from written letters), I see. Well, be careful; the sun will set in an hour or so.
You should be careful, too, Bjorn replies. Just in case whatever's down here decides to go out there.
Have fun.
Letting Lazarus smear back into a smudge, Bjorn looks over at Victor (who he extends the mindboard to, once more), and Nathan. About an hour to sunset. Shall we start figuring out how we're going to get down the shaft?
Victor eyes his rope, then eyes yours. Hmm. We can see which of these beams are in a good position, and not half-rotted with age. So saying, he begins examining the support-beams nearest the mine-shaft, prodding them with his hands, and occasionally giving an experimental tug. He seems pretty satisfied with his findings.
Bjorn goes over to help Victor. Examining the beams himself, he asks, So? What do you think?
"Are you guys sure we have a rope long enough for this? I mean, I didn't see that lantern fall, but you said it was a pretty long way . . ."
I think that this yawning blackness is somewhat frightening. Hopefully it's merely water. The beam will hold -- one of us should go down first, and ensure that it's safe, though. The others will be able to get help should something go wrong. Victor eyes Rez and frowns. Can you tie the rope?
There's space around the sides of the beam, so you can secure a rope through it easily enough. It'd lead down one corner of the roughly square-cut shaft.
Let's send something other than one of us down, first, Bjorn writes sardonically. I would like to find out what it does to rope and metal before I find out what it does to my skin.
As he makes that observation, Bjorn hunts around for a relatively light object that would be easy to tie to one end of the rope.
'Relatively' is a key word here. You can send down, say, the pick-axe, or a rifle, or maybe a random chunk of wood from a crate that (someone) savaged with a pick-axe.
Or dirt.
There seems to be a lot of dirt lying around.
As the pick-axe might be useful, and the gun might be dangerous, Bjorn grabs a medium-sized chunk of wood, and quickly ties it to the rope. Making sure the other end is secured to the beam, he writes, So. Shall we see what happens?
Unless anyone objects, Bjorn then starts to lower the piece of wood down into the mine shaft. When it hits bottom, he runs out of rope, or if he feels anything, he pulls it back up.
Sounds like a plan, Victor agrees.
You let out the rope for a while. It doesn't take long for the chunk of wood to vanish into the darkness below. The weight remains steady, until you have perhaps seven meters of slack left, whereupon you think you've hit something.
At this point, you begin pulling the rope back up. When it reaches the top of the shaft, the chunk of wood appears to be intact. No signs of abuse.
Well, dead wood is safe. Not much point in lowering a lantern, all things told. I guess it's my turn. Try not to let me drop.
Throwing the rope back down in the chasm, Bjorn sheaths Shinmyouken and starts to slide down into the darkness.
Well, this plan is not without flaws.
It starts to get dark a short number of meters down. And keeps getting darker. Victor is holding onto the rope higher up, peering down at you and holding the lantern out, but it's not shedding much light.
Personally, Victor sends, I would have sent someone who can see in the dark.
About twenty meters down, it's getting really hard to see, but you're relatively sure you're in front of another mineshaft, this one going roughly to the right of your entrance into the elevator-less elevator shaft. Beneath you is more darkness.
You start to realize just how cold things are at about this depth, because they're pretty chilly. Cold air seems to be pouring down the shaft above you, only a trickle of warmer air escaping from what you think is the other mineshaft.
That would have been a good plan, Bjorn agrees. All right. I think there's a shaft here, though I'm not at the bottom. Seems safe enough so far, if cold. I'll stop in this shaft, and you can join me. Sounds good?
As he's writing this, he puts actions to words, trying to make his way to the mouth of the new passage.
You manage to kick your way over to the opening, and get inside. The ground is slippery, like slick clay, or soft stone. The air inside this tunnel is much warmer than in the elevator shaft.
But it's really dark. Victor comes down next, climbing one-handed, and bearing a lantern. As he approaches, you can make out more of your surroundings.
This level of the mine is like the first -- there's even a rail for mine-carts here. Rust free, which is strange, since the ground you're standing on does actually appear to be slick clay. Lanterns hang along the corridor walls that have pretty much collapsed on themselves from disuse. Victor aproaches, grunts, and climbs into the tunnel with you.
