Dec 04 21:17:43 109 PA - Shared History

From Chronicles

Dec 04 21:17:43 109 PA.

OFFICE OF STRATEGIC SERVICES - MAIN FLOOR

It's long after business hours should have closed at the O.S.S., and technically, they have. The door is locked, just not yet latched, held open by a small iron doorstop of a bald eagle, wings outstretched. Inside, the lights are bright, as if all of them are on, even the small desk lights and the ones that illuminate special things like maps. Gabriel and most of his team are inside, with only Jack and Bo not in attendance. Friday is busy sniffing around the perimeter. Purposeful, or just because? Knowing the playful dog's background, probably the latter.

Bob ends up wandering in, despite the obviously closed nature. He's an employee, kinda-sorta. That is his right. Also kinda sorta. Maybe, at least. Either way, the metallic individual removes his hat as a sign of politeness as he approaches the front desk. "Burning the midnight oil, I see." He says, fairly amiably. "Anything that I can help with?" The request is delivered quietly, but pleasantly. "I saw the lights were on, so . . "

The group, gathered near the center of the office couldn't help but spot Bob enter. Both because Friday offers a friendly bark, and because hell... this is what they're all trained to do. Gabriel waves his hand. "Glad you could stop by, Bob. C'mon in, close the door." Thomas steps out of the crowd enough to shake Bob's hand and pat his shoulder. "Nice work with that SAMAS unit, my man."

Bob still isn't used to hand shaking and at first Thomas catches him off guard, but in the end he shakes the man's hand. "Thanks." He says. "I wasn't . . sure if that was going to work. Never tried that with a suit of power armor, before. Kind of a shame it took so much damage doing it." He grins a little bit more. "I took my winnings and made a couple of purchases. I don't think range is going to be much of an issue for me anymore." Leaving it at that, Bob closes the door and approaches Gabriel. "What has everyone so busy this late?"

Gabriel offers a nod, but doesn't ask prying questions about the other man's business. Things like that are the kind of thing that he knows people like to keep to themselves. The others - Lisa, Jack, Gracie and Arneé - offer Bob some polite greetings and Friday takes up a position at Gabriel's feet. "Well, we're trying to figure out a way to secure ourselves. Right now locks are basically it. A recent agreement of mine, and the mission we went on has raised concerns that Prosek's boys and girls might take an undue interest that we'd want to know about. I used to have a guy who came through once in a while to sweep for bugs, but he up and left in the middle of the night. We probably need more - and my own home, too." A nod is given to Gracie. "I'll be buying a unit for her that should check for things, but between office hours this place is open, and I'm open.

Bob doesn't explain, either. Just, apparently, he has purchased some new gear. "Hrm." He says to Gabriel. "Not my specialty, I'm afraid. I knew someone who was a miracle worker with that sort of thing but I haven't seen them since I arrived on this planet. I can use devices to find bugs, but as far as I know, nothing like that is a hundred percent. Need to find someone skilled at where they are likely placed or the like or not bother." He pauses. "And probably stop wandering around alone for awhile, unless . ." He taps the back or his head. "You get one of those bionic eyes put there so you can watch your own back."

"Uh-huh, the day I die, they can plant one in my corpse," Gabriel jokes on the subject of eyes and human enhancement in general. "I will want to be with someone as much as I can, yes. Daylight isn't bad. Even heading home at night is pretty safe. It's the sleeping part and the someone sneaking in to plant a bomb part that's rough. But yeah - I did have a guy who could sense everything. Arneé might be able to install some things, but we're rather ironically ill-prepared to prevent harm by the Coalition." A shrug is given but just about everyone as he adds, "Of course, they have an entire government and an army of millions on their side, we just have seven. But we're a very good seven," he winks.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better Kingsdale is probably loaded with Coalition operatives." He hmms. "That's actually a pretty stellar idea. Plant one on your ass, and then you can keep an eye on it. And if it really comes to it, at least they'll certainly have some strange faces on at the morgue after." He smiles, and then trails off after his gallows humor is done. "Considered hiring someone? Or maybe two people?"

There's a short and general murmur about hiring, something that has apparently been discussed. "Well, we'd like someone to make a sweep of the office twice a day for bugs. Someone to check my own place once a day. But primarily, it looks like I'll be shelling out for some genuine electronic surveillance professionals to set up a system to constantly keep track when no one's here. Safest way to do it, really." Gabriel waves west. "Home, as well. I'll just have to rely on my friend here to give me warning if someone's coming," he chuckles, reaching to ruffle the dog's ears. Yeah, she seems to be pretty popular around the office. At that time, Lisa excuses herself - a very dashing young woman, indeed - to head out on a job, with a dull trench coat only barely covering up what is a snappy red sequined dress. Everyone in the room being professionals, only hate to see her go but love to watch her leave. She knows it. Gabriel himself looks like he's ready to table the discussion of security for now, stepping only to politely open the door for a woman who could be his daughter.

