From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Janusz A. Urbanowicz [alex@bofh.torun.pl] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 10:20 AM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] Re: LOTR Greg Muir wrote/napisał[a]/schrieb: [Charset iso-8859-1 unsupported, filtering to ASCII...] > > LORD OF THE RINGS? > > > > You can't dodge it. > > > > Not superficially Lovecraftian, no. But . . . I mean, it's a myth, > > nearly a religion for our time. And you wait till the films come out. > > > > Well, what do people think? > > > We'll think that Trekkies are nothing in comparison to . . . what would > these guys be called, Tolkeinites? Here we call them Tolkienists and I try to popularize naming Trekkies as Trekists (as chekists from Soviet political police che-ka). They (the Trekists) hate this. ObDGML: does anyone know when "DG: Dark Theatres" will hit The Outsider's catalogue? I keep fingering my credit card in anticipation - it was promised to appear in November and most of november is quite gone... Alex -- Janusz A. Urbanowicz | ALEX3-RIPE | SF-Framling | Thawte Web Of Trust Notary Gdy daję biednym chleb, nazywają mnie świętym. Gdy pytam, dlaczego biedni nie mają chleba, nazywają mnie komunistą. - abp. Helder Camara _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Berin Kinsman [deltagreen@unclebear.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 10:32 AM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] Multiple Dreamlands in canon --- Davide Mana wrote: >Which means you can visit other world's Dreamspheres (for want of a better >term) and interact with the dream-selves of the locals. >Which puts a rather new twist on what John Carter told us about his trips >to Mars. >Was he actually visiting a relic Dreamsphere, long surviving after the >demise of the people that dreamed it in the first place? I like that idea, "relic dreamsphere". That could explain a number of things with ancient human cultures as well, like mummy's curses; fall asleep near a lost Eqyptian tomb, wake up being chased by mummies, cultists, whatever, and not even realize you're in the dreamlands and not the real world. Could explain ghosts, too. Things go bump in the night -- ou wake up and they're gone. Were they here, or were you there? I've tinkered off and on with using Oz as a dreamland. Dorothy falls asleep and wakes up in Oz; the people she meets there are reflections of people she knows in the "real world". Using those concepts, dropping someone into a "modern Oz" could be interesting; real-world NPCs as talking animals, animated objects, mechanical automatons. Possibilities. _____________________________________________________________ UNCLE BEAR: news, commentary and community for the escapist mind http://unclebear.com _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Shane Mclean [Shane.Mclean@t-online.de] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 10:41 AM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] Re: LOTR > ObDGML: does anyone know when "DG: Dark Theatres" will hit The Outsider's > catalogue? I keep fingering my credit card in anticipation - it was promised > to appear in November and most of november is quite gone... I ordered a copy by phone about a week ago, and they had a few boxes in then. Adam Glancy did say something about it not being all the order, though. Take care, Shane _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of The Lizard King [lizardrex@charter.net] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 10:57 AM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] Multiple Dreamlands in canon ----- Original Message ----- From: "Davide Mana" > >Do Mi-Go dream? What might the Dreamlands of Yuggoth (wow, there's a title > >for ya) be like? > > Back in the Days of Yore (nice chap, Yore, if a bit temperamental) we > postulated that Mi-Go do not have access to the Dreamlands, and that might > be a reason why they keep experimenting on us. > > After all, they are the kind that go and mine extradimensional substances - > so the notion of a parallel dimension that's close to them must be pretty > bugging. Alas, poor Yore. I knew him Davide. No, not in the Biblical sense you prevert. Jeez! Anyhow, I go with the premise that Mi-Go don't dream. Hell, I'd even say that don't sleep. According to the literature their minds don't work like ours do, and there are aspects of the way ours work that interest them. Our ability to dream seems like a good candidate for the element they are studying. But, there is another race that is cozy enough with human thought processes to indicate that they might have some commonalities. Do Shan dream? Do they hitch a ride on others dreams? Mark McFadden _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of The Lizard King [lizardrex@charter.net] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 11:15 AM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] Re: LOTR ----- Original Message ----- From: "Janusz A. Urbanowicz" > Here we call them Tolkienists and I try