Matthew S. Williams's Blog, page 165

Pappa Zulu – Chapter 8

“Unless both sides win, no agreement can be permanent.”

-Jimmy Carter

Every corner of the office looked like it had been decked out in mahogany. She was sure it was just an intentional illusion, but it still lent an air of old handedness to the place. Much like the foyer, the entire room seemed to be replete with cultural artifacts, bits and pieces of the town and states history, culture, and pride. Behind his desk, the mayor even had some framed maps of the state, one indicating cities and modern infrastructure, others indicating National Forests and ancestral territories.

Seated behind his desk, fashioned of similarly colored wood, Mayor Haozous looked very much at home. His face was drawn into a tight, attentive frown as he listened to Braun speak, absorbing the details of his briefing and offering insights wherever he could.

The LT, for his part, leaned forward in the leather chair that had been offered him. Saunders occupied the one to his right and listened intently, monitoring his progress and waiting for a chance to jump in, as needed.

“Our concern right now is that the infected might be taking up in the wooded areas,” Braun continued. “We’ve cleansed the countryside of several hundred in the past few months, but more keep showing up between sweeps. And all our information on their biological makeup suggests they aren’t able to stay outside for extending periods of time without significant risk.”

Haozous nodded and hummed thoughtfully.

“Santa Fe National Forest falls within two-hundred meters of your town’s eastern border. If they are hiding out there, they could be massing for an attack and you wouldn’t know it until it was upon you.”

“Entirely possible,” the mayor agreed. Braun waited a second for more, but when none came, he asked simply:

“Well, have your sentries noticed anything coming from that direction of late? Sounds? Smells?”

“Smells?” said the mayor, then quickly realized what he was getting at. “Ah yes, they do tend to announce their presence, don’t they?”

Braun smiled. “That they do, sir.”

Saunders smiled as well. Haozous noticed and beamed in her direction before issuing a sober reply.

“No, Lieutenant. My people would have noticed the smell of death upon their town if it were there at all. As for noise, our posted gunmen have noticed nothing more than the usual noise a forest makes. One cannot differentiate between the sound of deer, bears and birds, and the dead that walk among us.”

“I see,” said Braun, reclining in his chair slightly. He looked at Saunders momentarily and presented his hands, palm up. “As it stands, sir, we are not authorized to enter Santa Fe or any other National Forest in the region. Our current ROE states that we’re to engage the enemies out in the open, where our air support can cover us -”

“Excuse me,” the mayor interrupted, his hand raised. “ROE?”

“Rules Of Engagement,” Saunders replied, happy to be helping. “Basically the dos and don’ts of our operation.”

“Ah, thank you.” He smiled warmly again.

“We’re working on getting the ROE changed so the Mage will allow us to conduct some sweeps inside the forests. We think it will take us into the Whiskeys remaining strongholds and flush them out, once and for all. Such a change would benefit us all, I think you’ll agree.”

“We can certainly agree on that, yes,” Haozous said with a nod.

Braun nodded too. The next part he needed to broach carefully, as it would make or break whatever plans he planned to clear with the Mage. “Of course… we’d need your permission to run these sweeps, as the forest is on your doorstep, and anything we do in there would directly affect your township.”

Haozous nodded again, unsurprised as this was hardly news to him. He had been anticipating this moment since their meeting began.

“I think we can also agree that in the long run, Taos and the other northern townships would best be served by seeing to the creation of a mutual defense agreement. The Rattlesnakes can provide ongoing patrols of the countryside, but we’re very much dependent on the information and observations of local scouts and watchmen. What you’re men told my commander before we arrived has been an immense help, let me tell you.”

“Glad we could be of assistance.” It was Haozous’ turn to recline in his chair now. He took a deep breath, grabbing hold of an antique pen and placing it between his fingers. “But there’s something I think you’re forgetting, Lieutenant.”

Braun looked to Saunders and back to Haozous searchingly. “What’s that, sir?”

“You don’t just need information from my people. You need my leave to come and go about town as you please. The northern roads can take you around our town if necessary, but you’d rather be able to pass through, maybe stock up while you’re here. Now this would represent a bit of a burden since we’ve only got so many supplies to go around.”

Braun smiled. He had been hoping the subject would come up.

“Ah, but in exchange we can make sure more supplies reach the north,” he said with a raised finger. “As you recall, the Mage made sure that basic medical supplies reached Taos shortly after you took over this office. We could expand on that.”

Haozous placed the pen down and crossed his arms. “Go on.”

Braun cleared his throat and began fidgeting with his hands. This part of the meeting had him excited, for sure.

“Our hold on the state now accounts for Espanola, Santa Fe, Albuquerque, and just about every small township in between. Farmers are back tilling the land, ranchers are herding cattle, and the city folk have been turning up more and more in the way of machinery, fuel and consumer products on a daily basis. We’ve got power running to over fifty percent of urban residents, and we expect that to get up to eighty percent by the end of the year. Most importantly, we’ve got technicians, engineers, doctors, nurses and laborers who are just looking for places that need their talents.”

He stood, and walked to the map on the far wall. Haozous followed him, turning in his chair and looking just the slightest bit uncertain. He reached into his shirt pocket and fetched a pair of glasses when he realized Braun would doing a little orienteering with his maps.

“This state is still bisected north and south, east and west by its system of highways. All roads converge in the middle, here.” He pointed to Albuquerque, the farthest point of their southern advance. “The Mage intended to liberate this city, not because it’s the capitol of old, but because its the nexus to further advance. From there, we can move in any direction and reconnect our state to our neighbors. But the northern gateway, which is all the more important because it will reconnect us to Colorado, and the north-west beyond, is still closed to us.”

He walked away from the map and now stood in front of the mayors desk, his hands outstretched, like he was holding something before him. Haozous continued to follow him, his eyes scrutinizing him for any telltale signs of deceit.

“If that road is opened again, Toas would become a gateway.”

“At which point, we’d benefit greatly from trade, people coming and going, and we’d sleep easier knowing our walls were no longer necessary.”

Braun nodded, glad to see he was not only grasping what he was getting at, but voicing it himself.

“That’s precisely right, sir. And… we could even see to it your sentries and watchmen would have the best firepower available. I couldn’t help but notice the majority of them were armed with shotguns and hunting rifles.”

Haozous smiled. “That which was available to us, we used to defend our homes.”

“And you’ve done a good job. But imagine what you’re people could do if their protectors were trained in the use of automatic weapons, and had an unending supply of ammunition…”

Saunders knew he was laying it on a little thick there. Though their stores were still impressive, it was hardly unending. And if they started exporting it, it would become less than impressive, perhaps even limited. But that was a concern for another time, and they still needed Haozous to see the wisdom in letting them in here.