"Well." Bob says. "The bottom line is, like I said, I don't really have the skills to make that work. I could operate a machine that could scan for them -- but you can't be reliant on such things." He hmms. "You considered having motion detection, the whole lot? Something to notify you if something strange is going on?" He briefly watches the other leave, but ends up making no comment about her or her appearance.

"Oh, sure. Stopgap measures like microwave fences," Gabriel waves off. "Just looking for something more secure, and not run by crime itself. Obviously, just something I'll have to keep an out out for myself." He takes a moment to reach over and grab some manila folders off a nearby desk, distributing them to the remaining operatives. "There you go, guys. Bo, looks like you're off tonight. Catch you in the morning." There's a little discussion, but the professionals are soon out and on to the business of business.

Bob ends up being quiet for a moment while Gabriel hands his work out; slipping his hands into his pockets while he waits. Once it is clear though, polite as he is, he resumes talking again. "Probably a good idea." He says. "My concern is more that you might end up sleeping or sitting on a fusion block or something of the sort. I have no doubt the CS has some pretty shifty characters in their pockets -- and I haven't even been here long enough to see the really shifty ones."

Gabriel nods.. happily? Amused? Something else? "They do. Team Blaze is up by two right now, but I'm sure it'll change one of these days. Last time I had to hide, it was from a master vampire. Dressed up as someone totally different and rented a room at Happy Days while she and her little bitch hunted for me. I'd rather not have to do that again, but I will depending on how much the security will cost. And some upcoming events." He nods to a distant south, and a distant north. "You know the Tolkeen thing, if only by the one little jaunt, right?"

Bob raises a metallic eyebrow. "Team Blaze?" He wonders, before he settles back thoughtfully. "By the way, what was that weapon you wanted me to get? I ended up completely forgetting what it was." He uses on what the other says. "I assume you killed it?" He inquires as to the vampire. "Uh." He considers. "I know very little about it. All I really know is that Tolkeen was a city of mainly magic, and the Coalition does not especially like magic, and wiped them out. Heard they got a bit . . dark in their desperation though and called up a bunch of stuff they couldn't control and ended up becoming what the CS feared."

"Sure, for a summary," Gabriel accepts. All of it, the Tolkeen part, who knows. "There's going to be a fund-raiser in a few days, a very large concert down at the Arena." Ah, thus the nod to the south. "We'll be handling security for the event, but if you'd be interested, I could always use another steady hand. I really can't promise any pay - just more of a promise that there will be trouble. However, it's for a good cause, so if that warms your heart, that might be a reason to consider it."

"Hmm." Bob says, thinking about it. "I might just show up for a good cause. You don't have to pay me at all, and I'll come plainclothes if you'd let me. Just, uh, loan me one of those non-lethal blasters. I'm looking into getting a weapon that I can use that will do the job for me as well." He settles down, sitting in a chair backwards. "Did you know there is a suit of power armor with a weapon that can incapacitate an augmented human through light body armor?"

"Didn't know that," Gabriel admits. "But also just one more bit of proof that the more technology seems to make you better, the more vulnerable you get. It's good to be boring and fly under the radar. That's how they say we mammals survived, right?" He offers a shrug, and then an apologetic shrug. "I can't spare any other weapons, my operatives will be fully loaded and I don't yet know where I'm going to be. But they're cheap, the little NG puff tasers. Or hell, a Neural Mace. I don't swing one because I'm a bit clumsy with 'em, but they work. Fifty-thousand people is just asking for trouble to begin with, and then fifty-thousand people at a fund-raising concert for refugees just doubles it."

"I was present the last time someone tried to have a public event, and it went with some idiot casting the strangest spell I've ever seen." He trails off, but continues. "I was thinking of, giving my ability to power energy weapons, trying to get one of those. It might be something useful to keep in mind for 'company gatherings' if it came to that. Non lethal, but works quite through armor." He nods, and shrugs. "I was hoping for one of the tasers. But, I can probably just as easily order one. I'm trying to find a decent slug thrower that wouldn't instantly atomize someone as well."

"Can't go wrong with a 1911," Gabriel opinions. "Or something more unique, if you have the need." He doesn't gesture to the long-barreled pistol on his leg, but it can't be missed. "Of course, most people who aren't atomized by things won't be hurt by things that don't atomize them. That's the bitch of it. I'll bring you in on the meeting, and we can see about how to fit you into security. If the young diva would allow it, of course." He chuckles. "Ego the size of the sun."