Looking back down (carefully) into the shaft, you can see a sudden layer of very thick fog. It seems darker than normal fog should be, you think. Perhaps it's the dimness of the flickering lantern light.
Not risking even mental communication, Bjorn touches Victor lightly on the shoulder and points down at the fog.
Victor frowns at it, but shrugs, as if to say he doesn't know what's going on.
After Nathan joins them, Bjorn leads the way down the current tunnel -- but not too far ahead, given that Victor sees much better than he does.
You proceed for a while, and then Victor slows down, frowning. You don't notice anything immediately, except for the dimming off your lanters. The corridor also doesn't really seem to do much except very vaguely curve to the left.
He comes to a halt, turns around, and motions you and Nathan backwards.
Bjorn moves backwards at Victor's command, Shinmyouken ready and staring futilely into the darkness. Risking what there was to risk, he asks, What's up?
You should not proceed any further; the air here is dead. It has sat too long, unmoving, Victor informs you.
This seems at odds with the breeze in the mineshaft, but you do feel a bit dizzy, and now that you think about it, there's something different to the smell than just the pervasive, damp clay odor.
Bjorn grunts. I was worried about that. Can you stand the air, or should we go back to the main shaft?
I don't need to breathe, he informs you with a bit of humor. But I suspect that we will find little here. Nothing living, at any rate.
Yes, Bjorn writes with dark humour, That's one of my worries.
All right. We'll head back to the shaft and try the lower level, then.
You return to the darkened shaft, your rope tucked (where Nathan left it) through a support beam for easy reaching without leaning over the mysterious maw of dark fog.
Victor looks at you, then the fog, and shrugs as if to ask, "Now what?"
Bjorn looks down, and sighs. Well. I hate to say it, but I can't think of anything but go down into it. Unless someone thinks that they're a better candidate than me, I'll do it.
He tests the rope, consideringly. Slightly different procedure this time, though. Let's tie the rope around my waist. If I scream, pull me up. Please.
Yes, with your superior dark-vision and breath-holding abilities. Victor pauses, as if considering something, but grudgingly adds, I probably could pull you up faster than you could pull me. We could also volunteer our second lantern, before we go so far.
If you want to go first, be my guest. I just don't want to volunteer anyone else for this.
Bjorn grimaces, staring down into the fog. We only have two lanterns. I'm not really keen on risking one of them at this point -- since, as you point out, you're the only one who can see in the dark.
Blinking, Bjorn starts patting at his pockets. Wait a second. I think I grabbed a pack of matches. We can start by tossing a lit match down there. Unlikely it will tell us much -- but at the least, it should let us know if the air is any good.
A match is quickly lit, and tossed into the fog. It's extinguished before it goes beyond the lantern's radius of light.
Well. That was certainly reassuring. Bjorn sighs again. Alright, let's try the lantern. I'd like to find out whether anything happens other than the flame going out.
I can shoot fire arrows, remember?
Rez produces the warbag, helpfully.
We need to be able to pull whatever we send down there back, Bjorn points out. We already know that some fire gets extinguished. Now my current concern is whether it's going to eat away flesh and the like.
What, you want to lower it down there and pull it back up again? Sure, I guess, but why not the flashlight? If it's water at the bottom, you'll ruin the lantern doing that.
Because we don't have a spare flashlight, and the lanterns are reasonably waterproof. Doesn't have to be a light source at all, though. Got anything else handy in there?
Rez rummages.
Javelins, arrows, mobile phones, stunguns, tazers, change of clothes . . . I suppose I could let you have a shirt.
Okay, that sounds reasonable. Pass it over.
Quickly, Bjorn knots the free end of the rope about the shirt and lowers it down into the fog, pulling it back up once he thinks it has hit bottom.
The shirt comes back up.
It's pretty unlikely anyone will want to wear this thing anytime soon. It's marked with oily lumps of tar (the wood is too smooth for it to stick to, and apparently the rope on itself doesn't eight enough). Smells pretty foul, too.