He sighed again and crossed his arms once more. Not a good sign, Saunders knew. It always seemed to precede a counter-point.

“Which brings us to the other matter you’re not mentioning,” he said. “At some point, you’re going to be looking for our people here to join you on your little crusade. Even with your entire Battalion out there shooting these… Whiskeys, as you call them, you’ve still been suffering losses. We know you intend to make good on them here and other places.”

Braun nodded a few times, absorbing the point and turning it around. “Yes, sir. We will. But I can assure you, no recruitment efforts will go ahead without your permission. What’s more, we’re not here to press anyone into service. We will take only those who want to come with us, and in exchange for joining, they will get in training and equipment, and be permitted to come home and train others when they’ve completed their term of service.”

“And how long might that be?”

“One year,” he said with a raised finger. “Standard tour of duty.”

Haozous looked at Saunders. She did her best to look approving, confirming everything the LT just said. He, for his part, still looked far from convinced.

“And you’re soldiers…” he said somberly. “You’ve guaranteed their behavior while their here. But what guarantee do I have that your commander, this Mage person, will honor his agreements in the long run? What assurance is there that he won’t send his soldiers to simply take the town if I say no?”

Braun looked like he’d caught at a loss. He muttered a few syllables before he could summon a response. “Sir, Major General Thur is a man of his word and a committed patriot. He wouldn’t think of harming his own people.”

Haozous stood, an act which required some effort. Both she and the Lieutenant could tell that what he was about to say carried a lot of weight, and required he be on equal footing as he said it.

“This war has seen many people doing things that they might have once thought unthinkable, Lieutenant. Survival can force a man to forget all kinship, all ties, and to even turn on the very people he swore to defend.”

Saunders got the bristling feeling again. The gigantic shotgun she had held, the man who killed his own family. Had that been an object lesson, was this the point of it? A little demonstration on how mistrust was easily come by since the First Wave?

“And… when men with power see something they want in the hands of someone else, especially people whom they know do not have the necessary force to repel them, the first words uttered by them are most often ‘we promise not to take it by force’. Such men make promises to gain the confidence, but sooner or later…” He raised his hands shoulder high, as if indicating everything around him. “I don’t suppose you need a history lesson, Lieutenant. This buildings, and these lands are filled with reminders of what broken promises look like.”

Braun took a deep breath. He looked winded by the mayor’s lengthy statement, and Saunders felt pretty drained herself. So it wasn’t just recent history that was feeding his mistrust, but a deeper knowledge that came with such a terrible cost. The First Wave was certainly not the first time the state had seen horror and loss on such a terrible scale, and it was certainly not the only time man had killed man for his own sense of greed.

But Braun was not to be deterred, not while the long-term outcome of the war still rested in his hands.

“You’re right, sir,” he replied. “Which is why it’s all the more important for people to stay closely knit, watch each others backs, and make sure that the urge to look out for number one doesn’t take over. Because when it comes right down to it, the way the Whiskeys kept beating us at every turn was by using our own fear and self-preservation against us. They moved as a hoard and infected entire cities while we crawled all over each other, willing to sacrifice others to save ourselves. The only way we were ever going to turn things around was if we stopped doing that and started making sacrifices for each other.

You know who taught me about that? A man named Major General Thur. I thought I’d seen my share of destruction and pandemonium when the infection started turning up in the capitol or every town on the interstate. But that was nothing compared to what he saw going on all over the country. He knew that if we were going to make it through this alive, we needed to put the lives of every living human being into our heads. It, and it alone, had to be foremost, until it pushed every other thought out the way. Especially the ones that said ‘save yourself’ or ‘it’s every man for himself now’.”

He paused to let all he’d said sink in. Haozous had given him a reprieve between emotionally-taxing statements, it only seemed fair to extend him the same courtesy. Besides, he looked like he was prepared to believe him now, and maybe even take what he’d said under serious consideration. Braun had only one more thing to say:

“To think that Thur, after all he taught us, would be willing to sacrifice anyone for some kind of agenda or ‘greater good’…” He shrugged. “Well, that aint him.”

Haozous sighed. Braun’s words had apparently taken a similar toll on him. He also appeared to be considering everything that had been asked, weighing them and considering it all. When he spoke at last, his tone was even, but encouraging.

“The Council will meet tomorrow. I will raise your requests about using the northern road and setting up a recruitment office here then. I cannot say with any certainty how they will vote.” He brought his hands together in front of him, and broke a small smile. “But I am prepared to grant you permission to conduct operations in our forest, on two conditions. One: no actions involving bombing or incendiaries will be approved.”

Braun shook his head. “The Mage was quite specific about not resorting to fire bombing.”

“And two: you will ensure that any engagements with those beasts happens well away from our towns borders. No attempt will be made to draw them to our walls.”

“Absolutely not. You have my and the Mage’s word.”

Haozous considered for a moment longer, and then extended his hand. The smile on his face grew and became broad, exposing his teeth again.

“Then I think we have an agreement.”

Pappa Zulu – Chapter 7

“I believe in a good time. I believe in good food. I believe in sex.”

-Bertrand Russell

Whitman continued to follow the course of the road, every so often looking to his right to see if there were new directions forthcoming. He would look, the Councilman would say nothing, and so he would continue. This brought their convoy into a twisting narrows of back streets, the cobbled road constraining to one lane and not too accommodating to their vehicle’s length or girth.

LT said no damage if it could be avoided, he reminded himself. As a result, he had to drive slowly in the hopes that their ample fenders wouldn’t hit anything.

“This is the way?” Whitman asked, negotiating what looked like the last of the turns.

“Yes,” the Councilman said quietly.

They were deposited on another side street, luckily one with two lanes. There was only one direction to go since the right side ended in a wall, so Whitman naturally turned left. Straightening the wheels again, Whitman pushed the gas and proceeded slowly. In this area, low hanging trees were now a worry, and Mill began griping from his perch to take it easy.

“Don’t wanna lose my head up here.”

“You worry about your head, I’m worried about foot traffic.”

There was more than he would have expected of it too. Children mostly, looking to be out with one of their parents or an older sibling. They all stopped what they were doing and moved to the side of the road when they saw the convoy coming. Some stared in awe and waved, at least until the adults and older kids put a stop to it.

Fuck me, I’m thinking we’re not liked here, he thought.

He slammed on the brakes when an errant rubber ball sent a kid out in front of him. The entire convoy came to a halt and Mill was thrown into his circle mount. A string of curses trickled down to him a moment later.