Bob seems to muse on that one some, as well. "I've been considering the idea of custom fabricating myself a weapon to deal with unique situations that my unique physiology can support." He doesn't elaborate much beyond that, leaning on the back of the chair. "I'd like that, I think. Basically, what I would enjoy doing the most is crowd floating in plain clothes and keeping an eye out for trouble beyond . . the obvious. I'm surprised you don't have a few plainclothes operatives anyway." He pauses. "Then again, I have no idea what your plans are -- and most performance artists do."

Gabriel smirks amicably. "Do any of us look like we're going to be marching around in heavy armor? Bo, probably. But Lisa? No. Jack, nope. Me? Oh no. I do my best when I'm in crowds. As long as I have some people in support - Arneé, perhaps you... then we'll do fine. The best security is the kind that you don't see."

Bob nods, taking this in. "Frankly, I suppose, I can't see you in heavy armor. Not really your style at all." A pause for a consideration, then he continues on. "Do you have a plan for it at this point in time, or are you looking to meet with the . . entertainer first and then figure it out? Does she have any security of her own?" That's Bob for you, thinking ahead.

"My office is the security arm, and no, I don't have the performance details save for the venue, expected numbers and that the women will be essentially naked. Which I don't approve of, but apparently that's the way it is." Gabriel gives a disappointed shrug. "I'll be going over it to put together a plan, I just wanted to see if you'd be interested in taking part, since you did well up in Minnesota."

Bob blinks, and peers. "Essentially naked?" He asks. "Literally, or . . . ?" He trails off, and seems on the cusp of saying something but ends up leaving it at that. "Anyway, I'm game. Let me know when to show up." One of his characteristic pauses. "I wish I could make it clear, I'd enjoy working for you full time, but I can't give up some of the perks that I have right now. Basically, the guy that hired me has disappeared and run off somewhere and it's just me there. So I kind of want to hold onto that, as it's my only real source of tools and the like."

Gabriel nods, not addressing the nudity issue. "I understand. Just... don't call yourself an employee, when you're not, okay? Anyway, it's going to be soon, about a week. You'll see some fliers and spots on the news. If there's going to be trouble, major trouble, it's going to come from Coalition supporters and gang supporters. The Family, specifically. Hard-core inter-dimensional travelers of some kind." He waves a hand toward the 'Dregs. "I gave up running the Ivory Lady because it meant making money for them."

Bob raises an eyebrow. "I did?" He queries, trying to think back. "The way I look at it, is that I'm a contract basis sort of person who helps out once and awhile. That's why I ended up saying don't pay me." He peers more. "-You- Ran the Ivory Lady?"

"For a very short time," Gabriel says, though quickly correcting himself. "I should say, I mostly rebuilt the Ivory Lady, and was going to be running it. Then the owners - the Family - came calling, I told them to go fuck themselves, took my remaining money and invested in this business. A much better plan, I think. The vampire I'd mentioned, she'd holed up in the place, and I had to root her out. Her own efforts during her months-long stay and mine to get rid of her caused some damage. I thought that I'd raise it to something classy, but it wasn't meant to be. Besides? I like this work a lot better than running a club that used to be a titty bar. Which is now even more of a titty bar than it originally was. It's fucking whorehouse now." If he would spit on his own floor, he would.

"I was going to say . . " Bob begins. "That, thus far, you seem to be relatively free of the driving need for sexuality that seems to characterize humans. It's not an appealing trait, viewed from outside I'm afraid. It has it's place, but I am bemused sometimes at a species that seems mostly driven by it in it's various forms." He listens, and hmms. "Sold it to it's current owner, then?"

"No, didn't sell it. Just... recommended a friend who would be a good owner. Just because I wasn't going to do it didn't mean that I couldn't do a favor for a friend who was otherwise living out of a rusted van and selling whittling up at the Merchant's Plaza." Gabriel waves north. "But, I haven't spent a dime in the 'Dregs since then. I had a potentially lucrative contract to escort people to the club, but told 'em to shove it. None of my money, time and effort will go to organized crime." Then, a warm smile breaks across his face. "Sexuality... people talk about it a lot more openly than in my time. You want to go for a little hike?" He chuckles, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, I don't mean that the way it sounded. A literal hike, to show you something."

Bob rises from his chair and gestures to Gabriel to lead on. He doesn't breathe, get tired or get sore, so it's not like he's going to say no. "It certainly seems somewhat . . uncouth and unreserved. There are some like that among my kind, but for most -- it is rather private. As it should be." He leaves it at that, musing. "Does your friend end up palling around with the unsavory types, then? Does that bother you?" It's a somewhat loaded question, really. "Anyway, mere curiosities. I understand as well. The money isn't worth it if it's tainted."