Victor eyes the substance uncertaintly. We should probably be grateful that this has not ignited, he thinks. Unless I am mistaken.... This is a mixture of naptha and coal-dust. That fog would be fairly bad for you.
Bjorn cocks an eyebrow. Hm. Do you think it's just natural, then?
Natural or not, I don't think we're going any further down here.
Most likely. It's not water vapor, because there's no rust. There must be tons of coal, that they just never mined in the right places for on the first floor. The gasses from stray pockets collapse, and since it's heavy, they seek out low points. They run along the floor, which is why it's cold without being wet, hence the lack of rust on the tools and the railing. Victor pauses, considering things. Or, more likely, when I consider it, it's not honestly natural. The coal was discovered, but is too diffused in the mineral around us. Someone discovered it, but knew of the gasses ... and this place was built as a trap. Somewhere to hide very illegal things, and still have a way to completely conceal the evidence easily. We could use it for the same purpose, if we had to conceal something of our own here.
Bjorn makes a face. Useful, and disappointing at the same time. I'd rather hoped we'd found whatever is causing the weather to be this warm.
All right, then. Let's get out of here before we risk any accidents. The sun should have set by now, so we can explore the area around here. Sound like a plan?
"Explore it for what, though? Just randomly walk up a few hills and hope we stumble into something? We've got other places we need to be going, after all . . ."
Let's get out of the mine, first, and then talk about it. Who wants to be first up the rope?
Victor opts to remain last. With a bit of effort, you all manage to claw your way to the top. Now that you're in the mine proper, and clear of the elevator shaft, it becomes easier to breathe, though your lungs feel a little funny. Probably not black lung, as most of the coal dust was in liquid naptha, but at the same time, some clean air wouldn't be amiss.
All right. Let's get out of this place, and then we can talk about what to do next.
Unless there's objections, Bjorn leads the way out.
After finding the exit, you realize it's, in fact, dark out (the sun has set, but the western sky bears the faintest of glows). Victor takes a deep breath (even though you suppose it doesn't do as much for him as it does for you), and the air here smells better. Cleaner, for one.
There's a few lights in the village below as people move around, though it's hard to see what they're doing from here.
"All right," Bjorn says. "Now, the way I see it, it's already nigh. We can't do much about moving on to Gibraltar right now, so we should spend some time scouting out the area. If we can figure out anything about the weather. If not...." He shrugs. "This area should be scouted anyways. Might as well do our bit before leaving.
"Thoughts?"
Victor frowns. "It would be best for me to know this area if I'm going to stay here," he concurs.
"Well, up to you guys. We should leave sometime tomorrow, though . . . long way to go, and all."
"Fair enough," BJorn agrees. "So let's make the most of this. Hm."
Futilely trying to peer into the darkness for a bit, Bjorn suddenly realizes the slight idiocy he is perpetrating. "Anything strike your fancy as a good place to start?" he asks, primarily of Victor.
Victor considers that for a moment. "Not really," he says after a moment. "I don't want to climb the mountain yet, and I think it's too large to go around in a single night."
Shrugging, Bjorn looks around into the darkness as best he can, doing his best to recall the geography, as he tries to figure out a good place to start looking.
If you recall correctly, the village is basically in a natural depression, or valley (some would say 'armpit'), between two foothills that run directly off of the mountain. Any direction other than back to the village (which is south-east of you) is also incidentally 'up'. The hillsides should be sparsely decorated with scrub brush, but not really anything close to a forest.
The height differential is low enough that you'd probably only be about ten meters over the rooftops when you were on the hills. Climbing the mountain itself would be a different matter, however.
Choosing a direction arbitrarily, you wander off into the night, searching for anything that could either help or harm New Delphi. Victor comments at one point that he thinks there's a coyote nearby, but you never see it.
The landscape is pretty unfriendly and difficult to move through (especially in the dark) from any other approach other than the road. It probably helps make the place a bit more defensible, all told.
By the time you finish making a large circuit of the area and return to the village, Victor immedately sets off to the mine, citing that the sun will rise sooner than later, and without a reliable source (yet) he needs to conserve his energy.
It's probably about four or five o'clock in the morning, you haven't eaten since yesterday's breakfast (which you only picked at) and you're a bit sleepy.
