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Trebuchet's Log, April 28 2103
I have recieved word that a subterranean explosion had been detected in the Hellas cavern complex. I've ordered the NIMF diverted from the milk run to the Sergeant Pepper to bring a trained paramedic over to the new colonists' base to pick up any people they might have who can help in a rescue operation. If nothing else we will at least recover their bodies. I'm leaving the TempleBar in the hands of one of the waitresses and leading another relief team in our beer-can shaped rovers. We had a surprising number of volunteers for this mission...
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Mission Commander's Log, April 30, 2103:
Well this is just lovely. I came home from a local excursion only to find the base totally trashed, many of our infrastructure personell either killed, captured, or scared into hiding in rabbit lockers. The rabbits are acting funny, too, oddly enough.
Clearly base security alone is not enough. We need to go out and find what in the net these guys want and how to turn them in our favor. Tomorrow I'm taking the long-range rover up to the Chryse radio source, with no weapons. Our sources indicate that the locals appriciate pacifism and openess. It's a calculated gamble, yes, but from where I sit it seems to be the last option.
-Lt. Col. Tiffany Barkley
A mind is like a parachute- it works best when open.
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Trebuchet's Log, May 1, 2103
The first traffic accident on Mars has occured today, as we unexpectedly ran into one of the rovers that the new colonists had sent north when navigating the canyons. What are the odds that such a thing would happen? Luckily, no one was killed, and the rovers are only mildly damaged, but I can't believe they have the gall to accuse us of being drunk just because we painted our rovers to look like beer cans.
In any case, this "Colonel Barkley" seems reasonably peaceful enough, although with our only standards of comparison being Lord Vlork's cultists our perception might be a bit skewed. In any case, we've decided to start trade talks here, since neither party is willing to leave a damaged rover behind.
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"Raise your glasses and drink of the Holy Spirits that you might feel the fire of the Most High in your bellies," the Prophet did say unto the people who had gathered in the cavernous great Olympian hall. "For too long have we tended to our own affairs while the worlds burned, the time has come to act for the betterment of all." And the people drank and rejoiced in the prospects.
"In a days time warriors of the faithful will enter the Hellas complex and meet with the Chryse colonists and their relief effort." The Prophet was not alone in questioning how much relief they would provide or what they would extract in return, but none spoke of such things as they pertain to heathens and Yu Knights. "And though the Third Legion may have somewhat downplayed their destructiveness at Von Braun and our relations with the newly arrived infidels show little signs of warming, we shall weather this adversity as we have those before." The Prophet had a vague recolletion of authorising field commanders to deploy nuclear weapons, but having drank of the Holy Spirits could not quite pin it down. Whatever the case, there were so many playing loose with the nukes that it made little difference either way.
And so it was that the faithful did prepare for the perils arrayed against them, and the Prophet did assure them of their continued success. "Do you realise it is now the year 2103? Most of you gathered here were born to this world, but I can recall in the lost depths of time when we first arrived. How is it that we have stayed alive this long?" The people did glance at one another, waiting for someone to end the awkward silence. "Faith, my friends, sustains us." Having imbibed of the liquors of the Most High none did question how it is that the heathens among the first colonists still lived, whether those who had suffered the most extreme mutations could yet be called human and retain souls, why they had mutated usefully rather than dying in a festering pool of their own vomited entrails, or that the Prophet himself was more machine now than man. But all these questions were glossed over, for faith did sustain them. That, and impending war on a planetary scale was something of a distraction.
Build a man a fire and he's warm for a day. Set a man on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life.
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Trebuchet's Log, May 2, 2103
Repairs have been made to the damaged rovers and the joint relief missions should arrive by nightfall.
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Mission Commander's Log, May 3, 2103
Today we began our negotiations with some character who calls himself "Trebuchet," the leader of the Chrysians. From what I can piece together they are the decendants of about a fourth what's left of the original colony's population. They reside in TempleBar and surrounding homesteads out on Chryse Planitia, with the remainder of the colony either living underground at Hellas Basin or throughout the Tharsis Region. Apparently those Tharsians are the ones to watch out for. The Tharsians are religious fanatics who follow a former leader of the Compassionate Fascism Movement who's given himself the title Lord Vlork. At least, that's Trebuchet's story.