"Of course it does," Gabriel says. "I'd hoped that he'd follow in my intended footsteps, but he chose to make it seedier than it had been. But that in the end is my ultimate failing to properly judge character. If I had it to do over? I don't know what I would do. I did a good thing by doing something for a friend. I did a poor thing, by putting such a ruthlessly efficient smut peddler in a position to make himself and his employers rich. C'mon, let's grab the car, stop at the gates for a weapon, and I'll take you on a trip." With that, he walks over and starts to shut down the office - finally. It's certainly dark enough out and the clock has run hours past closing. A pistol, a large NTI model and a pair of swords are affixed at his side while he waits for Bob.

Bob seems to be not that bothered by either Gabriel's story or his reaching for a weapon. "Well, the question is, is he catering to the lowest common denominator or is he really that filthy himself?" He picks up a sack he'd dropped by the door, and slips it onto his back at this point. What is in it will remain unknown for now, though he does lift his jacket slightly to show Gabriel the butt of a heavy pistol of some kind. It doesn't take him more than a few seconds. "Anyplace in particular?"

WILDERNESS - SMALL CAMP

"Follow me," Gabriel says - though he actually sweeps an arm toward the door which for a while would technically make him the follower. As Bob exists, the last of the lights are turned off and the various door locks secured. Some idle conversation takes the pair around back to where a gloss-black Diplodicus with a yellow spade logo on the front doors is waiting. A quick stop at the gates sees Gabriel remove a simple - if heavily modified - wilderness rifle to put in the back, where his Crusader armor is already waiting. The huge NTI engine fires up again, and half an hour later, after some careful driving down an increasingly narrow game trail, Gabriel has to pull to a halt, unable to pass any further west in the enormous 'car'. He exits with the rifle and slaps a crossing bandoleer over his torso, lined with grenades and energy clips before pressing south. It's at a point two-hundred feet off the road that he slows to a near crawl and reverently pulls the brush aside to reveal the small clearing. He steps in and says quietly, "I lived out here for a year before I felt at peace enough with this world to move inside the walls."

Far, far off the game trail is a dense thicket; a nearly solid wall of trees, vines, thorny bushes and grass opens into a hemispherical clearing complete with wildflowers and low grass. A stream flows along the opposite side, stocked with various aquatic food sources. The clearing is about twenty yards end to end at the most. There are overhanging branches, but mostly it is just free to the open sky. Actually breaking through into this clearing is nearly impossible, with nothing visible from the game trail to even draw interest in the first place.

This area seems to be almost entirely a shrine. A grave of perfect dimensions, perfect adornment and by other intangible cues, emanating the strongest feelings of respect, honor, sorrow, but above all, a love so deep that most people in this world never even begin to experience such a thing for themselves. A true connection of souls, one that even through death remains intact.

The cross at the head of the grave, a simple wooden affair has been inscribed with some kind of blade to read, "Natasha Alina Sollomovici Blaze. If a woman has ever been perfection, it is she." Further down on the vertical support are the numbers, "1924" and "1959." An unusual straight blade, polished to a mirror finish and obviously maintained that way lays across the long axis as one might see at the tomb of a Knight Templar. The state of the clearing and grave indicate that someone undoubtedly comes by regularly and often to maintain it in this pristine state.

Bob makes no complaint that he is heading for the wilderness. At the gates, he too, draws forth a sleek flat-black looking weapon that Gabriel will recall that he did not have before and slings it over his shoulder. In the truck ride there, he takes the device out of his pack -- a little square plate of armor with three slots in it and two gun barrels on either side. Placing it on his forearm he seems to concentrate for a moment and then it slowly becomes part of him. At least so far as one can see. Not that he expects trouble but one can never be too careful. "I wouldn't have called this a car." Is all he says. Like a 6X6 can really count as a car. But when the other exits, so does Bob, locking the door behind him and following along. His luminescent eyes immediately go to the grave, though he doesn't ask about it. The other will tell him when and if he wants to. It doesn't stop him from asking one question though. "Going to tell me where you're originally from, then?"

Gabriel doesn't say anything, just takes a knee near the grave, one hand at the top end of the grave near the base of the cross. His open palm remains there for a while. He doesn't nod his head low, he doesn't close his eyes. Just looks at the general area of where his hand had been placed. After a short while, it is removed, after a loving pat, and a small piece of cloth is pulled from a pocket. As is a small photograph, which he hands over to Bob. The cloth goes to work cleaning the blade. "You know what the calendar date is, right, Bob?"