“Dirty… fucking… cocksucking hell!”

“Sorry!” he yelled. The little boy retrieved the ball and stared at Whitman wide eyed. Putting the vehicle into neutral, Whitman kept his foot on the brake and waved at the boy to clear the road. It took him a second, but he eventually obeyed. He imagined the experience was just as frightening for him as it was everyone else in the cab.

“Dear God,” Martinez said from the passenger seat. His belt had reacted quickly to restrain him, and did sound more than a little upset. “Do try to be careful, soldier.”

“Sir… Mr. Councilman, sir,” Whitman replied. “This might be easier on my gunner here and the town’s little boys if you told me exactly where it is were going.”

“Yes, admittedly,” he said sardonically. He aimed up the street and pointed to an archway in the facade of the building. “Up there is the rear entrance to the old armory. That’s where your motorcade is to park. We’ll proceed around front on foot.”

Whitman looked to where he indicated. It was less than 100 meters away, the road connecting to the main strip about another 50 beyond that, though it was blocked at that end by some trees. However, the building had to have a front end, which was surely facing a street which connected to the road they had entered on.

Whitman groaned. Were they deliberately fucking with him, making him take the twisty back roads where all the foot traffic was? Saunders had told him to be nice, but he had to voice these concerns.

“Sir, it occurs to me we are going the long way. Why didn’t we go around front?”

“No parking out front. Not for you anyway.”

Martinez didn’t even bother to look at him as he said this. Whitman’s right hand began to itch. He could ball it up and punch the man, or grab a hold of his sidearm and pop him. A head shot would surely lead to a tribunal, but one in the shoulder might just land him in the stockade for awhile.

Not worth it, not yet. Smiling, he put the vehicle back into gear and tried to swallow any hateful comments he might have wanted to share.

“Okay, here we go!” he said. “Next stop, our billeting!”

Pappa Zulu – Chapter 6

“The most persistent sound which reverberates through men’s history is the beating of war drums.”

-Arthur Koestler

The interior looked rather ornate, at least from what Saunders had seen of town halls in the last few months. All along the entrance corridor, there were benches, framed portraits of past city councilors and mayors, pictures and artwork of the town. What was more interesting was the fact that all the doors looked like they were still hanging true; no signs of reinforcement or repair, no busted hinges that had to be replaced.

In short, one could tell based on a tertiary glance that this town hall had not fallen during the First Wave. Hell, she’d would have gone as far as to say that the Whiskeys hadn’t so much as got up to the front door. Hard to believe, considering what the town once was. No one would have expected an artists colony to do anything other than be overrun when the nightmarish ghouls had shown up.

But then again, all the briefing info they had on the northern townships indicated that the infection reached the major population centers in the south first. By the time it had reached north, the locals had managed to barricade themselves in and keep the hoards back. And of course, with the surrounding countryside being such a hunter’s paradise, there was never a shortage of firearms in the town. Knowing that their asses were on the line, the country and townspeople must have pulled together to make sure nothing got over or inside the walls.

What was more, they had the Mage and the Rattlesnakes to liaise with by that point. As long as they were kicking the undeads’ asses in the south, and making sure plenty of guns, supplies and know-how was reaching the outlying areas, they were free to sit tight and reinforce their position. That was the Rattlesnakes take on the events that fell between the First Wave and the Big Push, at any rate. No doubt the locals had a different version of events. To hear them tell it, they had fended for themselves until the Rattlesnakes had shown up to do clean up, and were in no need of any “rescuing”.

They followed the Mayor into what looked like a main foyer next. Here, several archways marked the room, each one supporting a large banner that hung into its recess. She spotted the city banner, one for the state of New Mexico, and three honoring the states Peublo, Navajo and Apache residents. Along the far walls, some especially impressive specimens were arranged. In addition to more paintings depicting town history, intermixed with some modern samples, there were plenty of ornate blankets, urns, and beadwork.

But the thing which caught Saunders eye most was the framed shotgun featured on display in the center. Propped over an old wooden crate with a brass plaque underneath, the gun looked to about a century old, and larger than anything she had ever seen.

“Most impressive, Mr. Mayor,” said Braun. “It’s… quite the collection.”

Haozous hummed an affirmative. “We had to renovate to make room for it all. When it looked like the country was falling down around their ears, the towns Elders felt it was necessary to set aside a place where all that we are could be preserved.”

“A noble sentiment, sir.”

“And we received quite the infusion of gifts from the countryside. Mostly from the Reservation communities, from their personal collections no less. They were especially worried that they would not be safe any more. They, like many of us, also came here, seeking the protection of tall walls and armed men.”

“I noticed,” replied Braun. “There seemed to be quiet a few sentries out there who looked like they were from the Reserve at one time.”

Haozous laughed. “The town’s stores were loaded with guns when most of arrived. However, there weren’t many who knew how to shoot. At least not accurately. Plus, the intimate knowledge many of our younger men had about the surrounding countryside, and how to hunt came in handy. In a way, this war has been a chance for them to rediscover something which was long thought lost.”

Braun nodded. Saunders smirked at the thought of what someone like Whitman might say under this circumstances. That a slew of young Navajo and Apache dudes had come in to the town, boasting ancient warrior skills, and protecting the local white urbanites, people who didn’t know their ass from their elbows when it came to combat or firearms. Luckily, he wasn’t here, and Saunders wasn’t the type to glory in such romantic, racist ideals.

One thing she did now, everyone was happy to have men like Haozous around. Word was he had been a resident of the town for some time, some kind of artist himself, until the chaos erupted and the sitting mayor had died. Not of the Whiskey’s infectious disease, but of a case of influenza. In the wake of the First Wave, preventable diseases were also claiming the lives of countless people. Many said he was a well-known man, popular in the country as well as the town, back in the day. That and his own experience, having had a foot in both worlds at one time or another, had been indispensable in getting so many people from different walks of life to live together.

“I notice your fascination with the firearm, Sergeant,” he said next. Saunders nearly jumped when she heard him speaking in her direction. Amidst the art, artifacts and her own thoughts, she had gotten a little lost.

“I’m sorry?”

He motioned towards the firearm on the wall. “That shotgun. Do you know what it is?”

She looked from Haozous to the gun and back again, shook her head. “No, can’t say I’ve ever seen one.”

“People from the old days called it an ‘Elephant Gun’,” he said, taking several steps towards it. “Said it had been especially designed for Safari to take down really big game. It came in with one of the older gentlemen from the Jicarilla territory. Would you like to hold it?”

