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+--- Thread: A Tale from the Wilderness of Mirrors (/showthread.php?tid=72592)
A Tale from the Wilderness of Mirrors - DarthBindo - 01-15-2012
//Feel free to drop in. The main locations will be Freeport 1, Trafalgar Station and Newark Station. If you hae a good reason to be there, i'm not particularly picky.Keep in mind though this is my story. If I feel the direction you're attempting to lead it in doesn't suit, I'll get it back on track.
Quote:Espionage, for the most part, involves finding a person who knows something or has something that you can induce them secretly to give to you. That almost always involves a betrayal of trust.
-Aldrich Ames
Ian was drinking.
To be honest, he couldn't really remember the last time he had been sober.
He started early, with a dash (only a dash) of brandy his morning tea (Assam, as black and strong as you like it, with plenty of milk and sugar).
By the time he'd had a few glasses of gin and tonic with lunch, he was always well on his way to being well and truly black-out drunk.
It was the only way to get through the day, really.
One can live, for a time, langered up and ready to drop at a moment's notice; but for some, there simply is no living with the memories, with the lies and the deceit, the loss and the heartache.
It takes a certain type of man to pack up and leave whatever life he has at a moment's notice, at the slightest hint of trouble; more often than not, these men are not particularly well-adjusted.
They have troubled childhoods; tragics losses, great traumas in their past; they get by with a minimum of friends and attachments.
What few friends they do make get left behind; and the rest want to kill them.
There was a slight, almost inperceptible thud from somewhere belowdecks.
Ian sighed as he rose from the bar he'd had installed in a tiny corner of the weapon officer's quarters on his Barghest. He passed out from the small room into the main flight deck, pulling a pistol from his holster as he set the glass on the arm of the Captain's chair.
One. two. three.
He counted to himself as he vaulted down the stairwell, rolling across the gallery of the cargo bay into a recess behind a partition, gun up, tracking right to left as he eased ou-fzzt fzzt.
The powerful laser handgun made two almost impossibly quiet noises as the intruders dropped to the floor, one of them with a severed spinal cord at the C1 vertebrae ( almost instantly dead) and another with a rather largish and quite messy hole through his gut and out his back.
He cleared the rest of the deck slowly and carefully before returning to the mortally injured man, still barely clinging on to life as he gurgled blood.
"Who sent you."
It was neither question nor inqusitive, but an iron-hard imperative, ordering the man to tell him.
He only gurgled up more blood even as he tried to speak.
Holmes grimaced. No use left for this one.
He looked into the man's eyes as he stood up.
"Don't worry. I'll help you."
He dropped, all 200 pounds of his mass centering itself on his left knee, itself centered on the man's chest.
There was a horrible cracking sound, and then the gurgling stopped.
---------------------------------------------------------
Ian had only just finished cleaning up the mess when the other two members of his crew arrived.
He smiled cheerfully at them as they came up the rampway, fresh from leave on Canaria.
"Hurry up, girls. We've got five minutes till we clear atmo. We've got places to be, people to see."
Life as a Quadruple Agent - El Commandante - 01-15-2012
At the same time, Ian's closest "friend" was fighting for his life.
He was pinned down under hostile fire, the remains of his once beautiful kitchen scattered with broken pots and glass and trampled flowers from a quite wonderful vase he had gotten for his wife.
He poked his head up above the countertop, trying to get a bead on his aggressor when yet another glass bauble came soaring at his head.
"You dirty coward! Running off yet again to some exotic planet on some exotic mission, NEVER HOME at all, and even when you ARE home, you're absorbed in enough paperwork to bury el caballo in! What sort of warrior are you, you (here she began punctuating her words with even more flowerpots) ungrateful- unloving- sorry excuse- for- a- husband!"
Ezio made a tactical decision and bolted for the back door, a bit of a wooden chair leg propelling him out and tossing him in the dusty alleyways of the small village of Santa Maria.
He jumped up and dusted himself off before booking down the alleyway, drawing amused smiles and shouts from those close enough to have heard the commotion, the men of his village offering support and the women, often with child in tow, scolding him for his impertinence.
As he jogged into the small spaceport on the outside edge of town, his first mate was waiting for him.
Rodriguez smiled at his uncouth appearance.
"Good to see the wife is in her usual loving mood, eh? Perhaps we will see a little Ezio soon!"
He chortled at his own joke.
Della Francesca threw him a dirty stare as he scrambled up the ramp into his gunboat.
"Spin it up, Arturo, we've got places to be. Ten parsecs or less to Freeport One!"
Life as a Quadruple Agent - Eichann Rush - 01-16-2012
Rush groaned as he rose from his seat, his old bones aching with more than age.
That final blast aboard The Final Rush had done him in for good, especially with his many years.
He didn't want to accept it, but he'd never run another combat mission, not unless absolutely necessary.
