I am certain that you bear a particularly extensive file upon me, Admiral, although hopefully nothing so overtly extensive as to cause clandestine disquiet.
Firstly, as an attendant to the Baffin apocalyptia yesterday I can state quite succinctly that no frittering, palsied attempt by either representatives of the Temporary Autonomous Zoners, nor any other incretinating vassal of the Discordian blaspheme, nor any other Francophobic sycophant will hold truck in the grand scheme of harliquinism and badger-baiting that happens to be presently occurring.
All the following facts are not subject to dispute; both the Commonwealth, Junker Marauders, a myriad of independent Zoners, the Ingennus Research Group, the Order Overwatch and the blasted, gung-ho offspring of the Collonial Republic and any of the assorted animals they mate with… *breathes* …along with both the Contari Lance and some additional Maltese new-kid-on-the-block all have considerable, damming guncamera footage of your imbecility. So go on now; question the validity of my statements. I (and my Reaver budget) dare you to do so.”
The Vacational Sawbones Wrote:…but I am chief medical officer…
“Hubris. Filthy, rotten, hubris.”
“Unfortunately my vacationally monikered Doctor, as a human medical professional, permit myself to bear an… extensive degree of cynicism towards your actual personal knowledge on the matter of the Persephone’s infection. Firstly, as a Discordian, it is an inevitability that you would actively seek to support the organisation that you were once a leading element of the command structure of. A figurehead, further, which had direct access to the Persephone’s internals for an… exceptionally prolonged period of self-diagnosis. Pray; how proficient is your aptitude at self-diagnostics? If your opinion was to hold any sway at all within the impending reckoning, then would it not work in your interest, Doctor, to willingly and unrestrainedly submit yourself to the long arm of the Overwatch for all manner of… hm, speculation redacting invasive medical procedures, then we would be entirely welcome.
Essentially; you are not an xenobiologist, nor are you a stellar architect, nor an engineer. You cannot make structural comments about the nature of the Persephone’s…. less tactful… modifications without incurring the ire of those observing you. Laymen should do something of use other than fiddle with the work of the professionals.
I am a man who has had every manner of K’haran bioform up to a Marduk Guardian buzz within a threateningly intimate distance of my resident arcology, with nary a fly swatter to oppose them with.
Tell me ami’s. You who think yourselves so competent at gauging who is infected, and who is not? Have you ever actually had any intimate, personal dialogues with an infected person? Have you ever observed an infected ship?
I have. Five of them. Three of them on recurring occasions. One of them so outrageously lovecraftian I will bear no further mention of it.
Another point for incredulity is that the…. Supposedly ethical… Doctor Holiday cannot state the manner in which the TAZ acquired the ship in question. He does not state the functionality of such a craft, nor justify the very purpose of the craft at all. One does not nonechallently dismiss an electromagnetic hardfield of so evidently K’haran construction with mere blasé ignorance – to do so is but the act of a spoilt, petulant infant; ignorant of the associated friction points of placing his docile, pliable head against the blade of the angle grinder his parents have been so lovingly inspired to provide for his Michaelmas.
To be appropriately brusque whilst scathing the living merde out of your voicebox, Holiday; your profession is zero evidence of the innocence of either you or your comrades, your manners are illogical and smarmy, you are outgoingly (and outrageously) dismissive in the visage of what could rapidly escalate into a pan-sector war without limit nor restriction. Blood will be spilt from their host arteries all because you, noble humanitarian, directly lied.
But I will not argue with you. History will record your failing as it will your fate. After all, the victor is invariably the one holding the pen.
Doc the Irrepressible Wrote:…I have spent a good deal of time researching Nomads for scientific and medical purposes…
*Crunches a particularly undiscordant apple. Loudly.*
“…My good Doctor, exactly how eager are you to wedge your head in the guillotine?”
“…I do hope the Admiral here is taking notes…”
“…Egad man; I admire you. You actually had the testicles to admit to the very face of the Inquisition that you have been utilising K’hara xenobiomass for human medical experiments. And you, the most renowned humanitarian in the sector, too. Perhaps that makes you the most renowned traitor in the sector, too, no?”
Doc, destroyer of worlds Wrote:…I have piles of research that I've done and it will remain confidential…
“…Not when a platoon of rapacious Order Commandos have rampaged through your study, it won’t…”
“…Pray, what exactly do you plan on fighting them off with; your scalpel? A rolled up medical certificate?”
Doctor death Wrote:…I have piles of research…
*Laconically*“My dear Doctor, I am not surprised. You clearly have had a – considerably – ah, how do I put it; more “intimate” contact with the Nomad race than the rest of us do. Remind me never to invite you to social events; I desire my guests unmolested, as opposed to brainless servants of a xenophobic sub-race, say.”
Doc destitute Wrote:…it will remain confidential.
“Ami, I am not surprised that whatever master you have currently clamped to your spine would wish to keep the depths of your brain rather… hush hush, as it were.”
“…A short vivisection will solve that particular malady, I am sure.”
“You conclude that I raise the stakes? Not so. Your organisation deemed fit to initiate a conference (as indeed; did the hosts of the previous Baffinite bastardry of a seminar), with the purpose of rallying some… pithy banner… some tokenistic violence, against the Gallic Crown. Oho; do I presume too much, Sir, do I truly?
I know my enemy.
I have held the displeasure of being a citizen of this… sordid sector… for three years. Three years of living in the sweat and filth of the lower, democratic regions instead of within the plush dignity of the Gallic region. I am stranded in the nethers of barbarianism.
I have encountered officers of the Bretonian Armed Forces more overtly conversational, less xenophobic, more open to reason, than Popes Wyrdmake the wicked and Brettonias the Bloody Awful. Rackham has served me a round of Cerberus cannons, although to his credit, he did make a dedicated aim at stoppering up the frothy-mouthed Skarzi following the somewhat… bombastically ridiculous tone of our first encounter. To be succinct; every occasion when I have ever happened to chance an interaction with your primary representatives, all I have ever received from the TAZ have been threats and violence.
An eye for an eye blinds all. You have been taking an excruciatingly libertarian quantity of my eyes, Discordians, with absolutely no return penalisations what so ever. We have attempted to co-operate with you. We have held meetings with you, quaint, near-pointless visits to Baffin, in addition. We have tolerated you, endured you, fawned towards you and purchased your fowl, biologically parasitic scrubbies for all the merde that they’ve proved useful for. In short, you have taken our eyes, used the resulting skull holes as sexual implements, stabbed at them for a while, then just thrown the bloody, desiccated remains down a manhole and left it to rot in the proverbial."
THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's Shipping Unions, retired from a life of piracy.)