The negotiations got off to a rocky start, as Treb insisted that we salvage Viking 1 (a stone's throw away from TempleBar) for parts to repair the rover. After I of course declined we got into a heated argument that continued until we finally agreed to give them the remainder of our unsalted pretzels in exchange for protection of the site in the future. And so the First Viking Peace Talks were underway.
Most important we agreed to create a united front against Lord Vlork's forces. Since Vlork was apparently the one launching most of the attacks against us (sattelite data seems to confirm this) I'm just fine with this clause, but I prefer to avoid agression at all costs. Hopefully he won't attack us and we won't attack him and everything will be just cherry, but my money's on him making an offensive within a month. We'll be ready.
In exchange for a significant construction force to augment and fortify Von Braun Station we have consented to share all technology. The plan is to create a much larger powerplant and iron refinery at TempleBar and revamp our diamond plant here at Von Braun. That way we'll have plenty of energy, lasers, and manpower when Vlork comes around. The Chrysians already are building a navy, and hopefully we'll be able to greatly increase their development in this area. We'll be ready for anyone who wants trouble.
More than anything else I would like to see a halt to all of this rather pointless agression. It really sucks to be stuck in the middle of all this, but hopefully if we can fend off Lord Vlork we can convince him not to mess with us and just leave us alone. At least now the guys back on Earth actually know what's going on over here. I really hope Mars is big enough for all of us, but I'm starting to wonder.
A mind is like a parachute- it works best when open.
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Trebuchet's Log, Addendum
Just making myself a note to build the ironworks someplace way the hell away from the TempleBar, perhaps in some godforsaken crater. Our main trade is entertainment, tourism (such as exists on Mars) and foodstuffs, don't need metalworking mucking the place up.
We now have a nonaggression pact with the newcomers and the old one with Lord Vlork. This will make us the Switzerland of Mars, neutral, rich, and... hmm, perhaps we're more like the Casablanca of Mars, given the boozy atmosphere and fights. The chanting cultists give it an Indiana Jones type atmosphere, though.
Hmm.
Reminder to self, see what sort of video equipment we have back in the TempleBar and think about filming a movie. Cheap export for earth means more money. Perhaps we could purchase some useful earth equipment, like a US Congressman or two.
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"The Chyrsians have formed a non-aggression pact with the Shenandoah infidels, who claim to want peaceful coexistence."
"Oh," the Prophet answered. "I guess everything's cool then. War off," to which the High Priestess of Olympus gave a skeptical glare. "Absolutely. And we'll have a few pints with the mutant rabbits and the Yu Knights will bring the chips! Do they really expect us to believe this obvious ploy to lull us into a false sense of security, that we'll sit here getting fat like rabbits waiting for the slaughter?"
"I suppose not," the Priestess answered.
"We must find the heathens still hiding in the Hellas caverns, reclamation and colonization of those lands is to begin with greatest haste. We will play the little game these Terrans are after for a time, but if they interfere with our efforts at Hellas we shall respond with terrible vengeance and furious anger against those who would attempt to poison and destroy our great works. Fortunately we have discovered ways of interfering with the control systems of their cybernetic abominations and the Chrysians are dutifully transferring all technology they receive via their newfound alliance with the infidels. Already we have incorporated it into a new generation of murderous killbot to spread life and the Word across the face of Mars."
"Shouldn't we at least consider the possibility they might be sincere?"
"We fell for that way back when the militias called for a constitutional convention and we know how that turned out. I need not remind you of the dark days of the Martian Republic and the scourge of Democritus, bringer of mediocrity. They are representatives of Earth governments. Need I say more?"