to popularize naming Trekkies as > Trekists (as chekists from Soviet political police che-ka). > > They (the Trekists) hate this. There is a division in American Trek fandom. Here there are Trekkies and Trekkers. Trekkies are the stereotypical fans that live and breathe Trek and inspired the "get a life" Shatner moment. They like being called Trekkies. Trekkers like Trek, but don't live it. They hate being called Trekkies and maintain that they have a life. Then of course there are the Trekanistas... Mark McFadden One of the funniest moments I've seen on TV in quite some time was an episode of "Bob and David's Mister Show" that had a Ken Burns "Civil War" satire called "The Civil War Recreations." Using the Ken Burns style of photos and music and actors reading diaries and letters, it told the tale of a Civil War battle recreation at a public park. 3 Lincolns showed up. Shelby Foote mentions that that wasn't historically accurate since Lincoln wasn't at the battle. Then the combatants find that they can't use the park because the Renaissance Faire is already set up, and they have a permit. While the generals and the Royal Court are arguing about who has priority, a group of Star Fleet personnel come up and comment on the primitive culture. The Ren Faire people start pushing the Star Fleet personnel who respond with "Phasers on stun!", and one of the Ren Faire guys grabs a phaser and breaks it. The recreationists end up having their battle in the parking lot (one of the Lincolns had to fight on the Confederate side) which is shown through action photos and sound effects of shouts and gunfire and car alarms going off. _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of John Daly [johnd_iv@yahoo.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 12:08 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] The Ultimate Dual NPC Backstory Generator --- ialdaloboth *genzundheit!* wrote: > http://www.rain-street.org/fightcrime.htm I got this one and laughed my posterior off: He's a lonely ninja dog-catcher on the wrong side of the law. She's a chain-smoking gypsy Hell's Angel with a song in her heart and a spring in her step. They fight crime! John __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Yahoo! GeoCities - quick and easy web site hosting, just $8.95/month. http://geocities.yahoo.com/ps/info1 _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Berin Kinsman [deltagreen@unclebear.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 11:47 AM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: [DG] Turkey-X Disease >From http://www.wisc.edu/botany/fungi/feb97.html Some species of the fungi Aspergillus, notably A. flavus and A. parasiticus produce a secondary metabolite known as aflatoxin. Aflatoxin was first discovered by observing a "plague" that occurred on many turkey farms, particularly in England in the early 1960's, where the turkeys died rapidly and in great numbers. Since the causal agent for the disease was not known, it was simply called "Turkey X disease." Mycologists later discovered that the turkeys had been fed peanut meal contaminated with Aspergillus flavus, Aspergillus parasiticus, and related species. Although aflatoxin is widely known for its carcinogenic properties, under the conditions present at that time these fungi produced aflatoxin in such great quantities as to rapidly kill the turkeys. This is no longer a problem since the peanut meal, if used to feed the birds, is monitored very closely for the fungus. There is no chance of turkey containing aflatoxin today. Or so they say... Happy Thanksgiving! -berin ******** http://unclebear.com/deltagreen Quidquid latine dictum sit altum viditur _____________________________________________________________ UNCLE BEAR: news, commentary and community for the escapist mind http://unclebear.com _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Shane Ivey [shane@revolutionsf.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 12:33 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: RE: [DG] The Ultimate Dual NPC Backstory Generator Fun! I co-wrote something similar in Mad-lib style a year or two ago: http://www.zealot.com/humor/archives/executioner/ (Warning: It hasn't been touched in ages, so prepare for a long download as the list of past stories loads.) Shane Ivey Producer, RevolutionSF http://www.revolutionsf.com/ -----Original Message----- From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com [mailto:owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com]On Behalf Of John Daly Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 12:08 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] The Ultimate Dual NPC Backstory Generator --- ialdaloboth *genzundheit!* wrote: > http://www.rain-street.org/fightcrime.htm I got this one and laughed my posterior off: He's a lonely ninja dog-catcher on the wrong side of the law. She's a chain-smoking gypsy Hell's Angel with a song in her heart and a spring in her step. They fight crime! John __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Yahoo! GeoCities - quick and easy web site hosting, just $8.95/month. http://geocities.yahoo.com/ps/info1 _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of David Rodemaker [dar@horusinc.