EPTI wrote this in hopes of winning a beta key awhile back (Blizzard writing contest). I wasn't able to finish due to work and starting late. The onslaught of beta key topics reminded me of it and I figured I'd post it and finish part 2 next week.
tabs and spaces don't work for paragraphs : |
Dr. Rich Effing and Starcraft II
By Kite Licking Smog
_ Three weeks ago I was informed of my Uncle Richard's vacation to the planet Tarsonis in the Koprulu Sector. Having been the capital of the once great Terran Confederacy prior to its splintering – it degenerated into a ruins casting not even a shadow of its once splendor and magnificence. This I say with a sense of irony for in actuality, Tarsonis during the era of the Great Triumvirate had never been attacked since its rebuilding - its edifices still stand erect and their steel pilasters gleam with fresh polish applied twice daily; and what was once beauty and eloquence showcasing the raw power of a great empire, now comes to exemplify all that is gaudy and vulgar to every worthy student of architecture. But even so, each year millions upon millions of beings – that is both man and alien - spend the usual two weeks to visit this vast array of historical monuments and seasonal sprouted haunts for debauchery. You see, since the split of the Confederacy, each and every civilian has come to feel a sense of guilt, as if their refusal to serve their race was what caused the secession of the three great Terran powers that presided at will over both the Protoss and the Zerg. So they put their conscious at ease by paying respect to all those who had given their life in vain by spending a day in burden of having to visit all the great monuments and thirteen: gambling, drinking, and paying top dollar for the most pnuematic of whores, as necessary to make the trip seem worthy or maybe to suffocate that prodigious yearning for something more in life. It takes some longer than others and those people have been lazily named “Indigenous”. Most of them live in the outskirts of the big city in shanties or various dilapidations of former Confederate towns and military bases. They've established their own underworld which as condemned as it is by all tourists alike – brought prosperity in all its most vulgar and crass prospects to the Big City.
_ My uncle is a galactically renowned anthropologist. He is the founder and president of a most famous and prosperous thinktank: Institute for Cosmopolitan Studies – which he established in order to understand the innate prejudices between the races. Prior to that he became a hero and cultural icon after discovering how to defeat the Zerg empire some two hundred years ago to end Ender's War. As you can guess, he is now old and gray and fervently continues day in to day out with his research knowing he has but few years left ahead of him. Which is why when my cousin had casually injected my Uncle's vacationing plans during our conversation, it actually startled me to think a person of my Uncle's character would even consider vacationing to a place of such destitution. Manners kept me from probing the matter any further.
_ Well, four days ago my cousin called me to tell me Uncle Rich had sent my aunt an awfully strange message. That is not to say the contents were necessarily strange, but it was very uncharacteristic of him to send an impromptu message of its kind. My uncle has a peculiar habit where he constantly speaks to himself and records everything he says. I imagine it's to leave no thought forgotten which may help him progress with his research - it makes being with him very tiring. While vacationing in Tarsonis he sent the following:
Begin Transmission
I have arrived. Upon descending from my ship I was overwhelmed with an eerie feeling one would acquire when being the only living life form within a radius of millions of kilometers. I can only hope this feeling is something in which I may progress with confidently. I landed slightly north of what looked to be structures from the Neolithic era: two erect stones flanking an emblem comprised of stone bricks; the stone bricks are organized to resemble an equilateral cross with its arms bent at right angles. One could say it resembled that of a swastika - a sign of wellbeing. I have decided to progress north due to the direction of footprints which resemble that of a Terran infantry. I can view a secondary Terran outpost from a cliff. I see the dilapidated remnants of my brethren's buildings. As I progress onward the poignant smell of rotted corpses, whose blood have moistened the otherwise dry hard ground - the spirit of this land undoubtedly satiated for now, have forced me to my knees. The death of mercenaries can go without remorse, but I must show pithy to those in the T-280 Space Construction Vehicle. Slaves from birth, that is there only affiliation with life - otherwise one could justifiably express the SCV's exemption from the living. They are machines with breathing anatomies. While one may think, the SCV simply does. There is no reasoning behind its motives, nor is there instinct to its actions. The SCV is a celestial sculpture that God's hands had not touched... What's that? I hear the sound of what I think to be a critter. I continue onward, cautiously. The smell has become too overbearing. It is not just the smell of corpses that irritates my mind and body, but rather of something else, of which I have never smelt before. As I look around probing for the source I see the meat of some sort of creature. It must be that of the Zerg race, although this is only an assumption as I have never seen a Zerg specimen such as this in all my years of experience. Something big happened here and I feel an advent of danger. I begin heading south back to my ship. I decided to no longer travel by foot due to the possibility of danger. I feel death's presence.