She looked at Braun now. How out of her element she felt at the moment! But he too was just doing the best he could, representing the Rattlesnakes and facilitating relations with the representative of the northern township. And all he could offer was a simple shrug and an outstretched hand.

“Um, certainly, sir,” she said uncertainty.

“Well, let me see if I can get it for you.” Haozous reached up to the wall and grunted to lift the weapon. It looked even larger in his arms, stretching several feet to either side of him. He passed it to her, butt first until she had most of it in her hands. It wasn’t impossibly heavy, but heavier than anything she had carried recently. When it came to firearms, one instinctively got used to whatever they were carrying and assumed it was the norm. Therefore, relative to her SCAR, the gun she now held was incredibly heavy.

“My God,” she said, clicking the mechanism on the front and opening the breach. She nearly lost control of the gun as it bent in half and presented its two empty barrels. She could only imagine how large the shells would have to be to fit. “Was this ever used?”

“Oh yes,” the mayor replied. “The gentleman who brought it in used it to defend his home. Says he took the lives of all four creatures that were attacking him.”

“Well… I imagine he was successful,” she said with a nod. “Where is he now?”

“Dead,” Haozous replied. “He died sometime last year of pneumonia.”

“I’m sorry,” said Braun.

“It’s alright,” Haozous said with a wave. “He was very old. His death came as no surprise. And he joined his family in his passing. People he missed very much.”

“Oh no,” said Saunders, closing the breach. “Did they come with him?”

“No,” the mayor replied starkly. “They had been infected, at fell at his hands.”

Saunders felt a slight chill go up her spine. “Four of them?”

The mayor nodded.

Suddenly, Saunders didn’t feel clean holding the weapon. Carefully returning it to its place on the wall, she put her hands behind her back and stood there quietly.

“Shall we go to my office?” Haozous suggested.

“Yes, sir,” Braun replied. He cast her a quick look as they followed him down the remainder of the hallway. The look in his eyes was not reproachful, far from it. It seemed to convey just how much he understood her thoughts, because he was thinking the exact same thing. That little display back there hadn’t been a little nicety of friendly gesture, it was an object lesson.

They were no longer in the den of the Rattlesnakes. They were in amongst some truly hardened people now, and they needed to watch their step.

Brazil to Clone Endangered Animals

Countless species of wildlife are on the endangered list today, as a result of ongoing urbanization, deforestation, and pollution. Compared to these combined destructive forces, all attempts at wildlife enhancement and preservation – especially in the developing and underdeveloped parts of the world – seem ill-suited or limited in scope. However, scientists in Brazil have announced a new and startling plan which might just be the difference because success and failure.

The groundbreaking initiative is being carried out as a partnership between the Brasilia Zoological Garden and the Brazilian government’s agricultural research agency, aka. EMBRAPA. Thus far, their efforts include such species as the jaguar, the maned wolf, and the black lion, as well as numerous others that are on the Red List of Threatened Species, as compiled by the Chico Mendes Institute for Biodiversity Conservation (ICMBio) and the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN).

Currently, the initiative is in phase two of development. Phase one involved the collection of samples of genetic material, or germplasm, in the form of blood, sperm, somatic cells and umbilical cord cells, which were gathered over the course of two years. The researchers harvested the genetic material primarily from dead specimens of animals native to the Cerrado, the vast tropical savannah biome that stretches across central Brazil. The next phase will be the training of researchers at the zoo.

According to Carlos Frederico Martins, an EMBRAPA researcher, their organization has already been responsible for the cloning of cows. This began in 2001 with birth of a calf named Vitória, and has since gone on to include over 100 specimens made up largely of cows and horses. They hope to transfer the knowledge gained from these experiments to the staff over at Brasilia Zoological Gardens so the techniques can be adapted to wildlife. Currently, the plan is reserved to increasing the number of captive specimens of endangered animals, but that they are prepared to release these cloned animals into the wild if need be.

Countries like the US and South Korea are also working on similar plans to rehabilitate endangered species of wild animals. In there cases, as well as Brazil’s, the lack of prior knowledge is cited as an potential obstacle to success. As such it may be many years yet before animals such as wild tigers, jaguars, the Gray Brocket Deer, Bison and even simians are successfully cloned in captivity. In the meantime, here’s hoping other conservation efforts fare better than they have in the past! As well all know, humans aren’t the only ones in danger of suffering from Climate Change!

Source: Inter Press Service News Agency

 

“Earthshaking” News From the Red Planet?

In an interview with NPR earlier today, John Grotzinger – the Principal Investigator for NASA’s Mars Science Labs – said a recent soil sample test with the SAM instrument (Sample Analysis at Mars) shows something”‘earthshaking.” Like any good scientist (or a terrible tease), Grotzinger and his team are awaiting confirmation before announcing just what it is they’ve found. Nevertheless, the announcement of a potential discovery which could be “one for the history books” has fueled speculation and put many on the edge of their seats.

Thus far, the smart money has been on the discovery of organic molecules in the Martian soil, which is precisely what Curiosity has been up to for the past few months. This is because the very purpose of the SAM instrument to examine the chemical and isotopic composition of the Martian atmosphere and soil, specifically to determine if anything organic is capable of living there. If so, it will end the age-old argument of whether or not life can exist on the surface Mars, even if it doesn’t currently.

It will also prove to be a boon for those who are seriously looking ahead, and plotting manned missions to the Red Planet with the intent of making it habitable for humans. As I’m sure all people are aware of by now, there are plenty of people who are monitoring Curiosity’s findings and hoping they will help determine whether or not terraforming can be carried on the the planet, with the long-term goal of creating a “Green Mars” where terrestrial species can live and thrive, crops can grow, and oceans and rivers can once again exist.

I think I speak for them and myself when I say, “Grotzinger, best of luck to you, and this better not be some kind of media stunt!” Oh, I can’t wait to hear what they find!

Source: Universe Today

Pappa Zulu – Chapter 5

“In war, there are no unwounded soldiers.”

-Jose Narosky

He could feel the cold sweat breaking his skin. The tender flesh seemed to itch and burn at the same time. It also didn’t respond too well to contact.

“Good, good,” the doctor said, tapping the fabric tip of his wand to another point. “Can you flex your other hand please?”

Dezba looked to his right hand and balled it into a fist.

“Squeeze tight,” he said. Dezba tightened it to the point of pain, his every knuckle turning white.

The doctor nodded, as if he was counting off beats. The little wand in his hand made him look like something of a conductor.

“Good, keep it up,” he said.

“Why am I doing this?” Dezba said between grunts.

“Trust me, it will help with the discomfort.”