He grimaced and rubbed his forearms, the scars from the shrapnel spiraling around the metal rods implanted directly into the bones to keep them from breaking apart again.
As he shuffled slowly from his study into the kitchen he thought hard, about all the things he had meant to do.
Well, too late now.
Instead of missiles and mortars, now he dealt with endless meetings. Instead of combat, contracts. Instead of pride and privilege, paperwork.
But he knew it had to be done, by someone, and why a fine young man instead of an old cripple?
"Bah," he pouted under his breath, shaking his head.
He pulled a belted flask of whiskey from the fridge and strung it around his neck, straightening his leather jacket and odd assortments of belts, sashes, pouches and crossguards as he took one final stretch.
Outside, two men were standing guard on him; at least they were supposed to be.
But here in the depths of Belfast Production, few saw guard duty as anything more than an enforced break.
Rush of course thought this was nonsense, and harrumphed loudly at the two men playing cards.
They bolted to their feet, abruptly abandoning all pretense of relaxation.
Rush nodded.
"You, head tae the dockin' bays an' prepare The Her'ld fer launch. You, straight tae the mess, an' roost tha' layabout granddaughter and her no-good man outtae the bar fer takeoff, ye hear?"
They both nodded and dashed off, urgent to be out of his sight.
He smiled at their alcatricity and took a bright step towards the bay himself.
He crumbled onto the floor as his leg gave out.
It took some effort to climb back up using the wall, but he made it on his own.
With a grimace, he reached inside his apartment and fished a cane from the gun stand.
It had been his father's, back on Graves, in his old age; the aged piece of wood still had the blood stains from when it had been used in the glorious revolution.
He hobbled off down the corridor, slowly wending among the ways.
He had a layabout alcoholic of a son to see on Trafalgar, and possibly, if the opportunity presented itself, to beat some sense into.
Life as a Quadruple Agent - Henrique - 01-17-2012
ok
Life as a Quadruple Agent - DarthBindo - 01-17-2012
gtfo
Life as a Quadruple Agent - DarthBindo - 08-08-2012
Tammo McIllheney stared gently off into space, the silvery metal trim of his office windows aboard Waterloo Station framing perfectly the brilliant stars of Manchester, Cortez and beyond, far into the heart of Liberty.
The incessant click-click-click of a Newton's ball punctuated each moment with a monotone beat as McIllheney contemplated quietly the passage of time.
To think, that the light even now playing across his viewport was not a minute old, not a week, or a year old, but had traveled through untold space across untold millennia, a vast collection of information from the shrouded depths of the past......If he had a telescope powerful enough, could he perhaps see life as it was then? Could in unknown years in the future, some sentient being point his lens at McIllheney's patch of sky, and see him go about his work, wondering much the same thoughts?
Perhaps.
He shook his head to clear it of thought and stopped the toy that sat on his desk. The clicks interfered with his counting and maths, and there was paperwork to be done, always more paperwork.
Most of it was nonsense, but important nonsense all the same; the rest was trivial matters of great import, with the occasional document that was both unnecessary and required at once.
For the most part it was familiar; requisition this, move that, spent this, lost that; mind-numbing documents of sameness all written in that legal scratch laywers so often used.
Fortunately, he was required to do little of the checking over and managing these days; his duties as Member of Parliament for Waterloo Station kept him preoccupied, and no-one was about to insist he shirk those; an Interspace Commerce friendly MP was a great boon to the company, although his tough stance on Bretonian foreign policy had come close to causing headaches for the company once or twice.
He had assistants now who handled most of the workload, three more in addition to his personal secretary, although there were still many documents that required his personal verification and double-check.
Tammo leaned back in his chair again, once more unable to concentrate on his work.
He started the hung silver balls in motion again with a simple pull.
McIllheney deeply regretted ever having taken this administrator's position, and the upper management post before this. He had been happy where he was, a manager of a small but important software dev team working on Neural Net infrastructure. He had done things then, made product, put in eighteen hour shifts fueled by energy drinks and snack food; a far cry from the meetings kept awake in by copious amounts of coffee, or the paperwork make tolerable by a substantial amount of alcohol.
He missed the guys as well, Jim, Rick, Mike, Charles, the whole lot of 'em. Oh sure, they all still work at Interspace, one would suppose, and surely he could go down and visit them in the corner office on the fifteenth floor.......
But there would be litle to do save reminisce about old times, and he was now the Big Boss, in the way that being simply manager never was. It would be awkward and uncomfortable at best.
Tammo sighed before checking his watch.
He had a four'o'clock with his brother, and work to be done before then.
Slowly, unwillingly, he turned back to his screen and began to read.
Life as a Quadruple Agent - DarthBindo - 08-09-2012
Ian Holmes sat slightly askew in the captain's chair aboard his Barghest, pieces of rusted metal and torched electronics floating past the viewports as the ship slid through the Southhamption scrap field.