Bob lets Gabriel have his moment with the gravestone, reminiscing himself for a brief time. Truth is, he hasn't allowed himself to think much about how he arrived here and the truth is a bit uncomfortable. Then, he is spoken to. For a split second, the metallic individual looks mildly embarrassed. It's just a flicker, though. "If you'll forgive me, no, I do not. We use a galactic standard calendar and time, not a planetary one." It makes sense for a species that is from elsewhere, though. His eyes wander over the picture. "Wife?" He asks, very quietly. It's a bold thing for him to suggest, if just because he nominally does not suggest other folks' business.

As Gabriel goes about cleaning the long blade with the small, gentle cloth, he nods to Bob's accurate guess. "Yes, my wife." He raises his right hand, to wiggle the ring finger a tad, where a simple silver band rests. "Which question would you rather know first, the one about where I'm from, or about my wife? Natasha." His hand moves as if to rest on the top of the mount again, but only for a moment as he goes to start brushing leaves and such away that have started to gather.

Bob eyes the photograph for a moment, studying it, looking at the people in it. He notices the differences in garb immediately, before he nods begins to speak. "I was never really comfortable asking questions about the business of others." Bob says, turning to look around once again. He partially steps away a bit, to bend and pick up some fallen branches and debris and move them towards the outside of the clearing. He always hated watching other people work while doing nothing. Never did feel right to him. "So why don't you just go ahead and tell me what you'd prefer to, first? I tend to be rather private myself, poking into other's past always struck me as being . . not fair. Why would I hide my own, and ask about that of others?"

As he goes about his work - assisted somewhat - Gabriel does a bit of deliberately emphasizing his Kentucky drawl. It's always there, and it's always noticeable - unless of course, he's faking his way into a Coalition prison in Minnesota, in which case he manages to make it disappear. But, he deliberately adds it anyway for effect. "I am from a country that does not exist except in my memory. I'm from east of here by a few hundred miles, in the mountains at a place that used to be called Kentucky, part of that country that had many smaller patchwork states. Now, here, look at my watch, see the date?" He raises an ancient military analog watch for inspection. The current year reads, '1962.' Obviously not the 109 PA that most are familiar with.

Bob avoids the actual headstone, as that is best left for Gabriel. It's a matter of preference and privacy, but there is much to be done around it. Odd that someone who claims to be mechanical is that respectful of the dead. Wouldn't they just be broken machines to him? "That would explain what I have been told. PA is post apocalypse, from what I am told. I assume that you are from well before the end times, then." There is a brief flash of sympathy across his face. "These things are . . not incredibly unusual in the galaxy, and it almost always ends poorly. Few people have the mental wherewithal to survive and adapt to their new situation." Bob studies the timepiece for a moment, before he goes back to his bushwhacking. Still listening though, obviously.

"Yes, well... I can't really speak much to that. There was Kentucky and my country, then there wasn't. I was an agent for my government, as was my wife, though she originated in a different country," Gabriel explains briefly. "I was aboard a ship, they ran an experiment, there was time travel and a lot of death involved. A story for another time. So I guess I was 'lucky' if you want to say that. I - we -" he nods to the grave "- skipped over the Apocalypse. So, depending on how you look at it, I'm either going on forty-three, or I'm a few hundred years old." Is that a hint of a smile? Yup.

"I'm not sure if I'd have called that lucky." Bob admits to Gabriel. "If it meant that you could have enjoyed the majority of your life the way that you wished to live it. Nobody chooses to live in these times, or in this place." This must be a statement that rings true for him, for his face is very serious -- so much that he forgets to smile in response to the other's comment about his age. "I'm sure you've wrestled with that a lot, though. If you'd rather be there, than here. I'm sorry, Gabriel. It sounds like perhaps there was a better place for you -- though you've done well here."

"I've done what I can here," Gabriel acknowledges, not quite a glowing report of his accomplishments nor a negative one either. "Natasha and all the others gave their lives in the line of doing what was right. Just she and I were obviously of a different relationship." He takes the photograph back, and draws the long blade from its dull black leather sheath. It is laid out next to the one on the grave mound. They're distinctly different, but obviously similar. "I had one of those blades when I arrived here. Now, I only have this one. But I come by and talk to her regularly. Our place was a much better place, even with the wars and threats that we had. It's been difficult for me here, sometimes. There are things that I need to make a judgment on that didn't even exist in the world whose morals I know very well. I've managed to make more enemies than friends, I think sometimes. I guess you appear stranded here as well."

Bob seems hesitant for a moment. "I'm not sure that I should talk about my past." He admits. "I prefer to be judged on the good that I do, not the wrongs that I've made in the past. I am stranded here though, you've got me on that. I was in the progress of attempting to right that wrong when I ended up here." His head turns, glancing towards the gravestone. "I've found that any where that you introduce high technology, morality tends to suffer very quickly. I speak this, ironically, as a product of technology, one might say. It is a tendency in society that others end up failing to take consequence for their actions. I think it is because with technology, usually comes methods of communication that involve anonymity, or the trend to not be responsible for your actions and words. It is not so bad in some ways here, as everyone is armed . . but your friend at the Lady Luck will probably demonstrate well that morality is failing. Simpler lives with more concern about survival and what needs to be done for good seem to be a better product."