And so colonists did proceed to Hellas with more troops and killbots, and the factories did churn out bots of every make in use by the armies of the faithful, recon did continue over the Von Braun complex, the youth did continue to train as righteous warriors and defenders of the faith, and while the Prophet now knew that the eye of Olympus had not enough power in all of Mars to truly "break the world" the project went ahead anyway as labor and manufacturing were dirt cheap. If nothing else, they'd blow up Phobos after a few pints.
Build a man a fire and he's warm for a day. Set a man on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life.
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{{hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm}}
"How is she, Bones?"
"Not yet sure. I might be able to save her."
-pause-
"'MIGHT be able to save her'?? Bones, you've got to do better than that! She saved my life once, on the high and desolate Martian desert."
{{hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm}}
"Wasn't that the time Spock nearly shot himself in the foot with his own laser?"
-Nurse Chapel's jaw drops in astonishment. Looks to Kirk in disbelief-
{{Wommmpa...wommmpa...hmmmmmmm}}
"Doctor, her pulse is steadier now."
"Do everything you can for her, Nurse Chapel, Bones. Besides saving my life... (feels -- from a vast and uncertain distance -- a hand clenching mine) ...she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
"I'm doing all I can, Jim."
"Captain, we must ascertain foul play. Did the glo-rox really explode naturally or..." ???
"Yes. Get on it right away, will you Spock?"
"Yes Captain."
hmmmmmmmmmmm
We all know [i]those[/i] Venusians: Doing their hair in shock waves, smoking electrical coronas, wearing Van Allen belts and resting their tiny elbows on a Geiger counter...
--John Sladek (The New Apocrypha)
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Letters of the Prophet, 4:15
After a few pints, several shots and some conversation with the Priests over the great altar two things have become clear. First, a time of great bloodshed is approaching and while we may delay it, it cannot be averted and we must prepare. Second, too long have we sat content in our abodes. As our powers grew so too did our connection with the commoners and the Most High become clouded. The time has come when we all must face a great test to prove that we are worthy of the destiny that awaits us should we triumph and to meet this challenge we must again become attuned to the people of this world and the Almighty who created it.
So I've gone walkabout, the High Priestess is in charge until my return, she has my number should anything come up. Keep the faith and give 'em hell.
The Prophet.
PS. Consider a fourth leg on those new Martian death machines, the tripod gait looks a little awkward.
Edited By Cobra Commander on 1111196255
Build a man a fire and he's warm for a day. Set a man on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life.
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Voice of the narrator: A data archive has just been located, filled with Kirk-Spock fan fiction, of the nancy-boy variety. . .
Please continue as you all deem appropriate.
Give someone a sufficient [b][i]why[/i][/b] and they can endure just about any [b][i]how[/i][/b]
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Trebuchet's Log, May something-or-other, 2103
The rescue mission was a success, although inhaled glo-rox fragments apparently create bizzare ideations and hallucinations, like everything else on Mars. One of the Hellas colonists we rescued here believed that some of the rescue team medics were old Star Trek characters. I didn't even know we had Star Trek on Mars, though upon further reflection the TempleBar does pirate every TV channel known to man and a vigorous bootlegging industry that would be illegal if we had those pesky things called 'law' and 'government' around. Come to think of it, we never did get around to creating a government. I suppose the neccessary evil was more evil than it was neccessary after all.
It has turned out that glo-rox are a useful phosphorus ore, although that 'randomly explodes' problem is going to be a pain. The new colonists are conducting scientific tests to determine the exact trigger of glo-rox explosions. And my team has been conducting tests as well - someone released tilapia into the growing Hellas Sea and we've been trying different batter recipies to fry them.
Fish and chips for one and all! That way we don't have to listen to random screams of "rabbit eaters!"
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"Parting is such sweet sorrow"
...tosses a rose towards the slumbering figure...
"A rose by any other name could never be lovelier than you"
...tosses another rose towards the slumbering figure...
"Jim, don't you think you're getting a bit carried away?"
"Leave me be, Bones. So she's married and lives on Mars, in our recent past. She's still the loveliest woman in the galaxy, in my opinion."
