Closing the Doors

This is about where I end my regular weekday writing of Ten Years on Terra.  I want to thank everybody who commented, gave me ideas, and the support to keep up with this writing project over the last year.  I may make intermittent posts here to address particular subjects as they come up, but consistent updates, I'm afraid, are coming to a close.

I'm not planning on retreating from the BattleTech community at all, of course, and I have another game planned for when Interstellar Operations releases later this year; I'll likely have another blog covering the game I run for that.  In the meantime, I'm working on some plot organization with a few friends related to aerospace, which is another part of the universe near and dear to my heart.  Whenever one of these projects has a major milestone, I'll be sure to post here as well.

Once again, thanks to my players, my readers, and all the folks at Catalyst who delivered A Time of War and made this campaign possible.  It's been a blast.

Jump.

Clark's Logs, Sessions 19 & 20

VWS on a field of recently-mowed pasture at the Cameron Ranch. Galloping across the screen is FIONA, a spirited Appaloosa filly with a flowing mane. CLARK sits confidently in the saddle, and a cut-in to MS shows him leaning forward with the reins held firmly but loosely.

CLARK

Attagirl, Fiona, don’t let up!

FIONA continues to gallop on for another length of the pasture before CLARK slows her to a trot. He pats the side of her neck gently and nods in approval.

CLARK

You’re a mighty fine horse, FIONA. I’ll be doubly glad to

have you once old Rocky’s turned it in. He’s not near as young

as he used to be.

CLARK runs a hand through his hair, just starting to show real graying at the temple. He grimaces in thought.

CLARK

Neither am I, I guess. But it’s been a rough few years. More than

a few! They’ve been here, what, seven years now? That’s a

decent chunk of my life I’ve given to the Resistance. Oh, right.

I should probably get this all out of the way now, girl, so you’re

not too surprised if the Word of Blake comes kicking down the

barn door before too long.

CLARK barks a short, humorless laugh. FIONA tosses her head nervously and whickers.

CLARK

It probably won’t come to that. Probably. But it’s true! Your new

owner is a bona fide terrorist. I’ve been fighting the Word of

Blake ever since ComStar failed to kick them off my planet.

FIONA

Neigh!

CLARK

Hard to believe, I know. A mild-mannered guy like me? I’m not

even military or special ops. Neither is my friend Simon. You

remember Simon - he helped me load you up and drive you

here from the farm you used to live on. He’s a good guy,

but I’m worried about him. This fight has taken a toll on him.

More than anyone else, I think. Except Shin, but he’s gone.

CLARK looks back toward the house, lost in thought and clearly not happy.

CLARK

We can’t keep this up much longer. There’s a new guy, Alan,

who helped us destroy a Wyrm and capture some critical

intelligence. He’s a Lyran, which is a little dodgy, but I like

him. I’m glad to have him, but...we haven’t seen Cho in months.

Years, actually - we just haven’t HEARD from him in months.

What if he got eaten by a bear or something? Yeah, right.

CLARK shakes his head and slows FIONA to a walk. The horse tries to stop and begin eating grass, but CLARK clicks his teeth and gives a firm tug of the reins, steering her back towards the barn.

CLARK

I pity the bear who gets on the wrong side of David Cho. Of

course, ever since that last mission, Alexander’s been getting weird,

too. It was all so easy - the Missouri cell helped us bypass the security

on the data repository, and there was only one guard to take out before

we were free to start pillaging files. We even managed to NOT kill him!

Guess there are some benefits to not having Shin or Cho along...

FIONA

Snort!

CLARK

You’re right, girl. Best not to speak ill of the dead, or possibly-

dead. We got the info that ComStar needs to root out the double

agents in their coalition before the fleets come to retake Terra.

All that’s left to do is disable a planetary defense cannon, and then

wait for the cavalry to ride in and save our asses.

CLARK glances down and shakes his head, wry amusement written across his lined face.

CLARK

I thought I would be the cavalry, when I joined the Resistance.

Bravely coming in to save my planet where ComStar had failed.