Gabriel nods, and resheathes his similar-but-different blade. "Yes, well. Most people are out for themselves, even the nice people. I won't say that society hasn't always had people like that, but this world is wrong. It's 'one for one and one for one,' to misquote the Dumas. My enemies? Surround me. My friends? Are few. People who are indifferent? Many, as long as I pump money into their wallets." He then stops and kneels down again to kiss the grave mound near the head and whisper some words.

Bob turns is back to let Gabriel have his moment. It's a politeness thing, really. When he looks back, he continues. "I'm not sure if you can really let yourself afford to have friends at this point, as unfortunate as that is, because any potential friend is a potential Coalition agent out to stab you in the neck." He is alluding to the conversation of earlier. "It's kind of a pity, really. It seems to me better chances of survival in a tough environment would come with staying together. But there are degenerates everywhere, I suppose. Just . . highly concentrated here." He considers, and then adds. "My wife, as far as I'm concerned, by the way, is dead. It is a long story. Please do not think that I am being inconsiderate. I had a family once, as well. I suppose I haven't really stopped moving long enough to deal with it, yet."

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Gabriel says with a nod to Bob. "Your family. But yes, friends are hard to find. I took in a young girl, and a few months later was shooting her to throw her off my trail while I moved somewhere else, temporarily. I have one friend now, who has been here since I arrived and always been a friend, a safe friend, someone I know I can trust. Sage. You recall her from Minnesota?" He steps forward and pushes the brush aside so that Bob can start the walk back toward the Diplodicus. "Hang on." Bob says, taking a seat on a stump. "If you have a minute, I'm not done yet." He scratches his head. "Do you know what Juicer Augmentation is, here? The fundamentals of how it works? It is a terrible process, but." He raises both eyebrows about the girl, but does not comment on it beyond that. "I do." He adds.

Gabriel stops, still holding the tall grasses aside. "I know that they pump drugs into your system that somehow make your body react like a shot of adrenaline. Sorry, my specialty was never biology or medicine. I've known two Juicers here. They were both assholes, and died because they thought that their drugs were more powerful than common sense. Why do you ask?"

"Well." Bob says. "I told you that I was a robotics scientist, but was never more specific than that. The truth is, I worked for an organization at the time called the Trans-Galactic Empire. Something that I was blind to, in regards to their evils. I had to learn that the hard way. Anyway, Juicer Augmentation works by using drugs to supercharge the systems of an organic body. We are powered by a fusion reactor and composed mainly of nanites -- small microscopic robots like your own cells and I reasoned that there was probably a way to boost power generation and thus, strength and durability in order to create a better soldier." There is sort of a faraway look in his eyes, while he talks. Musing. He comments not about the assholes. "I had almost finished it, when the TGE, as we call them, came to the science space station I was working on and threatened to terminate the project unless some results were shown immediately. I'd have had none of it, but my wife went behind my back to volunteer for the procedure. She was a security soldier at the time. It worked. Beautifully, actually. You think that I'm strong, and durable . . there was nothing that could touch her. For a while, it went perfectly, until she began to display some signs of -- surprise, I imagine you are thinking -- megalomania, and paranoia." He pauses, for a moment; glancing towards the other from where he is now seated on a pine tree stump.

Gabriel is quiet, not saying anything, just listening. He allows the grass door to close again, but otherwise doesn't bother to interrupt the story.