??? "Captain, we can now commence with the transport back to her own time, to the Hellas Cave Complex on Mars. We'll also send her back to just before the glo-rox explosion."
Kirk wipes tear from eye, tosses another rose towards the slumbering figure.
"Was it truly an exploding glo-rox?"
{Spock, Uhura and McCoy exchange glances}
"No, Captain. It was a secret-agent robbit, disguised as a glo-rox, which was timed to explode. When she's beamed back down, we will remove the robbit at the same time." Uhura replied.
"Good. Beam her back down, then."
"Are you alright, Jim?" McCoy asked, clamping a hand on Kirk's left shoulder.
"No." Kirk replied miserably. "I'll never look at another woman as long as I live."
Hmmmmmmmmmmm....(Transporter hum)
We all know [i]those[/i] Venusians: Doing their hair in shock waves, smoking electrical coronas, wearing Van Allen belts and resting their tiny elbows on a Geiger counter...
--John Sladek (The New Apocrypha)
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Mission Commander's Log, May 6, 2103:
I think I've come up with a plan that's fool proof. Hopefully. Maybe.
Treb, the Chyrsians, and Lord Vlork's flock has had access to all of our technology data for some time now and it would appear that any edge we have over them has evaporated. However, what they didn't bet on is that I have exclusive access to highest-level security tech dvelopment documents. Nobody, not Gryphon, not Meadows, nobody knows this but me, which is pretty cool.
One of the key points on our negotiations with the Chyrsians was that our new digital doppler radar units are foolproof and incapable of error, they can detect anything. While that's true, it's incomplete. Back at MIT they've just finished the plans for a new prototype jamming system that can conceal something even from these instillations they've set up. I'm not quite sure I fully understand the technology behind it, but it has something to do with destructive interferance with the initial radar waves, and doing this without alerting the sensor of the presence of active cancelling. I had Meadows in engineering stereo-lith a few of the units for me, they're really quite innocuous looking unless you know what goes on inside one.
Tonight I'm going to assemble a team of a few negotiators and troops for our assault on Lord Vlork. He has far too much manpower for us to defeat him purely through burte force of course, but that's not what I'm trying to do. We'll sneak into his palace, surprise him, and have a nice friendly chat about a ceasefire. Going at the rover's maximum efficiency speed if we head out by 22:00 tonight we can reach his base by 8:00 tomorrow morning. If he balks, we upload a virus into the palace that kills all computer controls on everything. The LSS, the air conditioning, water purifiers, everything will go wacko on Vlork if he doesn't feel like cooperating. If things really get hairy we can always bug out and dissappear. At least, that's the plan...
-Lt. Col. Tiffany Barkley
In the crystal black darkness of a Martian night, the rover set out for the northwest. As the hours wore on it passed checkpoint after checkpoint and scores of killbots, all of which were as blind to the rover as human senses are to radiation. Slowly the Sun illuminated a layer of Cirrus clouds and the deep blue and teal colors of a Martian sunrise. The rover continued on at its breakneck pace, attempting to outrun the ability of the myriad sensors' detection. Finally, it reached its destination.
Lord Vlork's palace was a rather unflattering building considering the expectations one might have from its name. In essence it was a hut dug into the rim of the caldera of Olympus Mons, that archaic leviathan against which all other volcanoes in this star system are measured. The view was great, overlooking the former and possibly future shore of the Boreal Ocean to the north and the vast chasm of Olympus's caldera to the south, but the palace itself was unimpressive. A small, visitor's center look-alike sat at the ground floor of the palace, filled with stairs and elevators and rabbot sheds.
Under the cover of their radar cloak, the rover parked mere feet from the door of Vlork's palace. With military precision six suited astronauts piled out of the vehicle and flung open the door. Upon equalizing pressure, they bolted down the stairs, following the kindly-painted directions to the palace throne. Surprisingly barely anyone filled this top layer, and those who did paid no attention to anything at all, merely muttering unintelligable incantations.