Now I see that this thing’s way bigger than our little cell, or all

the little cells, can handle. I just have to pray that the info we

got them will be enough for them to make it through.

FIONA draws up close to the barn, and CLARK stops her and dismounts neatly, though with a small grunt as his feet hit the ground. He draws an apple out of his pocket and lets the horse eat it from his hand while he sighs.

CLARK

I’m getting too damn old for this. We’ve done the impossible

before. But with Cho missing, and Alan not being half the

fighter Shin was - even if he is twice the human being - I’m

worried. We’ve come so far. We can’t fail here. We need to

do this, and I need to survive. What’s more, I need to make

sure Simon gets out. I still feel like I’ve dragged him into this,

and now his life’s a mess. I need to look after him until he

can really get back on his feet.

CLARK lets FIONA wander over to the trough after she finishes the apple, while he sticks his hands in his pockets and stares at the horizon.

CLARK

And here’s me, pushing forty and still single. I haven’t had time

to worry about it ‘till now, but...it’s gonna be a lonely retirement,

whether the Word or ComStar are calling the shots. The only lovely

ladies I’ve had time for live in the barn or the chicken coop. Not

that I regret it, but...okay, I regret it. A bit. Hopefully it’s not too

late for me. I haven’t come this far to die alone. Right?

CLARK looks to FIONA, who ignores him in favor of drinking from the horse trough. CLARK snorts and shakes his head as he strolls back towards the house.

CLARK

Right.

Clark's Logs, Session 18

WS on CLARK kneeling in his small garden, in overalls and a long-sleeved shirt, with his sleeves rolled up.  His gloved hands are scooping out small handfuls of earth.  At the slightest sound from just offscreen, he snatches up the rifle laying on the ground next to him, and levels it at the open garden gate.  A cottontail rabbit immediately freezes, having gotten only one hop inside the gate.  CLARK sighs.

CLARK

You can come in, if you really want to.  None of the good stuff’s

grown yet.  Should’ve figured you’d waste no time if I left the

gate open.

CLARK puts the gun down and returns his attention to the soil.  Once his attention is elsewhere, the rabbit hops cautiously further into the garden, its nose twitching.

CLARK

Oh, don’t be so dramatic.  You’re far from the worst guest I’ve

ever had.  Of course, I guess I have one fewer now...

CLARK shakes his head.  The rabbit continues to explore the periphery of the garden plot, occasionally stopping to nibble at the green stem of an early weed.

CLARK

Shin...why’d he have to go and get himself blown up?  Okay, I

guess I wasn’t feeling charitable towards him before, but...he went

back because he thought it would help Simon and me.  He died

trying to protect us.  That’s got to be worth something.

The rabbit  pulls up a dandelion, which CLARK watches out of the corner of his eye.

CLARK

Hey, maybe I should keep you on as a weed-whacker  ‘Course,

once my veggies come in, I bet you’ll forget all about the weeds.

That’s fine.  The food will go farther now that Shin’s gone and

Cho is moving out.  Going on the run, I guess?  Haven’t heard

from him in months  Do I hope he’s all right?  I don’t know.

CLARK stabs the earth with particular ferocity using his trowel, and finally seems satisfied with the hole he’s dug.  He pulls a paper pouch out of a pocket in his overalls and scatters a few seeds.

CLARK

If we’re going to win this war, we’ll need him.  Win this

war...we’re not even fighting a war.  Well, I guess we are,

but it’s not one we can win.  All we can do is harry the Word

of Blake and disrupt them, so that when ComStar comes,

they’ll be that much easier to take down.  When will they come,

though?  I first got involved with the Resistance because I

was angry at what I saw happening.  I was scared for my

home.  I wanted something better for Terra.  I guess I still

do, but...I was a younger man, then.  A different man.

The rabbit hops over to CLARK, sniffing the earth carefully around where he sits.

CLARK

I don’t regret it.  We’ve achieved more than I ever thought

possible, really.  We’ve stolen terabytes upon terabytes of

sensitive data, shut down weapons programs, cured a deadly

virus, and stolen an actual BattleMech.  We have a lot to be

proud of, really.