"Fuck this shit," Bjorn pronounces, "as the sages of old were wont to say. We've done our bit. Let's go back to the village, get some breakfast, and then catch a plane to meet up with the rest of the crew."
He frowns. "Speaking of which..." Touching the smudges on his mindboard, he brings that of Dracos, Paul, and Ginrai into focus, which means more jibber-jabber in the other thread. Goddamn, they get all the hot mind-on-mind action, let me tell you.
Bjorn breaks the connection with the European crew abruptly. "Pax Arcana has caught up with the other guys," he says to Nathan, tersely. "Let's go. We need to get to Gibraltar now."
"I knew it. Negotiation or gunfire?"
"Didn't say. I'm not going to ask 'em, either. I don't want to risk being telepathically tracked or attacked or whatever. They can email us when they're safe -- and if they never do, then they can't. But they're either still in Paris, or they went to Gibraltar. So let's get to Gibraltar -- worst come to worst, we backtrack to Paris."
He pauses, and then adds, "Doesn't seem worthwhile to do anything but a direct flight. Airport security is as good as it's going to get, and if they could track those three, odds are they can track us. Let's go for bold and ballsy, and fast. Sound good?"
"There are no direct flights from America to Gibraltar, so we'll have to go through somewhere, but yeah, mad dash sounds good."
Rez hums.
"Oh, and don't forget you owe the priesthood cookies."
You can arrange a flight to the UK from Montgomery, and from there, directly to Gibraltar. If you did so, you'd get to Gibraltar at some ungodly AM hour (GMT). Victor has offered the use of his car, though the sun's about to rise; Bart can drive you there and bring the car back to New Delphi after dropping you off, though.
Thanking Victor, Bjorn accepts the offer. In his farewell to Lazarus, he explains that he won't try to mindlink with them again unless it's an emergency -- any communication should go via email or the Oracle.
And then, barring any objections, he gets in the car and lets Bart drive him to the airport.
Well, Bridgette is sorry to see you go, as is Mikey, but they don't actually try to keep you from leaving.
In short order (now less the laptop and uplink), you find yourself with Rez at the airport. You're looking forward to catching up on your sleep on the plane.
After a pause to collect tickets, and be patted down (Bjorn is nearly strip-searched, again, while Rez looks on) you pile onto a plane, and sleep until you get to the UK. You remain awake long enough to get on your direct-to-Gibraltar flight, (once more, Bjorn is searched, and Rez is not) before going back to sleep ... and wake up as the plane is coming in for a landing in Gibraltar. It's early morning, probably around 3:30 AM. Ironically, you lost about three hours since you left the US.
In keeping with an age-old Christianson family tradition of not being a suicidally stupid git, Bjorn chooses to refrain from grumbling about his treatment at the hands of security until he is off the plane and out of the airport -- and since they're still in the airport, he still isn't complaining.
Yet.
Not about security, anyways.
"Three thirty in the morning," he mutters in disgust. "I hate international flights. Too early to do anything right now." He sighs. "Let's see if we can get a hotel room, so we can make a call to Relm. Failing that, we can find a coffee shop or something, maybe, to pass the time. Sound good?
"Sounds good to me. Maybe some currency while we're at it."
"Yeah. If we're lucky, there'll be an exchange stall open. Don't hold your breath."
Bjorn glances around the airport, hunting for such a place.
There is an exchange counter, offering immedate exchanges on any currency from a country with a direct flight into Gibraltar, and the US. Australian currency is not listed as exchangable at this location.
Rez pulls his wallet out . . . and . . . changes several hundred dollars US to however-many-that-buys-him of whatever-the-heck-Gibraltans-use.
Gibraltar is an independany colony of England, and therefore uses: the Euro.
You now have about 950$ US worth of Euros.
Once Nathan returns, Bjorn uncrosses his arms and says, "All right. Let's go see if we can find a hotel."
There's a number of hotels in the city. The one across the street from the airport is even open.
Of course, you can't really be sure if they're charging too much by the rate in Euros. 45.99 sounds a bit high, but....