Upon reaching the throne room, the team became aware of the power of Vlork. The room, an immense chamber rivaling that of the largest caves on Earth (indeed it was a former lava tube, a relic from the volcano's more youthful days), was filled with nearly the density of a Nazi rally of hooded priests and nuns chanting praises to Vlork. In an instant the team could have been swallowed up and eliminated by the crowd, but for Vlork's command to halt them.
Vlork, like his palace from the outside, was rather unimpressive. He was hunched over, wrinkled with age and barely coherant enough to utter a sentence, much less command the largest force on the planet (no offense :;): ). Upon viewing this sight the team marched forward to his throne, visors up to conceal their emotions and where they glanced. One of them, bearing a nametage "T.Barkley" bounced under the weak gravity directly to Lord Vlork's seat.
Abruptly the lead settler flipped up a golden visor, revealing the face of a woman in her mid thirties. She then went so far as to flip up the glass entirely, choosing to breathe the same air as that of Vlork and his flock. The astronaut pushed a lock of muddy-brown hair back, looked Vlork over with deep piercing emerald eyes and cleared her throat.
"Hi, the name's Tiffy Barkley."
She extended a gloved hand to the ancient dictator.
A mind is like a parachute- it works best when open.
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Trebuchet, having returned to the TempleBar after the emergency mission to Hellas, is too busy organizing a victory parade/party/kegger celebrating and commemerating those who rescued and helped their fellow Martians to catch wind of any incipient hostilities between the forces of Lord Vlork of Olympia and the Marineris Colony.
It would, in fact, not be until noonish the next day that the Chrysians monitoring the steady flow of radio transmissions, satellite data, and reports from TempleBar agents bothered to hand Trebuchet and other unofficial rulers of the Chrysian colony a report on the incident.
Which left the Chrysians in a serious conundrum: they had an old treaty of friendship with Lord Vlork, and a newer nonaggression pact with the Marineris colonists. Finally, after several shots of liquor, they reached a decision: They would not *attack* the new colony, per se, but they would hold an uninvited party on the base.
Not recognizing a crowd of drunk, but almost unarmed Martians as a threat, the automated robot guardians of the new colony did not put up a fight, and the skeleton detail overlooking the base couldn't keep out the mob of gate crashers.
Thus, for the second time, much damage was done to the main dome, although this time the airlocks were left intact and the life support system was undamaged. Still, several computers were down, graffiti and garbage was strewn everywhere, and base security was found unconscious, hung over, and with panties on their heads when the main force returned.
The Party Warriors had done their job.
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For several days now have I walked the plains, disguised as a humble pilgrim, albeit it one with a fine rebreathing apparatus, a katana and a plasma caster. I encountered a group of young pilgrims who's grasp of the Word is corrupted, they know not why the Most High commands we drink of his spirits, they merely do. Constantly. They even had the audacity to argue the finer points of the Commandments with me! I have much work to do it seems.
The High Priestess called, apparently the Shenandoah infidels tried to invade our lands, a bunch of robots saw them coming. Radar seemed to be on the fritz but it never really worked all that well to start with, never relied on it much. Anyway, they stormed into the old visitors center in the caldera and rather than fighting them the High Priestess just threw some robes onto the that crazy old man that's been wandering around Olympus for years. He told Colonel Barkley some story about Pyramids and faces at Cydonia and ancient Martians, nonsensical stuff. Then he wandered toward the East after they gave him a bottle of vodka and some rabbit jerky, muttering something about a place called Hoag Land. Old fool.
In few days I should reach Chryse, where I'll have a drink or two in the TempleBar just like in the old days and see what the locals are saying. From there, I don't know. Maybe down to Hellas, maybe even Shenandoah. I'll just have to have faith that the Most High will lead where I'm needed. And should war come, well, I've argued with the Priestess before. I pity any who face that fury when backed by nearly unlimited robot troops and nuclear weapons.
Build a man a fire and he's warm for a day. Set a man on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life.