After a pensive exhalation, CLARK scoops some dirt back into the hole and pats it down with the back of his trowel.

CLARK

But now Shin is dead, and the rest of us sure aren’t getting

any younger.  Simon might have lost his legs after our last

fiasco if I had made one misstep during the surgery.  I gotta

confess, I just needed to take some basic principles and hope they

still applied.  People are not my specialty.  No, they sure aren’t.

CLARK stands up, and the rabbit again freezes.

CLARK

Yeah, I can still see you.  It might fool the coyotes, but not

me.  Go on.  Out you go, now!

CLARK herds the rabbit out the open garden gate, then pulls it closed with a clang.  He slides the simple latch to hold it in place while he finishes.  Turning around, he takes a moment to consider his position in the fenced-in garden.

CLARK

I wonder if I might have trapped myself in more ways than one.

Clark's Logs, Session 17

EWS on two figures converging on a large, agricultural property - the Reinhardt farm.  OSS over the shoulder of CLARK CAMERON, one of the two figures, showing him approaching CINDY REINHARDT.  In her late 60s with steel-gray hair, CINDY still gives off an aura of youthful energy, and her smile lines are prominent.  She reaches out to shake CLARK’s hand as the camera switches to a Two-Shot.

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.

Clark's Logs, Session 16

WS of the inside of CLARK’s lab, focused on the large double door to the outside.  The sounds of a hose being turned off can be heard, and a moment later, CLARK pushes the heavy metal doors open.  Walking behind him as he enters is a slowly plodding white Shorthorn cow, BERYL.  BERYL’s tongue is hanging from her mouth, and appears visibly red and swollen.  Copious drool trails from her mouth as CLARK leads her over to the sizable livestock operating theater in the center of the room.  Her hooves leave wet, but clean, footprints on the linoleum floor - apparently, they were rinsed thoroughly before she came inside.

CLARK

I’m sorry again about this, Beryl.  I should have caught this a

while ago, but between the missions, the repairs to the house, and

trips out to the mountains, I’ve not been looking after you all as

closely as I should.

BERYL

*pant, pant*

CLARK

I know it hurts, girl.  We can fix it, I promise.  Come on over here

and have a lie down.

CLARK gently coaxes BERYL into a laying position in the operating theater before pulling on a pair of gloves and donning a surgical mask.  He takes a syringe from his bag and rummages through one of the supply cabinets for a few moments before coming out with a clear bottle of anesthetic.  He performs some quick calculations based on BERYL’s body mass and then fills the syringe, chatting all the while.

CLARK

Wooden tongue’s a lot easier to treat early on, but you must have

gotten worse over the long weekend.  We’re gonna have to drain

the swelling and put you on antimicrobial irrigation.  Guess you must

be wondering what I’ve been up to that’s more important than looking

after you, huh?

BERYL

Mooooooo.

CLARK

Well, I feel like I owe you at least a little explanation.  Me, Simon,

and the ComGuard have been busy as bees these last few months.

You’ll never guess what our latest big escapade was!  Go on, guess.

BERYL merely regards CLARK with a patient but pained expression.  He sighs.

CLARK

Sorry.  Let’s get you squared away.

CLARK approaches BERYL and coaxes her into opening her mouth a bit more, revealing that her tongue is grotesquely swollen, red, and quite rigid.  He probes for a bit, to much grunting and consternation from BERYL, before choosing a place to inject the local anesthetic.  Only CLARK’s tight but comforting grip on the back of her head and his soothing manner with animals prevent the cow from thrashing as her tender tongue suffers the injection.

CLARK

There, there, girl.  You’re gonna be just fine soon, don’t you worry.

Now, where was I?  Right, Operation Mechsteal.  Our fellow Resistance

fighters don’t get points for creative codenaming, but the information they

gave us was good enough.  We were able to find a mech hangar out in

the middle of the woods near Devil’s Tower, and there were just four Wobbie

guards playing poker.

BERYL seems to relax as the anesthetic numbs her aching tongue.