Bob continues. "It got worse. Megalomania and paranoia graduated into outright narcissism and sadism. One day, she shot me in the face and took our two children on a flight halfway across the galaxy." He rubs the top of his head. "Fortunately, we regenerate. To make a long story short, I chased her across half a dozen planets and finally caught up with her only to have the TGE capture her in the middle of our . . disagreement. That was supposed to be the end of it. It was televised that unable to do anything to cure her, they put her to death." His voice is quiet, very monotone. "Barbaric, really. But that is how the Trans-Galactic Empire operates. That was the first clue I had no place there. Time went on. I'd lost my children and my wife, but I got back on my feet." He pauses. "I might add she bombed the entire space station before she left, but that is neither here nor there. I ended up working for a firm that designed power armor, met someone and . . conceived again. A couple of years later, my first wife showed up, madder than hell. Turns out they didn't put her to death, they stuck her in some laboratory and poked her with things to try and figure out what I'd done to make her who she was. She shot me in the face again, shot my mate, shot everyone and burned the place to the ground. I probably shouldn't have regenerated, but I did. That's why I can't remember half of the next while. From what I understand, I kind of lost it. I tracked her across half the galaxy again, had to learn a few things to do it. Learned how to use military grade weaponry. Learned to use a few gifts that I have to their best effect. I was obsessed with the idea of catching her, to either redeem her -- to turn this thing off that I'd done to her -- or kill her, because she can't be allowed to hurt anyone else." He pauses again, studying the ground; the night sky reflected in his silvery skin. "So, I caught her one day and the TGE came along. I saw plasma weapons turn her into a molten puddle. Just . . a little silvery pond. Nothing else. The TGE hailed me as a hero, a scientist that took care of his own business. Gave me a cushy research job. But I couldn't do it. It wasn't the same. Felt -- still feel like something was missing. Turns out, I've got some rough spots of circuitry from that head shot." He shrugs once more. "Anyway . . so one day I got a letter from her a couple of years later. I'd seen her turned into a puddle, and buried right where they killed her. But I got a letter from her. It said that she wanted to be fixed, that she wanted that ugly thing taken out of her. That she was sorry for what she had done and wanted my help." He turns, and looks at Gabriel; verdant eyes a little dim. "And do you know what I did?"

"Ended her suffering?" is Gabriel's only quiet guess.

Bob shakes his head. "I probably should have, while I had the chance. I'm not even sure she can be killed now. She regenerated with a destroyed fusion core -- that should be impossible. Anyway, even stupider? After all that she did? I took her at face value. Went well armed, but . . she jumped me right away. Said I was responsible for who she was, everything that they'd done to her in that laboratory the second time, everything that she'd suffered. We had it out, and I forced her away from her landing site. Disabled her shuttle. Then we had it out again and she disabled mine. Last thing I remember was a pretty blurry hand to hand that I was getting the worst of by far, and tumbling through a rift. Ended up west of here." He shrugs. "So . . she's still out there, somewhere. Probably here on Earth, and probably looking for me. And if she finds me, it's not going to be pleasant for anyone. There's nothing left of who she was. She was a loving, caring person. A good mother. Now, there's nothing there but a sadist. I can't fix her, and if she comes around again, I have to put her down." He pauses, a long time this time. "All I can really tell myself is that it wasn't my fault, she went behind my back, and that the good person she was died a long, long time ago." His head comes up. "That's why, I prefer to be judged by who I am, not who I was. If that makes sense to you." He tilts his head. "I'm not even sure why I tell you, maybe half that you shared your own story, half, someone ought to know, in case she really does find me."

Gabriel nods briefly. Then quietly, "She is gone, you know. A casualty of war not of your own making, that needs to be rectified. Not that you don't know that already, and not that I wouldn't have done the same 'foolish' things. But I appreciate your telling me your story. I'd tell you mine, if you were of the mind to listen to an old man. But, it certainly begins with us being very different, and you being far smarter than I." He glances over to where two trees come together in a 'Y', wondering if he's going to be leaving, or talking.

"At the very least." He says. "It's engendered a distaste in me for augmentation. Seems nothing good comes from believing that you aren’t enough. I think you're right, though. She was gone from the moment the procedure was finished." He considers a bit more. "I also live in fear that the TGE is going to find my research data. The facility in which I worked, initially, was destroyed. The chances of it are near impossible . . but someday, I want . . . no, need to go back to the remains and see. I could not have on my conscience the idea that more abominations were being created. I just feel that I was foolish in not seeing the truth sooner." He settles back on his stump. "I've talked a lot. Perhaps you should, too."

Smiling, Gabriel fades back to the 'Y,' idly commenting, "I've got a very unique hammock and slung here for a year. Very comfortable and close to family. As far as galaxies go? I'm educated enough to be very good at what I do, but I'm not a scientist. I don't know much about galaxies, or nuclear power. Though I was around when they detonated the Bombs, both A- and H-." He becomes somewhat oddly serious when he points a finger at Bob to say, "Dropping the two on the Japs was the best thing they ever did in the history of warfare. Saved millions of lives on both sides. As far as your past? Well, I guess it catches up to all of us, eventually. Even me, right now. Which is, I suppose, part of my own story." With that comment, he bounces off the tree and moves to what was obviously an old fire pit, removing some simple gear of his own. It doesn't take long before the first sparks of a small fire begin to burn.

"I heard the humanity was one of the fastest races to develop atomic weapons." He says, scratching the back of his neck. "Not that it means anything, but most other races have a much higher comparative tech level and begin to consider the idea of exploring the stars and launching craft before trying to harness atomic energy. Just another thing that makes humanity unique, I suppose." He considers, listening a moment more. "How long do you live, by the way?"

