CINDY
Thanks for coming, Dr. Cameron.
CLARK
No problem, Cindy. What seems to be the trouble?
CINDY
Some of my flock are stumbling all over themselves. They’re not hurt or
anything, and I haven’t used any herbicides or pesticides that might be messing
with their heads. It’s the darnedest thing.
CLARK
How long ago did you notice this?
CINDY
Just yesterday. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I’ve never seen it before,
so...
CLARK
...you figured better safe than sorry. Makes sense to me. Mind if I go poke
around your pasture? You’re free to come along.
CINDY smiles and shakes her head.
CINDY
Too many chores to do, but you go on ahead. Come by the house
and let me know if you find anything interesting.
CLARK nods and the two part ways, CINDY walking towards a modest homestead while CLARK walks over to the large pasture where fifty-odd head of sheep are roaming. As he approaches the gate, a lanky llama strides over to inspect him. It at first appears tense, but seems to relax as it draws nearer and CLARK extends a hand slowly.
CLARK
Hello there, girl. You must be Linda. Cindy’s told me all about you.
LINDA
Squeak!
CLARK
It’s okay, I’m not here to hurt your herd.
CLARK looks distant at that as he begins walking. The llama paces him, occasionally sniffing or nudging him curiously, but otherwise seeming content just to follow him. CLARK, apparently used to this treatment from animals, pats her absently while apparently deep in thought. His forehead creases, and a frown grows on his face as he inspects the pasture.
CLARK
I can understand why you might worry, though. I’ve done some
things I’m not proud of recently. I killed a man with an experimental
wormhole-generating weapon. I aimed that weapon at him because I
wanted him to die, and he did. Boy howdy, did he ever.
CLARK shakes his head as he approaches the flock of sheep. They begin to stand as he gets closer, though some of them have obvious difficulty getting to their feet. These sheep flail in an almost comical manner, falling repeatedly as they clumsily fail to get their feet beneath them. One falls over completely, and CLARK quickly approaches it, staying low and moving slowly. He calms it with a touch and a few gentle words, the presence of LINDA also seeming to reassure the ovine.
CLARK
Easy, girl. Let me take a look at you. Sorry for the interruption, Linda.
LINDA
Mrrreeeeh!
CLARK opens his bag and begins examining the sheep, looking down its throat and into its eyes as he speaks.
CLARK
But this guy was wearing power armor. He was paid by the Word of
Blake to guard a secret lab where they were manufacturing weapons of
mass destruction. And he was going to kill Simon. He had to die. It...I’d
be lying if I said it didn’t bother me, but I’d do it again. I would.
This admission seems to steel CLARK a bit as he rolls the sheep gently upright, feeling its flanks for irregularities. Seemingly satisfied, he helps it to its feet, and watches it walk wobbily off to rejoin its comrades.
CLARK
It almost seemed like this would just be a silly adventure. Shin wearing
that ridiculous gorilla suit over his power armor, them denting my truck and
outwitting TerraSec officers. The Missouri team had good intelligence and a
good plan. I had hoped Simon hearing about someone misusing HIS research
the way they misused mine would help galvanize him a bit. Boy, was I wrong.
CLARK begins to meander through the field, eyes sweeping the plant life until he comes to a heavily cropped bunch of hardy-looking green grass. LINDA walks close behind.
CLARK
Ah - is this ryegrass? Do you eat ryegrass here, girl?
As if to answer, LINDA ducks her head down toward the tuft of grass. CLARK steps gently towards her, enough that the llama’s natural reaction is to stop bending over, and guides her head away from the grass.
CLARK
Better let me have a look first.
CLARK takes a small hand lens out of his bag and stoops over the grass, searching for its small flowers.
CLARK
When we took out the guards, Shin wanted to execute all the scientists.
What the Hell?!? Yeah, they were working for the Word, but not only
were they no threat to us, I guarantee you that those fifteen scientists
would NEVER work for the Word of Blake after what happened to them
at this place. They were scared out of their minds! They would have run
for the hills, setting the project back years and costing the WoBies tons
of C-bills in tracking them down. I told him as much, and he said he’d only
maim them, so he started chopping off their hands!
At this point, CLARK’s hand is shaking so violently that he drops the hand lens.
CLARK
Blake’s blood.
It takes the veterinarian a few moments of sifting through the tall grass to recover his tool. After this he resumes examining the flower, brushing something off onto his fingers from the small blossom.
CLARK
I tended their wounds as best I could. He was a psychopath, but at
least they weren’t dead. We had to leave, then, and I was just about
coming to terms with what had just happened when Cho blew up the
entire fucking floor! All those people...those terrified, harmless, suffering
people. That was wrong. That was beyond wrong. I can’t believe...
CLARK’s eyes widen and he snaps the hand lens back into its folded position.
CLARK
Aha! Just as I though. Acremonium.
LINDA
Squeak?
CLARK
It’s a genus of saprophytic fungus. Some of them specialize in perennial
ryegrass, and they create a nasty toxin that can mess with the neurobiology
of grazing critters such as yourself and those sheep. What we’ve got here
is a bona fide case of Ryegrass Staggers. Good thing Cindy caught it early
enough, I can prescribe an enzyme blocker that should stop the toxic effects
while she gets all this ryegrass out. It might be a pricey undertaking, but this
field’s no good for grazing. You’d all be dead or moribund in a few weeks’ time.
CLARK’s short-lived eureka enthusiasm fades at this statement.
CLARK
I should go tell Cindy what’s up. Come to that, I think I need to have a
few words with my houseguests. I’m giving them a place to stay, I’m
tending their injuries, I’m building an entire goddamn silo I don’t need to
hide the stolen ‘Mech they need to fight their little war. If I talk, they’ve
got to listen. And if they don’t...
LINDA spits.
CLARK
Yeah. Then good riddance.
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