CLARK

Yeah, I was relieved too.  I gotta say, I had no idea what we’d be

getting into.  Alex formed a plan, and we all went in, sneaking

across the clearing and using the sides of their prefab hangar to

hide us from view till we were practically on top of them.  Shin

and David went in first, David in his crazy shrubbery outfit.  I guess

they saw him, ‘cause I heard one of the Wobbies say to his

buddies, “We’re allowed to shoot bushes, right?”

BERYL

Mooooo!

CLARK

I know!  The nerve of those assholes, pardon my French, joking

about being about to kill a man.  Well, David got behind cover

before they opened up, and Shin sure let them have it.  That was

Alex’s and my signal to come at them from behind as they were turning

to face David and Shin.  It was tense, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

There is a distinct pause as CLARK, who was sterilizing his tools, stares off into space.

CLARK

It hardly bothered me at all, this time.  The Word of Blake has

done so many terrible things.  They’re still people, of course, but...

things are different, now.  We’re at war, and I think I see what that

means.

CLARK takes his scalpel and a suction tube attached to a small, rolling bucket over to where BERYL is laying peacefully.  He slips the suction tube into her mouth and powers up the vacuum.  Slurping sounds can be heard as the tube clears the cow’s mouth of drool, and BERYL barely flinches as CLARK begins making incisions to drain her swollen tongue of pus and fluid.

CLARK

In a way, it’s not so different from medicine.  If something goes

rotten, sometimes, you just have to cut it out.  If there’s complications

in a birth, you sometimes have to lose the calf to save the mother.  It’s

hard, but I’d gotten used to it.  Someone has to make those kinds of calls.

That someone might as well be me.  Dangerous hubris?  Perhaps.  But

I know right from wrong, dammit, and what the Word is doing is wrong.

BERYL

*Grunt*

CLARK calms himself, shoulders slumping a bit as he releases tension he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

CLARK

Thanks for understanding.  It’s good to get that off my

chest.  Anyway, Alex got in the ‘Mech while I took care

of the bodies and Simon took care of the hangar’s cameras and

communications feed.  I guess it needed some sort of code thing,

because Cho had to go up and install it before Alex could move the

thing.  I guess its neural sensors were off, too, because Alex

practically tripped his first step out of the hangar!

As he makes the last cut, CLARK tosses the gore-soaked scalpel into a shallow metal tray.  He gets up and fetches a large bottle of iodine solution, then settles back down to begin hooking up an irrigation system that will keep BERYL’s mouth constantly disinfected.

CLARK

We split off into the forest after that, with David flying his chopper

and Alex forced to run over land.  The Word showed up pretty quickly,

of course, but Alex managed to keep one step ahead them for a while.

Considering how misaligned the neural uplink sounded like it was, he

must really be a hell of a pilot.

CLARK gently tilts BERYL’s head so that she doesn’t swallow any of the iodine solution, and then begins to rinse her freely flowing wounds.  The suction tube’s slurping increases in volume and intensity.

CLARK

Speaking of pilots, it’s a good thing David knows what he’s doing in that

chopper.  They almost caught Alex at one point, but he buzzed them so

close that I could practically see the stunned Wobbie pilots sitting in their

‘Mechs as we passed!  It gave Alex the distraction he needed to get away

again.  But he might never have outdistanced them if Simon hadn’t come

up with his bright idea.  Simon spoofed the ‘Mech’s tracking signature to

Cho’s chopper while Alex powered down to hide and rip out the transponder.

By the time the Word realized they were chasing a wild goose, we were

both long gone!  Ha!

CLARK allows the rinse to continue as he seems to collect his final thoughts.

CLARK

We stashed the ‘Mech in a chasm with a cave at the bottom I know about

from some mycological excursions, and hid it as best we could.  We still

need to take trips out there once a month to do maintenance on the thing, though.

I guess building a new silo for it would probably be worthwhile in terms of

help to the Resistance - i.e., us.  Sorry we were gone so long this time, girl.

I promise I won’t let anything like this happen to you again.

BERYL nuzzles CLARK’s shoulder, her mouth hanging open and fluids flowing freely.  Fade to black.