You could just refill my prescription, he wanted to say. But at the moment, his mouth was too tightly clenched. His right fist was becoming sore to the point that it was demanding relief, and his face was fast becoming hot from the exertion.

“Okay, now slowly open it.”

Dezba obliged and breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, the muscles in his hand began to disengage and blood flowed back into his fingers. He eyed his palm and saw several red marks from where his fingertips had been digging in. He gave it a few shakes to encourage the circulation some more.

“How’s that feel?”

Dezba brew a few breaths and wiped his face. “Fine, doc. Now how about something for the pain?”

He laughed. “I meant, how’s your left hand?”

“It’s -” Dezba raised it and quickly caught himself. Was that some kind of sick joke, he wondered. But then, his mind quickly clued into the fact that the itching and burning were gone. His eyes went wide. “It’s fine…”

The words exited his mouth like a whisper. Doctor Andrews was nodding happily.

“As far as treatment goes, phantom nerves are still a bit of a mystery. But, the good news is, the body can be tricked into curing itself. You just have to reset it by stimulating the right nerve clusters.”

Dezba ran his right hand along his exposed stump. There was not a trace of the ugly sensations that had been plaguing him for the past twenty four hours, though it still seemed sensitive to the touch.

“You mean, it’s gone? No more drugs again?”

“No,” Andrews said lamentably. “It’s an exercise you’ll have to repeat whenever the nerves begin to fire again. But it will provide you with some temporary relief. More so than the Oxycontin, and we won’t have to worry about you developing a habit from them. You’re body’s been hooked on the regular infusion of opiates for months now and we need to get you off them. Especially if you intend to return to active duty.”

Dezba lowered his arm and looked down to the floor. Active duty… Not a subject he was comfortable discussing. The doctor put the issue out there at least once a visit, but never asked him point blank. He knew from experience that Dezba would raise it in his own time. But even he wasn’t sure when that would be.

“In the meantime, I can prescribe something a little milder for the pain. You still get flashes from time to time?”

“Yes,” Dezba said, though “flashes” was the understatement of the century. It was more like a searing burst of blinding agony, the sensation that his hand was being cut off all over again, or crushed in a vice. And it didn’t help that they mostly happened at night, coinciding with the nightmares. What was the doc’s appraisal of when those would let up?

“You know…” he said, as if he could sense where Dezba’s mind was going. “It wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone as well. We have a number of people here who deal with this sort of loss and have experience helping soldiers adjust to their new lives. There’s even some groups that meet here, men like you who’ve seen more than there share of horror.”

Dezba looked at him with narrowed eyes. Counseling? Was that what he was getting at? Sitting in a shrink’s office and being able to talk about his wife and daughter, and how he murdered them both? Perhaps how he had been forced to slice off his own hand so he wouldn’t become a walking nightmare too? Perhaps he might tell them how for the first few weeks he had been at home, he kept his sidearm on his nightstand just in case. How many times had he woken screaming and reached for it in a hurry? How many times had he thought that the cold sweat and panic were the virus taking effect, and placed the barrel in his mouth?

The other suggestion didn’t seem any better. Was he to feel more comfortable with the idea of sitting around in a circle, sharing his feelings with other damaged men? Speaking of the things he saw, the things he’d done, and the things he never wanted to do again…

“Yeah…” he said finally. “I don’t know about that.”

Andrews nodded. “Okay. Just something to think about. Not all the damage happens to your body, you know.”

Dezba kept his head low, not wanting the doc to see the look he had on his face. Words that weren’t worth sharing went through his mind, fitting retorts to his cliched advice. Damage? What the fuck did he know about damage? Did he even begin to understand that the worst damage was not what was endured, but inflicted? Could he ever be brought to understand that the worst burdens were things a man could be called on to do?

Probably not. So he kept it to himself.

Andrews finished writing in shorthand on his prescription pad and tore the sheet from the stack. He presented it to Dezba with some final words of advice.

“If you’re willing, we might be able to get you fitted with a  prosthetic too. Something that would help you manage the more arduous tasks, like heavy lifting.”

Dezba pushed himself from the bed and grabbed the paper. “Yeah, I’ll think about that too.”

“I’m quite serious, Sergeant. Since our troops took back Albuquerque, we’ve had access to some state of art models. Might not hurt to consider getting the implant.”

“Implant?” Dezba said with a frown.

“You haven’t heard? It’s been the toast of the VA hospital.” Dezba kept frowning. How to explain that he spent barely a moment more than he had to in that depressing building, that he had placed it in his rearview mirror the moment they had released him and would never have set foot in it again were it not for the pain and the fact that they had all the good drugs?

Andrews continued. “Our troops found the UNM largely intact when they took the city. They also found a shipment of bionic prosthetics the lab was working on. Most had already been prepped for commercial use, so we know how to fit them and the results have been encouraging.”

Dezba’s eyes went wide and he was forced to look at his stump again. The thought a bionic implement at the end of it sounded a little optimistic, the mental image refusing to resolve itself. But last he checked, he was sober and awake. And if this were some kind of Oxycontin-induced hallucination, he could think of a million things he would rather be hallucinating about. He would start with having all his real limbs for one, then being somewhere where the decor was nicer, the people were less intrusive, and everybody he cared about was still alive…

But the thought of a working hand would do in a pinch. He didn’t want to be greedy.

“Seriously? I could have like a robotic hand?”

Andrews smiled and nodded. “We’d have to run a battery of tests, make sure it was outfitting and attuned to your nerves. And there’s the matter of their being enough units still available. But last I checked, the list was short. Not many troops have been losing hands in the field, it seems.”

Dezba could believe that. Most ate their gun when they got bit. Few had the kind of body armor he had when his little run in with the virus had happened.

“I can book an appointment with the VA’s prosthetics ward, if you like. We can run the tests there, get you fitted, should only take a few weeks.” He waited and watched Dezba expectantly. “What do you think?”

Dezba couldn’t help but feel the slightest pressure. With everything else, he was trusted to know when and where he would do things. But the doctor seemed somewhat anxious about this issue.

“Sure,” he muttered finally. “Why not?”

“Excellent! You never know. Once you’re fitted, you might find yourself able to sling a rifle again, no problem.” Andrews cleared his throat and then quieted down. Clearly, his enthusiasm for the new bionics was overpowering his usual discretion about service matters. “But in the meantime, it will be a big boon for lots of other things. Carrying groceries, yard work, working on that car of yours…” He cleared his throat one last time. “So… same number as indicated in your file?”

“Same number,” Dezba replied. It wasn’t his home number, of course. He hadn’t been back there since… “Extension’s been changed. I moved to a bigger room.”