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 12:33 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: RE: [DG] Re: F**k L. Ron Hubbard and F**k all his clones... > Well, my idea was that the Church was set up as a DG ally by > Elron himself, > and lots of money was to be funneled into accounts that only DG could > access. Currently, the Church is on autopilot, drawing attention > from kooks > who could potentially join a mythos cult while DG continues to siphon off > some points of the income. And of course, drawing their bank > accounts away > from them. I could go with that, and then have them find out that the CS has become the front for who knws what... I think it could be great for some wierd variation on the Vibe (it being a buch of actors...) David _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Rayburn, Russell E. [RERayburn@cmhmetro.net] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 1:06 PM To: DG Tradecraft (E-mail); Dgrpg (E-mail) Subject: [DG] Do-it-yourself Internet anonymity Note: Cross posting this to TRADECRAFT as well. Apologies to those who receive it twice. "Along with the recent government hysteria over terrorists, we've seen legislative measures and 'emergency powers' inviting law-enforcement agencies worldwide to conduct Internet surveillance on an unprecedented scale. But because the state-of-the-art of electronic dragnets makes it difficult if not impossible to exclude the comings and goings of innocent citizens, we thought this a good time to run down the basic techniques for ordinary, law-abiding folk to come and go anonymously on the Net, and keep their private business private." http://www.theregister.co.uk/content/6/22831.html ObDG: Something to torment your players with, either in the 'did you do that?' sense or 'well, the bad guys found this on your office pc...' _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of William Timmins [wtimmins@hotmail.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 1:11 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] Multiple Dreamlands in canon >From: "The Lizard King" > Anyhow, I go with the premise that Mi-Go don't dream. Hell, I'd even say >that don't sleep. According to the literature their minds don't work like >ours do, and there are aspects of the way ours work that interest them. Our >ability to dream seems like a good candidate for the element they are >studying. > But, there is another race that is cozy enough with human thought >processes >to indicate that they might have some commonalities. Do Shan dream? Do they >hitch a ride on others dreams? > >Mark McFadden > How about this for a whacky idea... maybe the Fungi don't dream... and live completely within both the Waking World and Dreamland at the same time? Given they are already described as being multidimensional... Maybe the part that confuses them is how humans function so well in such a cameral way. -=Will _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Berin Kinsman [deltagreen@unclebear.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 11:41 AM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: [DG] Doctor Fungus I apparently have too much time on my hands. I found a site called DoctorFungus.com, "your on-line reference to all things mycological". It's got some interesting news, like "Mold Killed Daughter, Sues Landlord for $65M" and "460 million years old Fungi Fossils Found", as well as obvious propeganda like "Fungus Friend, not Foe". I typed "Yuggoth" into their search engine and got nothing, but when I typed in "Mi-go", it got 300 hits! Strangely, "Mi-go" does not actually appear on any of the pages I looked through, but if you look at the source code, there's a message urging you to STOP! -berin ******** http://unclebear.com/deltagreen Quidquid latine dictum sit altum viditur _____________________________________________________________ UNCLE BEAR: news, commentary and community for the escapist mind http://unclebear.com _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of david wienecke [dwienecke@usa.net] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 1:36 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: [DG] Multiple Dreamlands in canon I have a suspicion on reality vs. the dream lands: Did you ever wonder why an experiment can be performed a thousand times "exactly" the same way, (sorry Heraclitus) have the same results 900 times and have 100 additional completely different results? Did you ever wonder why you can add the same string of numbers on a adding machine 20 times and never get the same number twice? Did you ever wonder why incompetent people get promoted while the hardworking knowledgeable folks stay in their dead end jobs? Why doctors "practice" on people and computer techs always use the words "should" and "might" rather than "will" and "does". The answer is simple. Our reality is the dream lands of the Demon Sultan. It is more sanity destroying to have reality mostly stable with anomalies, than have everything in chaotic flux. Dave W. _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Michael Layne [theherald@hotmail.