End of Transmission
_ I cannot begin to assume the implication of my Uncle's message. I should think it to be a harmless mistake if not what was stored in the message's header. It gave the coordinates of my Uncle's whereabouts at the exact moment he sent it: a 3-tuple where the first number is the solar system as computed at the time from a set of absolute coordinates referencing Jupiter, the second number is the planet done the same way but referencing the central body of the solar system, and the third value is subset holding the coordinates in reference to the planet's equator. It is done this way due to the constant movements of these large masses in reference to each other and luckily the satellites of the UMS (Universal Messaging Service) takes care of all the calculations with a very low rate of error. From this I was able to find out that my uncle was located on the planet Baekdu. Twenty years ago there had been a Terran outpost located there that was destroyed during the Protoss-Zerg uprising. The planet was located in a very remote place far from the Koprulu Sector, or any sector for that matter as its whereabouts have gone unclaimed. I imagine the majority of civilians have not the slightest idea it even exists. What my Uncle was doing there, having for as long as I can remember living as a sort of celebrity and figurehead for racial unity, I cannot begin to guess. I cannot even begin to imagine how my Uncle got there. – but my Aunt supposed the worst of it and decided the most prudent course of action was to send me to go find him. Why me? Well, she is wise enough to know that my Uncle, a very honest and responsible man, hid this from her and the rest of his public for reasons unbeknownst to anyone, so she could not possibly go to the government about this – despite in retrospect, it being the most sound of her options. She sent me because I am the only person who she could trust other than her son, but unlike her son I am a citizen, having served as a Mobile Infantry under the legendary (as far as military personnel are concerned) Lieutenant Rasczak. Now I admit, I'm making myself sound more grandiose than in reality. Since my time in the military I've worked various odd and not-so-odd jobs: a librarian, janitor, journalist, pet detective, and finally settled on being a butcher working at a high school friend's deli. So I may not be as bad as I once was, what's it to you. Here I am now, on a ship to Tarsonis to go find my old warbuddy Dan Rekrul and see if I can scrounge up a small troupe of mercs to go find my Uncle.
_ I found Rekrul in a rundown building in the outskirts of the Big City after asking various casino employees at the hotel I was staying at, who all seemed to know him but only one, a gaunt poker dealer with a queer accent and the word Elky written on his nametag, actually knew where he lived. It wasn't nearly as hard as I thought it would be and to be honest, only on a whim had I decided to search for him on Tarsonis. Rekrul is a mullato with a loud mouth and gift of gab. He was a child prodigy in mathematics but could not for the life of him deal with possessing any money. After a hard day's work as a bus boy at his pa's bar he would lose his pay on a bet as simple as a coin toss or whether he could outrun a man twice his age but twice as strong. Unable to afford going to college and not wanting to work he decided to join the military. I had met him in basic training and then we were stationed in the same troupe until I was transferred to Lt. Rasczak's Roughneckz, but I always kept tabs on him when I could.
_ I entered the building and walked up two flights of stairs. The entire place was filthy with broken stucco of once beautiful ornaments, shattered lights and rat shit at ever corner. I was stopped prior to his door, which lay ajar, by a short stout swarthy man who had tattoos and jewelry covering his entire body.
_ “Where's Rekrul, I'd like to talk to him”, I asked and looked over his shoulder into the room where I could see three more men slightly bigger than he.
_ “Who the fuck are you?”
_ “I'm a good friend of Rekrul, could you tell me where he is?”
_ “Boy you best mind yo own business and get the fuck outta here.”
_ I hadn't the time nor will to deal with any of this. And being spoken to like this from a degenerate, with his saliva hitting my face as he frothed from unprovoked anger was about all I needed prior to swiftly punching him in the chin and sending him to the floor. There was a crash and the three men came out and I was ready for them when more came out into the corridor than I had ever expected. But as you can probably guess, one of them was Rekrul.
_ “Everybody go back to ya bizness – I'll take care of this” he said, looking angry and annoyed and it, quite frankly, despite me being a more capable fighter than him – scared me, because if he didn't recognize me I would have more trouble than I was looking for.
_ Everyone went inside with a couple of them dragging the unconscious doorman by the arms while Rekrul slammed the door.
_ “Boy, what the fuck, are you kiddin me, where the hell did you come from!” he let open a giant smile and hugged me. “Baby, I dunno where you came from o why you here but we going OUT tonight!”
_ We went to another room in the corridor with a little more privacy and began to talk. I told him about my uncle. And he explained to me his situation.
_ Upon serving three tours and being discharged from the military he took all the money he saved and moved to Tarsonis. He moved into the most expensive hotel (Little Earth) and the nicest suite knowing that he would be able to live there for only two nights off his savings and got to work hustling tourists out of all their money in every card game you can imagine. Well, from his days in battle he had become addicted to Stim. Stim makes one feel incisive, strong, energized, and more importantly during battle, fearless. The mobile infantry rigorously inculcates during basic training that the drug should not be used in any other situation than during direct confrontation with the enemy in battle and even then only when it is absolutely necessary and penalties for a citizen or civilian possessing Stim is death. But in the underworld of Tarsonis you can get anything and to keep up the luscious lifestyle Rekrul was living: women (preferably Asian), drugs and expensive liquor, gourmet food, clothe, jewelry, shows and every other facet of luxury you can imagine – one would have to gamble big and gamble hard and with the emotional agony of losing, especially to a lucky tourist, that is always imminent in his profession, Stim seemed the obvious answer. Well his lifestyle caught up with him – his brain deteriorated immensely from all the drug usage and he now lays at waste in the outskirts working as a Big Boss's right hand man calling odds on sport bets.