“Ah, good to know the Snakes are taking care of their own. Just remember, if the pension’s not enough to cover basic expenses, there’s additional benefits you could apply for.”

Dezba nodded again. He never liked to be reminded of that, but knew Andrews was just doing his job. All veterans had to be apprised of their options, so the protocol dictated. Placing the prescription in his pocket, he extended his right hand and forced a smile.

“Thanks doc,” he said. Andrews shook his hand gently and showed him out. As soon as he was halfway down the hallway, the doctor called for the next patient. Dezba caught sight of him as he walked through the waiting room. Another sad-looking man, his body intact but showing signs of obvious pain and discomfort. Then again, there was scarcely anyone in the building who didn’t look that way…

The afternoon air was chilled, but refreshing. His face received it gratefully as he stepped into the parking lot and made his way to his vehicle. Somehow, stepping out of the VA Hospital always felt good, like moving from shadow into light. He knew enough of dark things and dark thoughts. Being around others who looked like he felt was not something he would willingly walk into. Why the doc thought it was a good idea that he spend time with such people was beyond him. Why anyone thought it was a good idea was beyond him. But he was sure they had their reasons, all of which seemed naive and pointless…

He turned the key and received a gentle hum of engine noise. The sounds always put him at ease too. It was the sound of leaving the darkened place, of going somewhere infinitely less depressing. To an empty room and a full bottle, to a quiet corner and no distractions, to an open lot and the smell and feel of engine grease.

He raised his left arm and examined the sleeve that ended just beyond the stump of his wrist. The doc, bless his heart, had got that right at least. With an added limb, he would have a much easier time tuning his baby up, making her engine purr all the more effectively. Afternoons like today, spent alone and elbow deep in axle grease, would be all the more enjoyable!

Pappa Zulu – Chapter 4

“A man cannot lay down the right of resisting them that assault him by force, to take away his life.”

-Thomas Hobbes

The procession followed the main strip until they reached the turn. More armed men were their to mark it, wearing reflective vests and hard hats. When they reached the spot in the road, they were on hand to wave them on. Whitman made the turn, and Saunders issued a courteous wave as they rolled by. They were sure to nod back.

“Dude’s look pretty fucking tough, don’t they?”

Majorica said this from his spot in the rear. His rifle bumped against his lap, the only place he could keep it where it wouldn’t rattle around or piss off any of the local townspeople. Most people were known to get nervous seeing a M16 or SAW poking out the window in their general direction. But people in the northern townships just seemed to get sore about that sort of thing. The LT had been sure to issue orders to keep all guns pointed up or down, never in anyone’s direction.

“I tell ya one thing,” replied Mill from the gunners circle. “It’s nice to have not have to worry about people fending for themselves.”

Whitman scoffed. “Yeah, but if they don’t need us, what chance do we have to milk it?”

Majorca laughed and slapped Whitman on the shoulder. He shrugged it off and maintained his position.

“Makes sense don’t it? I mean, how many more invites are we likely to get if people don’t need our help anymore?”

A thoughtful sound went through the cab as everyone seemed to give that thought some consideration. Whitman turned to Saunders next and asked for her opinion.

“Sarge? You wanna weight in on this issue here?”

Saunders pursed her lips and shook her head. “You might have imbeciled your way onto something there, Private.”

More laughter, and more shoulder slaps for the Private. Saunders chuckled herself, but inwardly, she had to admit he had a point. And it wasn’t just the fact the invites for beer and BBQ might dry up someday.

The proliferation of men with guns in such a small area began to make her think. For some time now, they had been operating under the assumption that the Rattlesnakes were the law of the land, and that the word of the Mage was the accepted norm, even if there was still plenty of civilian government to speak of. And it was a safe assumption, seeing as how they had the guns and said guns had been keeping the land safe from Whiskey incursions for well over a year and a half. But if townships like this one could arm themselves enough, what would that mean then?

Was their welcome only as good as their firepower? Was there something about the Mage’s authority that certain townships, especially the ones away from the Khaki Triangle, that wasn’t going over so well? And above all, would it wear out just as soon as they knew they could handle things on their own?

Saunders knew she was relatively new to the ranks of the grunts and groundpounders. If she was wondering this, then they damn well had to be. But one look at Whitman told her that such thoughts were pretty far from his mind right now. The promise of a night’s RandR away from the field was enough to keep him interested, and pleased as punch to be in town. The others were sure to simply characterize it as one of the many peculiarities of having to deal with civies.

But maybe the LT had some thoughts on the issue. Maybe later when the evening began, she’d find him and engage him in some after dinner conversation. It had been awhile since they had a chance to talk. Maybe tonight there would finally be a chance for some privacy…

“Town Hall up ahead,” said Whitman, and began bringing their vehicle up the curb. As expected, more armed men were out front. Some older looking gentlemen were also on hand, and unlike their guards, they were decked out in their Sunday best. Whitman was sure to deposit them right next to the pack of grey foxes, who greeted Saunders just as soon as she stepped from the vehicle.

“Lieutenant?” he said, his hand outstretched. Saunders sized him quickly and took his hand to take it. A darker man, greying hair  temples, and an unmistakable air of dignity about him that could only come with having been entrusted with responsibility.

“Mayor Hazoos,” she said definitively. He smiled, showing two well-arranged rows of off-white teeth.

“That’s Haozous, ma’am. Don’t worry, everybody get’s it wrong the first time.”

She laughed nervously. Their greeting was going long and in danger of turning into a full-blown misunderstanding.

“Staff Sergeant Andrea Saunders. The Lieutenant is on his way.”

“Oh,” he said with mild surprise. Braun was to the front of their convoy and able to assume the role of intermediary, which was a relief. Two seconds into it and Saunders was already screwing it up. Marching up beside her, Braun put on his warmest smile and adopted his most buoyant tone.

“Mayor Haozous?” he said. She cringed as she heard the man’s name pronounced properly. “Lieutenant Marshall Braun, sir. On behalf of myself and 1st Platoon Alpha, 2nd Battalion Rattlesnakes, we are happy to be in your fair city, and promise to behave ourselves as long as we are.”

Haozous laughed obligingly and shook Braun’s hand. “Of that, I have no doubt. We’re honored to have you here and hope you’ll all be comfortable for the night. We’ve also taken the liberty of making sure you and your soldiers have some decent food.”

From the cab, Saunders could hear Whitman and the others emitting a low cry of elation. She began to worry they might try to say something that would wreck the mood the LT and the Mayor were working so hard to create.

“Councilman Martinez will see to your accommodations. We’ve prepared the local hostel for your people. I hope you don’t mind sharing a few to a room?”