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 2:24 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Fwd: Re: [DG] Re: LOTR (Humor, I hope...) Fellow Conspirators: After forwarding the Lizard King's recent post on Trekkies, Trekkers, Trekanistas, Tolkienites, SCAdians, Ren Fair types (not the same as SCAdians), and Civil War Reenactors (hey, I resemble two of the above categories...), to the infamous Agent STOBOR, I received this copy of a manifesto he had apparently intercepted. I consider its reliablilty about the same as the reports of Elvis pulling the trigger on JFK, of Donnie and Marie being Martians, or of the Taliban deciding to go to work for Mother Teresa! Michael Layne DGGF#688 theherald@hotmail.com >Trekanistas of the world, unite! >The foundation of the federation of planets is at hand! >Flying kites will be forbidden, since space ships taking off might get >tangled in their strings. Movies are forbidden since we have holodecks >(well, we will have them some day), and no one goes to school since >information can be beamed directly into one's head. Women in public must >wear those short Star Trek outfits that aren't long enough to sit on. >Instead of cell phones everyone will have a tiny radio badge. Instead of >practical knowledge of all sorts, the only teaching to be beamed into heads >will pertain to operation of star ships and other starfleet stuff. >Underwear will be changed every three hours. It will be worn on the outside >so we can check. Klingons who are not obnoxious will be scanned with >tricorders to see if they are just humans wearing plastic appliances. >Medusan ambassadors will ride in transparent boxes. > >etc _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Andy Robertson [andywrobertson@clara.co.uk] Sent: Thursday, November 22, 2001 3:06 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] DG: Neutrino Observatory Destroyed: Why? >>----- Original Message ----- >>From: TheGreatCthulhuz@aol.com >>Neutrinos affect absolutely NOTHING. Ectually, I think neutrinos are what rips the outer layers off a type II supernova!! The Glove Cleaner _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Berin Kinsman [deltagreen@unclebear.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 3:35 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: [DG] Taliban abandon surrender plan after 'prophetic dream' From: http://news.independent.co.uk/world/asia_china/story.jsp?story=105801 "Recent reports suggested that Mullah Omar, facing almost certain defeat, had agreed to surrender Kandahar. But yesterday Ahmad Karzai, whose brother Hamid has been negotiating with the Taliban for the surrender of the city, said Mullah Omar had changed his mind because he had had a prophetic dream in which he remained in power. "I have had a dream in which I am in charge for as long as I live," Mr Karzai quoted Mullah Omar as saying." I keep telling everyone that there's something under the sands of Afghanistan, and that all those tunnels the Taliban and al Qaeda are hiding in lead somewhere sinister... -berin ******** http://unclebear.com/deltagreen Quidquid latine dictum sit altum viditur _____________________________________________________________ UNCLE BEAR: news, commentary and community for the escapist mind http://unclebear.com _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Rayburn, Russell E. [RERayburn@cmhmetro.net] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 3:51 PM To: 'deltagreen@revolutionsf.com' Subject: RE: [DG] Taliban abandon surrender plan after 'prophetic dream' Mullah Omar had changed his mind because he had had a prophetic dream in which he remained in power. "I have had a dream in which I am in charge for as long as I live," Mr Karzai quoted Mullah Omar as saying." I keep telling everyone that there's something under the sands of Afghanistan, and that all those tunnels the Taliban and al Qaeda are hiding in lead somewhere sinister... And whatever it is under there is chuckling... since Omar is almost certainly correct... to be proven so within three days. _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Davide Mana [michelina.ponsetto@tin.it] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 4:12 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] Re: LOTR Greetings. Trekkies, now.... > > They (the Trekists) hate this. The ilk does indeed have a thin skin. And there are some curious variants in definitions. > There is a division in American Trek fandom. Here there are Trekkies and >Trekkers. Here in Italy, Star Trek Fandom is the monopoly of STIC (Star Trek Italian Club). I could entertain you for many a night with wild tales of wackyness from those blokes, but anyway. Trekkie (or "Trekkista") is the standard usage