"Captain, ten klicks to Trafalgar. Initiating dock sequence."
Ian regarded his navigation and ECW officer through a half-slitted eye; the report was not quite necessary, they had been running under informal protocol since they cleared Canarian atmo, but that was Fiona for you.
He opened his mouth to give the proper acknowledgement, his mouth so dry his lips momentarialy stuck together.
"Take us in, Lieutenant. The ship is yoursh."
He took the opportunity to take a swig from his whiskey bottle. It had been a long day, and when one was as old as he was, every second held another recollection, another flashback to memories of days gone by.
Ian had very few happy memories.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, slouching in a half-sleep until he felt the bump of the Steak Shop set down on the bulkhead of Trafalgar's docking bay.
"Sir, the ship is down."
"Very well, misses, we need laundry done, and a filler on dry supplies, fuel and munitions. Then dry dock it and run out the Badger. Once yer done wit' tha', take shore leave, but we push off fer Waterloo in less than twelve, aye?"
They both replied in unison.
"Aye, aye, cap'tin."
Holmes turned away, dismissing them from his mind as he half-stumbled down the ramp towards the exit hatch.
He blinked blearily as he entered the harsh fuel-filled fumes of Trafalgar's docking bay, taking the time to steady himself on the hatchway before walking in what an abstract artist might describe as a straight line.
It was probably a terrible idea to be this drunk; it was also definitely a terrible idea to not be even drunker.
Such was life.
As he tripped, stumbled, walked and occasionally crawled his way towards the bar, he began to dread more and more this meeting. His father was overbearing and disapproving at the best of times, and this was most certainly not.
He pulled himself up as he came near the door, striding through on his own power and managing to make the ten steps before collapsing into the booth opposite Eichann Rush.
"Father, how dae ye dae?"
RE: Life as a Quadruple Agent - Eichann Rush - 09-28-2012
Eichann stared pityingly at his oldest son before curtly replying.
"Why?"
Ian grunted vulgarly, a deresonant twang of effort coloring his syllables.
"You damn well know why, you old bastard."
"Ian, ye aren't the firs' man tae lose his fam'ly to tragedy and bloodshed."
"An' ah'm sure as hell nae the firs' tae take to drink cuse of it, either eh?"
Rush stared for several moments, collecting his thoughts. This was how it always went.
"Ian, this inn't healthy. Ye'll drink yerself tae an even early grave than most."
"Mayhaps, Father, tha's roight wha' I desire. You t'ink tis easy livin' with this? I was roight bloody there. You know that."
Holmes stared off into space, his eyes glazing over as he disconnected from the present.
"The whole feckin' planet, Rush. A whole planet, ablaze in the morn'in sun, bright wit' the limitless hellfire they rained upon eet. An' then loike a flash, snuffed out, gone as quick as it came. So bloody large eet used oop all the oxygen, and then.........."
Holmes quieted himself and stared silently into space, into past years of suffering.
Rush closed his eyes. He knew the pain.
"And then there was nothing left but ash. Not even bodies, seas boiled down to rock, swathes of country simply swept out of existence, even towns of metal and brick and concrete simply washed away by the burning fires. I know, Ian, what happened. I know what you lost, what I lost, Ian. Not just Benjamin and Mira, may god rest their souls, but you, Ian. I lost you, and you lost yourself."
Ian's eyes snapped back with an icy grey glare, focused onto Eichann with all the intensity he could muster.
"Lost me, you damn old fool? Ye never had me. You feckin' left Ma an' I afore I could e'en recognize yer voice! You didn't come back, Father, not for twenty goddamn years! What I lost, even before Cambridge, was a father that i should have had, not to mention tha' becacuse of you, Mother had to work herself to an early grave! Go on ahead, tryin' yer damndest tae make oop fer lost time, but don't feckin' tell me about what you lost, you old badger."
Ian disconnected again, staring off at the bar.
"And wha' about you then, Ian? Will you repeat the sins of the father? Will you make the same mistakes I made?"
Holmes shrugged in discomfort, his gaze trundling down to stare at his shoes.
"Ah'm a drunk, and a coward, and a lyin' fool. No fit father for anyone, much less a fine lass. She's bett'r off wit ye, learnin' loife frem a proper man."
He shrugged again, obviously unwilling to discuss the issue with any depth.
"And yet, Ian, you are the only father she has. I may have it together, but I'm her grandfather, and she knows and resents your absence."
Ian said nothing, merely continued staring at his shoes.
Eichann sighed. He signaled a waiter, who came and awaited his order.
"Two glasses, if you would, spring water and rosehip."
He turned back to his son immediately.
"You cannot abandon your duty to her as easily as I did mine to you, Holmes."