Braun looked at Saunders with mock amusement. She was sure to beam in return and laugh at his response.

“Sir, compared to what we’re used to, it’ll be a night at the Hilton. Where should we place our convoy?”

The mayor waves a man forward. Saunders guessed that it was Martinez himself. Another man greying at the temples, he was nevertheless younger than Haozous and significantly paler. His haircut suggested military, but that was an easy enough do to pull off.

“He can accompany your driver to the lot. It’s right outside their billing. If the two of you would like to accompany me?”

Saunders looked at Braun with surprise. She couldn’t help but notice how he said it hesitantly as well. Apparently, her early intro must have given him the impression she was Braun’s number two. Braun looked at her and quickly nodded. He didn’t look uncertain, so she quickly dropped whatever trace her face had of it as well.

“Certainly, sir. Uh, Sergeant. Would you get the door for the Councilman, please?”

“Yes, of course.” She gestured to Martinez to her seat in passenger side of the Humvee. She quickly remembered that her gun was still stowed there and jumped on ahead of him. “Just need a second to clear my weapon out, sir. Don’t want you accidentally shooting yourself.”

The Councilman smiled, but didn’t appear at all amused. She threw open the door and grabbed her SCAR, passed it to Majorca in the back.

“Ooh, so I get’s to be a fancy driver for one of dem city bossmen, eh?” he said, smacking his lips. “I do fancy job of driving, Miss Sawndas!”

She gave Whitman the stink eye and reproached him in a low voice. “Just drive the car and keep your Whiskey Tango mouth shut, dipshit.”

“Ooh, yes ma’am,” he replied.

She turned to face Martinez again and ushered him in, closing the door carefully behind him. The motorcade drove away, making it to the end of the street and then turning left. Seconds later, they had disappeared around the corner, and Saunders turned to face the Mayor and the LT.

“Right this way. I’m sure we have a lot to discuss.”

“That we do, sir,” Braun said, and then looked at Saunders anxiously. Was that his appraisal of the conversation they were about to have, or his feelings about having her along? She had to assume it was the former, because despite what he might think, she could tell the Mayor was already taking a shine to her. She had the effect with older men, she knew. They always seemed to like a young woman in uniform, gave them a chance to be paternal. Or dirty. And if Braun was hoping to get the Mayor’s approval to conduct some recruiting while they were in town, he would need all the help he could get.

Okay, time to turn on the charm, she thought. And who knew? If she proved to be an asset during their stay here, maybe the LT would convey a little gratitude to her later…

Revenger Mission #1 Update!

Welcome back Revengers, Captain Smackdown here! We’ve had a crucial update from our agents in the field, who at this moment are in crisis dealing with our very first mission. Based on Atrum Auditors report, what began as a simple surveillance mission escalated when the target – mobster Joe “The Stare” Kiethly – showed up with some unusual muscle. Enhance ex-military men who were given telekinetic powers!

On top of that, reports from the field emphasized that there was another there, a mind that was searching and making contact with Atrum Auditor, Erotica Girl and Styka. A telepathic presence in the region is most disturbing. Either Kiethly’s men are more than they appear, or there’s someone else watching the show. In either case, your Captain is proceeding to the scene with reinforcements! Here’s how it went down…

*                     *                    *

The GT’s engine reached a crescendo of noise. From the passenger seat, Panacea looked anxiously at the Captain.

Strange, he thought. Weren’t immortals the ones who had the least to fear from death? And yet, she looked more nervous than he felt.

They reached their turn and the Captain spun the wheel, bringing them into a slight slide that almost put them up against the nearby brick wall. Panacea grunted as they took the corner and decided to say something as soon as they straightened out again.

“Is there a game plan?” she asked. “I mean, other than to go charging in?”

“Of course there is,” Smackdown replied. “I just haven’t thought of it yet.”

“Oh…” she said. “Lovely.”

Another hard turn. The smell of the docks began to pour in through their open windows. Tar, brine, and the undeniable smell of rot and decay. They were on a long stretch now that passed lengthwise between two red brick warehouses. Smackdown used the opportunity to fetch his weapon from the backseat, which had been resting on the floor until this point.

“Do me a favor…?” he said to Panacea and handed it to her. “Grab that drum on the backseat and load it for me.”

Panacea was momentarily stunned by the appearance of the weapon. The membership agreement stipulated that it lethal force was out of bounds, but the weapon she was now holding seemed to contradict that piece of fine print. Still, she did as she was told and fished around on the backseat until the spherical magazine presented itself. Grabbing it and bringing it forward, she stared at the two pieces and asked for help.

“Um, how am I…?”

“Just slap the drum into the bottom and pull that lever on the side,” said the Captain. Panacea obliged, and then held it up in her hand. Heavy, by normal standards, and grissly looking. She looked sideways at Smackdown. He noticed and flashed a defensive frown.

“Rubber bullets… I swear!”

“Alright…” she said warily, then placed it in the backseat.

The engine revved harder. Smackdown looked ahead and yelled a word of warning. “Bit of a bump up ahead. Hang on!”

She looked just in time to see the pile of lobster traps and loading crates. Her yell came too late to stop him. They hit it with a hard thud and picked up some air. The landing was even harder. They came to skidding halt on the other side.

“Sorry. GPS didn’t mention that obstruction.”

Panacea looked at the dashboard. Did this vehicle even have a GPS, or was that some kind of dry witticism on the Captains part? Either way, she wasn’t any happier about it.

Smackdown placed his finger to his earpiece.

“Atrum? Can you hear me?”

Auditor voice came in in low, hushed whispers. “Read you, Captain. What’s your position?”

“We’re less than a minute away. Has anything changed on the scene?”

“Well, we still haven’t found the source of the psychic presence. But it doesn’t seem to be coming from our guests or their hired muscle. Keithly’s goons are holding their spots and letting the him and Councilman talk.”

Smackdown nodded. That sounded like good news, but it pointed towards something more frightening. He removed his finger from his ear and began to look precariously out his side window.

“What’s wrong?” Panacea asked.

“I think we got more company than we think,” he replied. He placed his finger back to his ear. “Hold your position. We’ll be coming in hot. As soon as we arrive on scene, I figure we’ll have a second or two before those goons try to turn their powers on us. Then I want you and the girls to start jamming them, and let’s pray they don’t have psychic defenses we don’t know about.”

“You got it,” Auditor replied.

“So… we got a plan?” Panacea asked.

“Yeah…” Smackdown looked at her outfit. “You’re CV said you could fly, that still true?”

“Yes,” she said irately. Superpowers didn’t exactly have an expiry date.