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Pat reached out to grasp the glo-rox when it inexplicably vanished.
We stared, stunned, at the now-empty place where just seconds ago a glo-rox...glowed.
Robin, Lynn, Chris, Skylar, CJ, Pat and I exchanged flabberghasted looks.
Maybe there are unseen vapors and mists here, playing tricks on our minds I thought to myself.
"Shall we press onwards?" Skylar asked.
Stalactites and stalagmites glittered and sparkled, as though enrobed with crushed gems.
I nodded.
We continued.
A fork in the cave's tall corridor.
"Now what?" Lynn asked.
DJ had a gut instinct to go left, as did 3 other members of the party. It mattered not to me and we couldn't split up. So left it was.
Too soon we encountered a steep drop-off.
"Better get our climbing gear out." Chris said, already at work laying out ropes, clips and harnesses.
My palms began perspiring. This portion of the cave is ... humid.
Silver sparkles flashed faintly in the ground far below.
We all know [i]those[/i] Venusians: Doing their hair in shock waves, smoking electrical coronas, wearing Van Allen belts and resting their tiny elbows on a Geiger counter...
--John Sladek (The New Apocrypha)
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Slowly and carefully we lowered ourselves one by one onto the ledge many yards beneath the drop-off. Chris led the way. Robin next, I the 3rd to descend.
I hate climbing, whether up or down, and at one point felt as though hanging totally free; my feet, extended outward, touched nothing. I bit my lip and kept my cool.
So -humid- here.
Finally, all were safe on the long but narrow ledge below.
We are unsure of the texture of the ground beneath the ledge. Watery? Muddy? Solid? There -is- liquid further out, of that we've no doubt.
Our voices echo faintly off the oh-so-distant walls of this vast chamber, like the whisperings of ghosts which flit about the distant edges (of what exactly...?) to mock us.
"Time for supper." Robin jested, tossing power-veggie bars to each of us.
We settled down for a couple of welcomed bites and refreshing swigs of cool, crisp water.
Skylar chuckled apropos of nothing. Ignoring our curious glances a moment, Sky finished chewing and then swallowed a mouthful of bar before asking, "Remember that one cartoon TV show where a stick of gum was an entire meal? The first part of the stick was turkey and dressing, the middle section mashed potatoes and gravy with mixed veggies, and the last part of the stick was pumpkin pie with whipped cream?"
We all burst out laughing. Lynn began sputtering around a last bite of power bar, but got it down okay.
"The Jetsons, wasn't it?" DJ asked.
"Oh, don't talk about all that yummy food," I implored with a groan. The power bar was delicious, but no match for Thanksgiving dinner. :-\
We speculated about the true size of this expansive cavern, the most distant wall of which we could not see even with the strongest beam of light shined in its direction. We'd find out...on foot.
Our thin air mattresses ready, we each curled up for a good night's rest. Our thermal blankets keep us warm enough from the dank coolness.
And so we slumbered.
We all know [i]those[/i] Venusians: Doing their hair in shock waves, smoking electrical coronas, wearing Van Allen belts and resting their tiny elbows on a Geiger counter...
--John Sladek (The New Apocrypha)
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I picked up a transmission saying that Lord Vlork's people had issued a statement of non-belligerence then cut off communication with the outside world. As good a course as any, though who knows what contortions of the Word they'll devise with nothing to check them deep below the mountain. At least the mainstream media still believes I'm there, it makes travelling easier that way.
Met more pilgrims, older folks from the early days. They deduced that I'd come from Olympus and asked for any news from the Prophet, then gave me one of their rovers. Good people. Not much of a rover, but what can you do? At least the seats aren't vinyl, and is stocked with food. Nothing but rabbit burgers and Jagermeister, but not bad. I should reach the TempleBar by sunset. From there I'll determine whether to head toward Hellas or Von Braun. In the meantime, the rover is on automatic and I have much to ponder. Or perhaps just watch the moss-dotted red dirt scroll by out the window.
Build a man a fire and he's warm for a day. Set a man on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life.