_ “I need you to come with me and to bring anyone you know who would be fit for this job.”
_ “Baby, I can' I juss don't have it in me. Look at me, wut am I gonna do be able to help you?”
_ “Don't give me that crap, you told me your story, I know your situation and I know what you can do out in the field.” I hated to do this, but I needed him. “If you don't think you're man enough, if you just want to stay as someone's bitch for the rest of your life, with no respect as some chickenshit nothing you fucking leave right now. But when you leave, you just ask yourself one thing, were your parents right about you?”
_ He stood there staring at me. I felt bad. He confided to me when we were in basic training his childhood. We were both scared and felt alone and opened up to each other. He told me how his parents thought he was nothing more than a menial worker, how all those times he gambled were only because he was so anxious to make it big and quick and rub it in his parents' faces. How by enlisting he liked to think about going home in uniform and standing tall and erect, looking down at his civilian father and finally receiving the respect he so desperately wanted. I felt bad, I felt really bad. But I knew that this was best for him, getting out of this shithole and back in to action. And I needed him, I knew he knew people who would join up.
_ I told him I would pay him a grand now and more later. He looked at me as if I was joking. A grand to risk my life? To travel out to some desserted planet that the government doesn't even want any part of anymore? Fine, I'll do it, but only because we're friends.
_ And to think this was only the beginning, still close to home and I already feel miserable.
_ “I kno a man, served wit him all tree tours, baddest motherfucker I kno... Ugliest too.”
_ Boy, he wasn't kidding. In both respects. His name was Manifesto Seven. Twice the size of any man I have ever seen standing at eight foot one but still looking stout. He probably weighed half a ton by my guess, with arms as big as my waste. He had red hair, pigeyes, a pitted face filled with scars and abrasions, a fat obtrusive nose hovering over his goatee and a sad elegance of wearing thick framed glasses – about as ugly as any Zerg creature I have ever seen. His body was ordained with varicose veins which gave a little bit of color to his otherwise completely white complexion. Rekrul told me while we were walking over to his place that he had married a Japanese Sex-bot because he couldn't find a real woman for himself. He never wanted her for sex though, only for company. He was well-read and at one point, mild mannered living an ordinary life on Earth until he came home one day and found a cloak of a Dark Templar in his bedroom that appeared after the gigolo left. Could you imagine that, a man so ugly a robot would cheat on him? He moved to Tarsonis and now regularly picks fights with Protoss at bars and has yet to lose one.
_ “Will you come with me to help find my Uncle?” after explaining the situation.
_ “Yes” he stated complacently.
_ It didn't seem like he ever said much or had any emotions at all apart from unrelenting rage. But that was easy, I thought. I didn't bother asking why – he didn't even ask how much compensation he would receive.
_ Well, now we're three – three old veterans with a deathwish – I think. We need one more, a medic. Manifesto said he knew someone – I couldn't imagine who. He said she treats him a lot of the times he's sent to the hospital for torn ligaments or broken bones during bar fights (I said he never loses – you can imagine what happens to the other guy). It was getting late and all three of us went over to the Big City Hospital and asked for Emi Nem. The receptionist said her shift will end soon, that she will send up a message that there are some visitors for her and we may wait in the waiting room until she comes. We waited for about twenty minutes when she came down. I knew it was her because the moment she appeared Mani stood up appearing humble and childlike – despite looking almost like a hydralisk with redhair, glasses and a goatee.
_ “What can I do for you Red?”
_ Me and Rekrul looked at each other and agreed we would now call him Red.
_ “Uhmm...” he groaned, “this man over here has a proposition that I thought you might be interested in.”
_ “Uh, okay” she answered and turned towards me.
_ “Lets go for a walk” being in the waiting room was making me sick and I had to get out of there. For the last time, I told my story and thank god she wasn't interested in telling me hers. She simply asked what it paid and accepted under the pretense she would receive much more after. She is quite beautiful. A small petite girl of Asian descent but with wide eyes and a smile I imagine has stayed constant since her birth. But when it came down to business, she was shrewd and frank. And that was the end of the day, we all went home. I stayed at a hotel and we agreed to meet tomorrow early in the day to leave. Upon going to my room and walking through the casino on the first floor I spotted an awfully familiar face that I could not for the life of me comprehend. A gray headed man hunched over on a stool playing penny slot machines – it was my Uncle Rich.
too be continued...