“Good. Cuz when we get to the scene, I want you to jump out that door and get in the air. I’ll provide covering fire for you. Our friends on scene should take care of the rest. Okay?”

“Okay!”

“Good. Now hand me that gun.”

She grabbed it and passed it to him, warily as always. He noticed the way she was looking at it, like she had a serious issue with firearms. He repeated his earlier assurance.

“I swear!”

*                    *                    *

Tune in tomorrow for the exciting conclusion to the Revengers first mission!

Future Timeline

This has been sitting in my box of ideas for quite some time, a website that produces videos dedicated to predicting future trends. Awhile back, I came across it while searching on the subject of the Technological Singularity, and was pretty intrigued by what I saw. Not only was this website dedicated to predicting major technological developments in the near future, the ones that would culminate in the Singularity, but was even considering humanity’s prospects as a species in the far, far future. After taking a look around I thought to myself: “truly, this is the stuff of speculative science-fiction.”

To get a breakdown of what the makers of this site predict, check out the videos posted below, as compiled by HayenMill at Youtube. A self-professed amateur historian and futurist, HayenMill took the liberty of combining the Future Timeline predictions, year by year, covering the three decades that will take us from the beginning of 2010 to 2040, by which time all the current trends of the world will reach a full, fevered pitch. These include the problems of overpopulation, climate change, the shift of economic power from the US to Asia, and the growth of information, medical, and bio technology, as well as the development of AI and commercial spaceflight.

Check them out, and for a more detailed breakdown of future events, go to futuretimeline.net. Trust me when I say that the group’s predictions range far and wide, but which are also highly detailed, at least when pertaining to this century! You can take me at my word when I say that I will be doing my best to incorporate as many of these ideas as possible into my own writing!

 

 

Sickness, Weariness, and more Rejection

Weariness_by_Eireen

Wow, that title line sounds depressing. But that’s kind of my state right now, dealing with a worsening cold, some serious commitments that leave me strung out, and another form letter telling me my work is “not a good fit”. Yes, it seems that this past week has been the week from hell, or at least my own limited version of it. I have heard some people describe a week which could set your teeth on edge, so mine is really just a whiner’s approximation. Still, I think it’s been pretty sucky and I intend to complain. So consider yourself warned!

Oh, and my apologies to all those who read my site and have been taking part in the superhero challenge, or who are waiting on edits from me and have noticed delays. The events of the past week have been preventing me from being my usual verbose self, not that I’m making excuses. I’ve written and edited sick before, but things have been different lately. That should change soon, but until such time, let me tell what’s been occupying the past few days..

It all started around Wednesday, when I felt the onset of sickness that was characterized by bad headaches, general congestion and stuffiness, and a lack of energy. I figured twenty-four hours would be all I needed to kick it, so when I got a call asking me to fill in for an EA at the school where I work, I accepted it.

There’s a reason they call it “dog tired”

That night, I slept about five hours, worrying I wouldn’t be any better. Somehow, knowing you have to sleep to make the following day work always gives me parasomnia. By morning, I felt like crap and figured there was no way I was making it in. However, the lady who called me and asked me to fill in had already left town – her daughter was having a baby! So instead, I went into school, grabbed the sub list, and began calling everyone on it to see if anyone could take my place. No one was available, except one lady who was also sick but willing to soldier on. That clinched it for me! People were having babies and willing to work sick, so why was I trying to duck out? I decided at that point to officially to suck it up, slug some coffee, and do my damn job!

Well, that didn’t go so well. For starters, I was in the Kindergarten room with the woman I like to call the “micromanager”. She’s nice, but the tendency to explain simple tasks in minute detail, which annoys me! However, silver lining, she was impressed with the way I knew how to use the fancy functions on the printer and gave me a ton of administrative work to do. I like this stuff, so I spent much of the afternoon getting her lessons prepared for the coming weeks.

But of course, there were downsides. For one, it took me three cups of coffee just to keep from passing out. Two, the main child I was responsible for needed to be changed at the end of the day. This was the first time I changed a dirty diaper in my life, and it was one of the most icky experiences I’ve ever had! You don’t put a grown man and a child in a closed room together, as a rule, especially when it involves changing their clothes and cleaning them up. But I got through it and was kind of honored they trusted me enough to do something so sensitive.  Ah, and then came downside number three, which was me being given bus supervision at the end of the day. And clearly, the children picked this day to be extra hyper and constantly be out of their seats and making messes with food and drink (which they are not supposed to have on the damn bus)!

But alas, it all ended and I went home to pass out. My wife was a real sweetheart and took the bus home too, and made dinner so I could rest. I made the mistake of sucking down some beer so I could feel better, which didn’t do me any favors since the next day, the cold was back with a vengeance. And I knew that we had to get up early and go help her brother move the next day, so I tried to get some rest and recoup. Needless to say, Saturday was a real trial! All day we spent cleaning out his cottage, vacuuming up cobwebs, dealing with black mold, and trying to erase ten years of continuous habitation. My feet got soaked from the muddy grounds outside, and once again my head was throbbing and my body aching and sore.

Oh, and when I opened my email to see what I’d missed, I found a letter from the latest magazine I submitted my work to, telling me that Domicile 4.5 was not a “good fit” with their work. They didn’t even mention the numerous articles I sent them, but I assumed their opinions on those were the same. It didn’t help that the message was clearly a form email letter with the field for the title of the submission being left open. That made what was already a hard day even harder! But at least we had some hot pizza and some sack time to compensate.

Today, we go back to help out some more. The moving is largely done, but there’s still some odds and ends to pack up. Then, silver lining again, we will get to see my wife’s family and see the new puppy her mother got! She looks so cute and furry from the photos, so I imagine the day will improve. Ah, but then the weekend is over, and I’m committed to go up north to house sit my parent’s house this Wednesday, their eight cats and my grandmother during mid-week. Sounds like a mini-vacation, but we already did that this past summer; and believe me, it was not a vacation!

As I griped to my wife about last night, when am I supposed to get better here? Unless I don’t get worse today (again), and Monday and Tuesday prove to be restful and incident-free, I’ll be going north a veritable corpse, in danger of infected my grandma. Dammit body, get better! However, I anticipate a third silver lining, as the days up in Comox with little to do but housesit, catsit, and make sure my Grandma is attended to will give me plenty of time to recoup and catch up on all my writing and editing duties. I’m hoping I will be better come Wednesday, and the trip north won’t be like this weekend, feeling half-dead in the midst of highway driving!

Like I said, full of complaints and whininess. In the grand scheme, I got nothing to complain about. I just really need this week to be over, know what I’m saying?