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Trebuchet's Log, May 8, 2103
The force sent to fulfill, as best we could, our mutually incompatible treaty obligations have returned. I am authorizing a daylong 'Happy Hour' for the good of Mars, and am waiving the cover fee, although I suppose the Cult Of Vlork will continue to extract donations to the faith by holding people upside down by their ankles and shaking loose change.
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I arrived at the TempleBar to find that the cover had been waived, a pleasant surprise. As I'd hoped I was able to blend anonymously into the crowd of pilgrims, drunks and brigands, swilling whatever rotgut moonshine the bardroids handed out. Better still, last call never came. It seems robot bartenders and no law to speak of allows the place to operate continously. Still no salted peanuts though.
Almost no word from Hellas it seems, they're cavorting about in their caves blissfully unaware of the turmoil above them. Having never been much for cavorting I don't relish the idea of heading that way, but then I do have a fondness for dark underground lairs. The infidels at Von Braun are another matter, this Colonel Barkley seems to want a genuine peace agreement so that they can get on with their exploration rather than picking up one of the maps from the TempleBar or our own visitors center, damned uncourteous if nothing else. Gryphon on the other hand, harder to say. Very little was said about the builder of the cyborg abominations. I suppose I'll just have a few more drinks, eat a rabbit and maybe punch out a Yu Knight, then see which way I'm facing in the morning.
Build a man a fire and he's warm for a day. Set a man on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life.
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Trebuchet's Log, Addendum
I believe that Cobra has entered the bar incognito. I'm not quite certain I believe my eyes. He's pulling the old "Conneticut Yankee" routine, you know, where King Arthur and The Boss wander around unknown. I'm almost bored enough to see if it's really him and maybe follow him. The only thing preventing me from doing so is the likelihood of some sort of general war being the end result.
Still...
Ahh, some sort of war would undoubtedly break out anyways. I'll leave a lil' note for the staff to cover for me. I'm taking a rifle and a vacation.
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We overslept a few hours; DJ forgot to set the wristwatch alarm. No matter, we needed the additional rest.
While deflating and curling up my air mattress, received a communique from our comrades in Cave A. They've just returned from an in cognito journey to the surface of Mars. We've had an abundance of rabbit births, and trade was gotten: Rabbits for necessary supplies. They were assured the rabbits would not be used for food or for their pelts; rather as pets for Mars children.
They also reported that Trebuchet has opened a fish 'n chips restaurant. But, worried that they might be discovered, they reluctantly declined to enter and eat at the fish 'n chips restaurant.
I am unhappy with their little adventure top-side; they should have made their business deals and returned as swiftly as possible. No one -- not even the delusional, grandoise Lord Vlork -- knows of the two cave entrances we've used. They are camoflagued and secured. We certainly want to KEEP it that way.
We rolled up our provisions. DJ, Skylar and Chris shined lights around while the rest of us dangled our feet over the ledge. I cautiously pushed the toe of my boot onto the surface below.
Solid.
My boot came up with a squealching sound.
"Damp." Robin said.
Flashing a light downward revealed a smooth, damp ground with only my partial boot-print marring its otherwise pristine surface.
Flashing the light further out again revealed standing water; closer now, it seemed. Tide activity?
"We need a sounding stick. Lynn, do we have that retractable metal gauge?"
Lynn handed it to me. I'd take the lead, and use the RMG like a blind person's walking stick. We'd walk single-file in order to prevent anyone from falling into a water-covered pothole or sink hole, or just a general steep dip in the ground.
"All ready?" I called over my shoulder.
This cavern is so silent; the slightest movement is echoed. And despite being dark and clammy, the cavern is also...comforting.
We've heard reports that Lord Vlork may be interested in "visiting" our caves. Likely is simply yapping on his part, but if he decides to pay us a visit...we are ready.
We all know [i]those[/i] Venusians: Doing their hair in shock waves, smoking electrical coronas, wearing Van Allen belts and resting their tiny elbows on a Geiger counter...