Gabriel states first, "We were reaching for the stars decades before they cracked the atom. Solid fuel, liquid fuel... It was just that the first large-scale introduction of one or the other happened to be the bomb. But not by many years." Apparently it's an important clarification to him. "Um... according to the Bible, a man named Methuselah lived to be nine-hundred and sixty-nine years old. One year being... around the sun once. Just in case your calendar is different. But, as I was taught?" He offers a... strange... shrug, and says in what can only be part of a repetitively-learned phrase, "The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away."

Bob doesn't argue with Gabriel. Gabriel knows human history a good deal better than Bob, after all. Though . . he frowns at what the other person says, and a blank look is on his face. "That . . means fairly little to me." He explains.

Gabriel chuckles. "It means about seventy or eighty. Just some people like to use more colorful language."

Bob nods; taking that in and gestures. "I'm sorry, I interrupted you." He says. "Why don't you keep going with your story?"

As the fire starts to burn just a little warmer, Gabriel sits back on his haunches, holding his hands out toward the flames. "Okay. You saw my watch. I'm forty-three. If I'd been born a few *minutes* earlier, I'd be Polish. Instead, I'm an American. Not North American, not South American... American. It's a country and an ideal, not a place. My parents were Polish, as in, born and raised in Poland - which is in Europe, which is a continent thousands of miles east and across a huge ocean. Much different at the time, obviously. Mom got a great education and lived rich, Dad couldn't even read. They fled here after years of Dad being conscripted on the Eastern Front of the Great War. Moved to Kentucky, Dad became a coal miner in Hazard, Mom kept the home." He pauses. "There wasn't much in the way of education for me. The nuns taught the youngest of us, numbers and letters, a little history and such. Beyond that, people became.. coal miners, usually. Dad taught me to hunt as a necessity, not a sport. But, keep in mind, that was 1918 when I was born. The Great Depression hit a few years after that, which meant a rough life for most everyone." He stops for a moment to address the fire and some well-placed rocks to get cinders from flying out.

Bob listens during this, paying attention to what Gabriel says. He's largely silent, though does poke at the fire a couple of times, adjusting piece soft wood with his bare hands. "Nuns?" He ends up asking. "I'm sorry, Gabriel. You'll have to remember, I'm from an alien planet." Bob adds. "Though you're doing a good job of clarifying, so far."

"Nuns. Women who help keep a religion. 'The Brides of Christ' if you want the flowery term," Gabriel says. "But anyway, not to belabor the point. I didn't get much of an education, because when I was eight, there just wasn't time for another mouth to be around - me - that wasn't bringing in money. Hazard's women had their gardens, and everybody had a cow and a few chickens, and the men hunted when they weren't working. But it wasn't enough. No body in the world had money. So... I found a job twenty miles away at a garbage facility. Guy gave me an ancient .22 Henry repeater and gave me a dime a day to keep the rat population down. I guess that's why I became a decent shot. When I was twelve, I was in town helping out with some of the smaller kids, and killed three men who tried to take some of the girls. After that I did what I could to find work. I'd already met my wife, but of course you don't get married when you're that young. You get married when you're sixteen, which is what Sarah and I did." Sure, he might gloss over the whole 'killed three guys' part, but the story seems accurate enough so far.

Bob listens some more politely -- even though he's wondering what a cow and a chicken are. But he nods at the explanation of who nuns are. He can understand the idea of a female priest fairly well. He makes another observation though, quietly once the other is done. "Many cultures would find sixteen marrying young, too."

Gabriel shrugs at that. "Sixteen? That was pretty normal for the time and place. Go into the cities and sure, it was different. But we weren't strange, we were quite normal. Particularly for a mainly-Polish small town in Kentucky. Honestly though, sixteen was normal. Lots of people started to marry at sixteen. But, that's already been said." He rolls a rock closer to the edge of the fire. "So let me see if I can speed ahead... that was '34, obviously. Sarah was pregnant very soon, and I had to go down to to the Daniel's distillery in Tennessee for work. Triplets," he chuckles. "Need money, even when the town was helping to raise them. Then? That's when Europe started to go bad again. A man named Adolf Hitler took charge of a country called Germany. I guess there's still a Germany, but it's not the same thing. Europe," he clarifies. "At the end of '38, I saw that my family was in danger. Dad had died of Black Lung, Mom was going, basically.. because she couldn't live without him. I thought that I saw a war coming, and figured the best way to protect my new family was to join up. Paid better, too. But, the Army wasn't interested, and neither was the Navy, because they didn't think there'd be a war. But the Marines needed people; so I enlisted. Camp Lejeune. Lovely place." One might taste the irony in his tone. "I did very well, is the summary. I was a full Marine when Hitler and Stalin invaded Poland in '39. And... while my own country continued to pretend that it didn't matter. Sorry, boring you yet, Bob?"