There are other hotels in the city, but you'd need to call a cab to get to one of them.
Unless Nathan objects, Bjorn arranges for them to check into the hotel across the way. It might be expensive, but the idea is not to stay there very long, anyways.
Nathan apparently does not object, and you quickly find yourselves ensconsed in a ... servicable, if not magnificent room. It's miles above the home of Jacob Housner in Austin, though.
Bjorn doesn't pay particular attention to his surroundings, having stayed in too many hotel rooms for his taste. Closing the door, he flops down on the nearest bed and says, "Can you pull out the uplink? We should talk to the Oracle about what to do next -- and see if what's-their-faces have gotten in touch with us."
This is unfortunately not possible, as the uplink (and the laptop that used it) were both left behind in New Delphi.
Rez drops face down on the other bed.
"No. We sorta left it behind. And I can't be bothered looking for a . . . a . . . computer . . . email . . . place . . . thingy."
Rez trails off.
"Screw this. Sleep. Night. Bleagh."
And unless something really really important crops up, Rez does not move for many, many hours.
Bjorn rolls his eyes in irritation, but does not complain. Instead, he takes a quick shower (airplanes always make him feel a little greasy), and then leaves the hotel to explore the area -- taking the cellphone, and leaving a note for Rez.
It's before sunrise, only about 6:30 AM when you head out. But it's good to get some fresh air after the plane, and the hotel's AC/heating system.
In the dim morning night you can make out the monolithic mass of the rock towering above the city south and to the east. You have to stop and stare at it, blotting out the stars overhead with its size for a moment.
That's one big rock.
Bjorn stares at the rock for a while, then, shrugging to himself, starts to wander in that direction.
As he goes, he tries to make note of the area -- specifically searching for a net cafe or the like. But, mostly, he walks towards the Rock, and studies that.
It's huge. Gargantuan, even.
As the sun rises (and it does while you're walking towards it) it becomes clearer. The northern face is just that -- a cliff face. Not quite sheer, but very close to it. Fallen rock forms a pile at the base of the cliff visible from across the town.
As the light increases, the massive shadow of the western flank turns into a thickly forested slope, with more fallen scree below. Beyond the southern edge of the mountain is only the sea, and a thin screen of fog, dissapating with the sunrise.
It's very serene.
Bjorn wanders around Gibraltar, taking in sights for a couple hours, and then he returns to the hotel to kick Nathan awake.
It takes quite some effort to wake up Rez. Quite, quite some effort.
But he DOES wake up.
Eventually.
After a shower, etc, he's even semi-coherent.
"So . . . didn't you owe us cookies, or something?"
"I owe myself some cookies," Bjorn corrects. "I'm a priest. You're just the Guardian. Different story. Now, let's go find us some email."
"Yeah, but we had a deeeaaaallll!"
Rez digs through the room for a phone book - and if he finds one, looks through it for a 'net cafe or the like.
It's currently around noon. Neither of you have eaten in a while. Gibraltar hosts not one, not two, but THREE internet cafes.
One of them even advertises games in addition to internet access.
"Right," Rez scrounges for some paper and a pencil, then writes down the addresses, "Email, then food, sound good?"
"As long as it's email, and not another pathetic attempt to try and prove yourself a UT god or something," Bjorn grumbles.
"Hey. I'm better than you!"
After a while, you reach the internet cafe that Rez chose. It also happens to be the one with games. Rez assures you that this is a coincidence, and it happened to just be really close.
It's conveniently located, up on the second story of a building with a wall almost entirely made out of glass showing a view of the rock. It probably actually sucks in terms of lighting just after sunrise, but right now, as it gets towards late afternoon, the view of the rock is pretty awesome.
The sun begins to set while Rez gets around to e-mailing Relm.
Lounging in a chair staring out the window at the Rock, Bjorn touches the Nathan-smudge. So, what's the story?
Nathan ignores you, swearing at his computer when it eats an unfinished reply by crashing.
At the same time, a quiet chime sounds, and three very familiar individuals enter the room....
Stone Men in Water Street comes to a close, and we move on to Seasons in the Sun (http://pishoque.net/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?p=32069#32069).