by Malcus Dorroga ({REL[484][articleGame]RpJG50ozREL} Fiction)
From the Journal of Evan “Wendigo” Past
August 1, 2008
I want to bury myself, hide from the world. Nothing makes sense anymore, and all the things I’d worked to make true are nothing more than the velvet curtains that veiled the truth from my eyes. I feel so stupid.
All hell broke loose at the clinic today. Teragen swarmed the place, declaring that the Project was holding one of its members hostage at this locale. I thought the claim was ridiculous; all novas that come into the clinic must go through my offices at one point or another, and that includes novas that have been captured or arrested. Seeing as how my clinic has never had to house a captured nova in the entire time I’ve been there, I figured the Teragen were just using a flimsy excuse to throw a terrorist temper tantrum and ran outside to defend my lab.
The fight was furious, and we did the best we could holding back the onslaught, but two of the faster Teragen agents slipped by us and shot into the clinic. I told the others to hold the line while I gave chase. I followed them into the sub levels, barely able to keep them in sight. It occurs to me now that they knew where they were going; they ran past vaults of weapons, labs, even our database room, and sought out one security room on the lowest level. When I entered, they had strung up the security guard and ripped open a section of wall… revealing a large service elevator leading down. At the time, I didn’t give it any thought and tore down the shaft after them, but I did not know about this elevator, nor did I know about any floors lower than B-5. Looking through the blueprints now, there is no record of either the lower floor or this elevator existing..
The sight that greeted my eyes when I landed was nothing less than horrifying. The room this elevator led into looked like a room in the Bastille, dark and slimy, an eerie green light filling the room. Trussed up against the far wall was some sort of nova, a pretty woman giving off obvious quantum energies, wrapped in some sort of slimy cocoon. Tubes and prods of all kinds pierced her every side, electronic monitors watched her vital signs, and Lord knows what kinds of drugs were being pumped into her. I was shocked and dumbfounded. I must have stopped to stare in my disbelief at this scene out of dark fiction, and in that moment of confusion I was knocked out. I never even saw it coming; I just felt the pain, and then darkness enveloped me.
When I came to, I was still on the floor of the room, but the female nova and the two Teragen agents were gone. Apparently, while I was out, reinforcements had arrived and the Teragen had fled with their prize. I got onto my feet and climbed up the shaft, praying that they weren’t far ahead of me. When I climbed out, my head still spinning, I was greeted with the absolute last thing I needed.
Caestus Pax.
Without asking for explanations or a report, he began screaming at me about allowing the Teragen “to escape with an important prisoner.” I screamed back at him about not having been told about this woman, about broken procedures and my right to know what’s going on in my clinic. He then openly accused me of being a Teragen sympathizer, and I lost it and clawed him. His face will heal fast enough, but he was caught off guard and made to look weak in front of others, so he clocked me and told me that I am being reassigned to Kashmir as a field medic.
I am indignant. I have been part of the Project since the beginning, I used to have pull around here. Now this prima donna, this dick in eufiber, comes along and dictates my life to me? And who was that woman? What has the Project been doing to novas, right under my nose?
I need to get out and clear my head.
*****
(later)
You know you go to the Amp Room too often when Lance Stryker buys you an Amp Well.
Once again, I found myself this evening in Gommorah, another little piece of my soul sold to some cosmic power I can’t even fathom at this point. I’m still not sure what brought me there this evening; I’m in a horrific mood because of the Teragen attack, and an even worse mood about the Project. Pax needs a hug and an enema… well, maybe just the hug, I’m pretty sure his ass is too tight for the enema, that fuckhead. Going there was almost an involuntary response, like Pavlov’s dogs salivating to a ringing bell.
Well, it had best be an involuntary response; otherwise I went to actually talk to Orzaiz of my own free will. The thought that Raoul Orzaiz has become a sort of therapist for my frustration is no consolation at all.
He was there, as usual, confident and happy, enjoying the company of beautiful baselines and strong drink. I resisted the urge to walk over and openly attack him, and sat at a table on the other side of the room. That’s when Stryker bought me the drink and began talking with me. I must admit, for a merc, he’s great conversation; he can switch between intelligent discussion and wonderfully gruff humor in a heartbeat. After about an hour, he excused himself to go hit on some nubile wench that had just entered the bar, and Orzaiz chose that exact moment to wander over to talk to me
“I’m sorry about what happened this afternoon,” he apologized. I couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or not about that, so I just assumed not.
“I bet you are,” I growled back, “Thanks a lot for the wounds… and for getting me in trouble.”
“It wasn’t personal… hell, it wasn’t even my idea to attack the place… but we had a comrade to rescue. You know how that is, I’m sure.”
My curiosity got the better of me at that point as I asked, “Ok, Raoul, you always claim to give me straight answers, so tell me who that was and what was wrong with her.”
“Ah, so you did know about her,” Orzaiz gasped, “and you never asked about her before? I’m shocked.”
“I didn’t, Raoul. I saw her during the battle. She looked horrible.”
“Well, the prods and the drugs couldn’t have been helping her, Evan, but that cocoon she was in was wholly natural. She was in Chrysalis.”
I shook my head, obviously confused, and Orzaiz continued, “It’s just like a butterfly… or should I say a caterpillar. When the time comes for the little worm to grow up, it spins itself into a cocoon and undergoes changes that turn it into a thing more beautiful than what it was. Members of the One Race can do the same thing… so long as they are willing to leave their baseline lives behind.”
“Hold on,” I interrupted, “so you’re saying that novas can actually metamorphose into a higher form of nova? How come no one else has discovered this?”
“Because the only way to do it is to accept that you are no longer human. Just like a butterfly is no longer a caterpillar, a nova is no longer human, and only by recognizing that fact and living in tune with your true nova nature can you proceed along the path to chrysalis.”
There was a moment of silence between us, filled by the cacophony of the club, before Raoul asked, “So you didn’t know about ur friend in your basement?”
At that point, I was sure I shouldn’t have said anything, but the dam had been broken and I couldn’t stop. Maybe it was Raoul’s powers, maybe it was my frustration, but I described my bewilderment and the aftermath of that whole sordid situation. Orzaiz just listened, like a parent listening to his child talking about a bad day at school, nodding his head and looking at me with care.
“I’m sorry that happened, “he consoled when I was done, “but you know how Pax is. He seeks a scapegoat for his own ego, and you were the most likely candidate. He clings to his own useless humanity like a child clinging to his blanket, and gets very upset when his blankie is taken away from him. The difference between him and Mal is that while Pax sees himself as the world’s strongest human, Mal is the world’s strongest nova. The difference is not subtle.”
Orzaiz just smiled at that point and left me to my contemplation. Dear God, there are thoughts crossing my mind I don’t want there.
I feel sick and torn.
What am I?