--John Sladek (The New Apocrypha)
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It seems I had a rather substantial tab run up before we went to Olympus. Grudgingly I paid it off, as a representative of the Prophet, goodwill toward man and all that garbage. They then proceeded to put the rest of my drinks on the tab. Had I known that at the time I wouldn't have bought that round for the house "in honor of the Prophet, blessed be his name", so it looks like I still have a balance. Bugger.
That said and aversion to cavorting aside, I'm off to Hellas. Turns out there's a pilgramage to the coast of the Hellas Sea every spring, I'll just tag along with them for awhile. From what I hear they never actually get there, just get plastered somewhere near the equator and turn back. Not intentionally, they just pass out over the steering wheel, turning the rover roughly 180 degrees before sliding off onto the floor. I may have overdone that whole "Spirits of the Most High" thing.
I haven't the faintest idea what I'll do when I get there, but I am certain that a path will present itself. Either that or the ground penetrating radar will find a way. Whatever the case, I picked up some more ammo, rabbit jerky, both varieties of Kalashnikov common in these parts (rifles and vodka) and a new transmitter dish for the rover. Turns out those MADMEN I sent for all those years ago are still holding position, waiting for orders, with pieces of Europa. I think I've got an idea.
Build a man a fire and he's warm for a day. Set a man on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life.
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We carefully make our way across the expansive cavern floor. Our boots occasionally get stuck in the muddy floor.
"Geez, it's like concrete." Pat winced. Pat's right boot was stuck and no amount of pulling with the right leg would free it.
"Lift your foot entirely out of the boot," I instructed.
Headlights flashed around chaotically as we turned our attention on Pat's dilemma, who now stood with one hand on Chris's shoulder. Now steadied, Pat's foot came up from the boot as instructed. I grabbed the boot and pulled back on it with all my might. With a horrid squelching sound it popped free of the mud.
"Guess we'll have to deal with it." DJ yawned.
"Hey, I see a waterline mark on the cave wall to our right." Lynn announced while directing a magnified light on the wall.
We heard Pat grumble while trying to get the boot back on.
"Five feet?" Skylar whispered.
"What's the water purity?" I asked. We knew it was safe, free of toxins...but I had a few lingering doubts. And if the water in this place could get that high...
"Best guesstimate by what testing equipment we brought along: 95%." DJ replied. "Fit for human consumption."
"I wonder about the tides..." My voice drifted off.
We continued, then. My plan was to traverse the width of the cavern. Our instruments had detected an exit on the shadowy farthest cave wall. The RMG swished ahead of me. With every gentle tap-tap it seemed the cave's water-covered floor was solid and on an even level.
"Shhhh!" Robin hissed.
We froze. Then we all heard it.
"Do you hear that?" Robin whispered faintly; which, in this place, sounded as if almost spoken in a normal voice.
Yes. Running water. Seeming to be --?
The walls of the cavern, especially those closest by, seemed possessed of the most fragile gossamer glow. The barest green-gold seemed to illume the otherwise barren jet walls.
But from what? The continual shining of our lights? From the exhalations of our breath? A combination of both perhaps?
"Try not to lift your feet too high when you walk; keep your steps low to the ground and shuffled forward. Maybe that'll help keep our boots from sticking." I offered hopefully. "Let's go."
We trudged another 100 feet, hearing nothing but the sound of our breathing, our boots splashing against the water and the sound of a natural cascading spring from afar off when suddenly there was a cry behind me, to my left.
--Cindy
[http://web.ukonline.co.uk/jane.fonda/sc … Farrow.jpg]The leader of the HCC expedition. Well...I do look somewhat like Mia Farrow, despite the slight <ahem> age difference. :;): Hmmm...actually the age difference goes both ways -- in real life she's at least 22 years my senior, lol].
We all know [i]those[/i] Venusians: Doing their hair in shock waves, smoking electrical coronas, wearing Van Allen belts and resting their tiny elbows on a Geiger counter...
--John Sladek (The New Apocrypha)
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