"I have other duties."
"Revenge, is it then? Revenge has been had, the Phantoms are no mo-"
"Had, yes but not by me." Holmes interjected. "It is not the same to know of their demise yet have no hand in it. I searched for years, Father, but never found. Not once. Always a day too late to finally lay my hate to rest. And now....."
"Now you seek revenge upon ghosts and shadows. They are dead, finally, May God Bless their killers. You cannot spend the rest of life searching for closure for the dead when you have the living to attend to!"
"Watch me, Father. I'll do my damndest. Neither you nor my brother shall convince me otherwise."
"And when you reach my age, what then? More regrets of time wasted, of opprotunities lost, of mistakes made and words left unsaid? You've enough already to drive a sane man to suicide, and a dozen more beside him."
Ian shrugged again.
"It's not quite as bad as that, Fath-"
"Don't bullshit me, Ian. I know what it looks like when a man's last remaining hope is that he can die. You're just too much of a damn coward to do it yourself."
Eichann watched as Holmes twitched. Truth hurts. He continued on.
"You cannot pass on the mistake this family has made to the next generation. We are broken apart, all of us, and some dead by our hubris and our loneliness. It must end here, Ian, but i cannot save the next generation of our line without you, and your brother, no matter how dark your soul, and no matter who he married."
Ian said nothing.
The waiter arrived, bearing with him a tray containing the ordered items.
Rush sighed again beforing trying a different tack.
"We've all seen enough of war and battle fighting outsiders, why, Ian, must we fight so much within? Peace is the only thing left to us after all these years, and we must take as much of it as we can."
Ian stirred from his torpor, picking up a glass, hand-blown and elegantly designed.
"This, Father..........this is perhaps the most beautiful glass I have ever seen."
In a single violent motion he stood and rocketed the bauble against the far wall, exploding it into a brilliant cloud of shatter glass and vaporized bits.
The whole bar stopped and stared at Ian as he turned back to his father.
"Damn you old man, damn you for being right. Where is she?"
Rush smiled the happiest smile he ever had.
A Tale from the Wilderness of Mirrors - DarthBindo - 05-31-2016
Ian Holmes couldn't believe it.
Zero.
Zero credits in his account.
He'd done right, hadn't he?
Followed the law, gotten a job, gone to work every day, every week.
He'd gotten out, gone straight, become a productive member of society.
Four years, and now?
Zero credits.
No house.
No job.
He didn't even want to see what the hackjob had done to his credit accounts. He suspected there was more than one zero there.
How to fix this, how how how, get another job? Maybe Ageira needed a....
No.
no
nono no no
NO
He had tried. He really had. Forgotten the past. Moved on, sobered up.
Even maybe, found love.
But no, it couldn't last. His misfortune was unending and unyielding.
The stress had been building, and building, and building, and now.
He still had the Steak Shop. Buried, hidden out where he had first landed.
He could fire her up again. Once more, for old- times sake.
Or maybe.....
Ian Holmes smiled.
He shed his tie and suit jacket, rolled his cuffs. On impulse he grabbed a pair of aviators from the rack next to the register, before walking out the store.
Someone yelled at him, shouting for the police.
He just kept walking.
The king of pirates was back, baby.
RE: A Tale from the Wilderness of Mirrors - DarthBindo - 06-02-2016
Ian had forgotten who he once was.
He was not so much cleaning out the Steak Shop as he was picking across the bones of a past life, with dangerous memories at every turn.
Starting a new life on Manhattan had not been a new page for him but instead merely a way to run, and run quickly from the choices and consequences of the past; four years had put a lot of distance between them, and yet.....
The work of four years had been undone in a day.
As he tightened bolts and dusted consoles Ian studiously ignored the closed breach doors and the large, gaping hole in the side of his ship.
He gave not one thought to the black marks and the red stains in the common area.
He didn't even glance at the blown out console where a fair-haired navigations officer had once...
no.
Don't, Ian.
You won't be able to stop.
But there was some things he could not so diligently ignore; the myriad bottles lying....well, everywhere.
The dingy photo of a litttle girl, a blue butterfly on her hand, tucked into the corner of the pilot's screen.
The heart shaped pillow undernearth his seat, flung from it's customary place in the spare seat by that explosion, so very long ago......
His sins, on display.
He picked up one, a brown tall metal affair.
Ah, Della Francesca '08 Special. A premium vintage. Possibly the last bottle in existence, seeing as how Corsairs had the rest of them.
The taste was exquisite, perhaps just-
No.
He had promised.
Promised her.
"Not just a stupid adult promise either, a real iron Molly promise, okay Dad?"
**** it.
It was already too late to stop.
He had already failed her.
He popped the cap off and drained it.
His hope and light had died a long time ago. The only things left, two old familiar tunes; bad memories...................... and revenge.