by the general public, which means mostly SF fans, as the phenomenon is ignored outside of the field. The term is considered offensive. "Trekker" never caught - only hip Trekkies with a good knowledge of what's going on across the pond use it, and is generally considered synonymous with "pretentious trekkie". Members of STIC like to refer to themselves as "Stickers" - which is just equally silly. > Then of course there are the Trekanistas... Like the kid that actually started crying with great wet sobs the day I told him a . Star Trek does not represent the whole of Science Fiction b . there's a huge load of stuff in the field and outside of it that's infinitely better than Star Trek. c . Blade Runner is still a better movie than anything with a Star Trek label on it. As for Tolkienoids, we call them Tolkienoids, but I also like the recently coined LOTRies. So far, they've been quiet and out of the way, but with the coming of the movies, it will be a true Hobbit Extravaganza on the streets. Be seeing you. Davide Mana Torino, Italy _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Simon Berman [toreatect@yahoo.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 4:34 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] Re: LOTR Just a side-thought...in my experience Star Wars fans can be just as rabid mindless as Trekkies, how come they don't have a denigrating label and aren't held in widespread disdain? Cheers, Simon Berman New York Hates Star Trek Loves Star Wars But Hasn't Read the Books or Comics ===== Give me one more medicated, peaceful moment. -A Perfect Circle, Orestes __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Yahoo! GeoCities - quick and easy web site hosting, just $8.95/month. http://geocities.yahoo.com/ps/info1 _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of John Petherick [jpetheri@cyberbeach.net] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 5:19 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: RE: [DG] DG: Neutrino Observatory Destroyed: Why? Interestingly, the other major neutrino observatory was also temporarily closed on November 16, 2001 due to a 3.5 Richter seismic event. http://www.siteseer.ca/vault/11-16-2001.htm Of course, there is nothing on the official website. http://sno.phy.queensu.ca/ While I was out of town and did not feel it myself, people all over town were woken up. > -----Original Message----- > From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com > [mailto:owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com]On Behalf Of David.Clements > Sent: November 19, 2001 11:26 AM > To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com > Subject: [DG] DG: Neutrino Observatory Destroyed: Why? > > > The SuperKamiokande neutrino observatory has been severely damaged in a > freak accident: > > http://news.bbc.co.uk/hi/english/sci/tech/newsid_1664000/1664447.stm > > Does somethign not want it to detect something, or did it see something > just too powerful? What mythos creatures would affect neutrinos anyway? > Perhaps a Hound walked by a bit too close? Or maybe a covert Kerotokage > operation? > _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Michael Layne [theherald@hotmail.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 5:31 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] DG: Neutrino Observatory Destroyed: Why? On 19 November 2001, TheGreatCthulhuz@aol.com said: >Neutrinos affect absolutely NOTHING. Scientists have said that if the >galaxy >was a solid block of lead and sent a couple billion (a very small number) >of >neutrinos through, some would make it out of the other side. They are the >least-reacting subatomic particle in existance. It's not quite that bad... I've heard that a neutrino striking half a light-year of solid lead has only a fifty-percent chance of getting through!:) >I don't see further knowledge >of them affecting any mythos or MJ12 ties. Probably just a freak accident, >unless you'd like to change the makeup of subatomic particles in your >world. While neutrinos are very penetrative, they can be detected. Most current neutrino detectors (such as those which are detecting fewer solar neutrinos than expected) are fairly large, but smaller ones can probably be constructed. There is research going on concerning the possibility of using neutrinos for communications. A neutrino communicator would be immune to the types of electromagnetic interference that affect radio communications. Also, it would be unaffected by terrain -- a base with a neutrino communicator could literally beam messages through the Earth to receivers on the opposite side of the globe, or to submarines submerged a kilometer down (probably with a higher data rate than ELF). If the system could be made small enough and inexpensive enough for submersibles and habitats to use, as well as large shore stations, it could supplant undersea sound communications systems such as the "Gertrude" (the "underwater telephone"). Michael Layne DGGF#688 theherald@hotmail.com _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of TheGreatCthulhuz@aol.com Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 5:47 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] DG: Neutrino Observatory Destroyed: Why? ...where did you find this? Neutrinos are famous for interacting with nothing physical (well, perhaps E=mc^2 would say otherwise, but you know what I mean). I havn't gone too deep into them, though. Where did you learn this? From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of TheGreatCthulhuz@aol.com Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 5:50 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] Do-it-yourself Internet anonymity Thanks a lot, man. I'm using this right away. From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Andy Robertson [andywrobertson@clara.co.uk] Sent: Thursday, November 22, 2001 5:53 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] DG: Neutrino Observatory Destroyed: Why? >> ----- Original Message ----- >> From: TheGreatCthulhuz@aol.com >> ...where did you find this? Neutrinos are famous for interacting with >> nothing physical (well perhaps E=mc^2 would say otherwise, but >> you know what I mean). I havn't gone too deep into them, though. >> Where did you learn this? My study, my interest. This quirk of fate always amused me. A quick web search gives http://csep10.phys.utk.edu/guidry/NC-State-html/status.html Within the past decade, a second mechanism has gained primacy in the supernova problem [bet85]. In the delayed shock or neutrino reheating mechanism, the stalled shock is re-energized on a time-scale of hundreds of milliseconds by the neutrinos being emitted from the interior, and this leads to the final supernova explosion. Schematically, the supernova explosion then looks like [bru93] The universe is a strange, strange,place. Very high energy neutrinos actually interact with matter slightly. Neutrinos can blow a star apart if there are enough of them and they are high enough energy. The Glove Cleaner _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Michael Layne [theherald@hotmail.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 6:37 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: RE: [DG] Taliban abandon surrender plan after 'prophetic dream' On 20 November 2001, "Rayburn, Russell E." said: >Mullah Omar had changed his mind because he had had a prophetic dream >in which he remained in power. "I have had a dream in which I am in charge >for as long as I live," Mr Karzai quoted Mullah Omar as saying." > >I keep telling everyone that there's something under the sands of >Afghanistan, and that all those tunnels the Taliban and al Qaeda are hiding >in lead somewhere sinister... > > >And whatever it is under there is chuckling... since Omar is almost >certainly correct... to be proven so within three days. The operative phrase being "as long as I live", of course... Until then, he can continue to serve as host on the shows being broadcast from Kandahar on The Jihad Channel: "Who Wants to be a Martyr?" "Wheel of Terror and Misfortune" "Terror and Consequences" "Where in Afghanistan is Osama Bin Laden?" "Shoot the Press" "Survivor: Afghanistan" (until the host is voted off the planet) Michael Layne DGGF#688 theherald@hotmail.com _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Berin Kinsman [deltagreen@unclebear.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 7:00 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] Re: LOTR --- Simon Berman wrote: > >Just a side-thought...in my experience Star Wars fans >can be just as rabid mindless as Trekkies, how come >they don't have a denigrating label and aren't held in >widespread disdain? For that matter, what about Mythos fans? _____________________________________________________________ UNCLE BEAR: news, commentary and community for the escapist mind http://unclebear.com _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Shane Ivey [shane@revolutionsf.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 7:13 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: RE: [DG] Re: LOTR >Just a side-thought...in my experience Star Wars fans >can be just as rabid mindless as Trekkies, how come >they don't have a denigrating label and aren't held in >widespread disdain? It's the lightsabers. Chicks dig the lightsabers. Shane Ivey Producer, RevolutionSF http://www.revolutionsf.com/ _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Greg Muir [gregmuir@adelphia.net] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 10:21 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: RE: [DG] Multiple Dreamlands in canon > I like that idea, "relic dreamsphere". That could explain a > number of things with ancient human cultures as well, like > mummy's curses; fall asleep near a lost Eqyptian tomb, wake up > being chased by mummies, cultists, whatever, and not even realize > you're in the dreamlands and not the real world. That's like a concept I read about. This occultist was talking about the beliefs creating the product, like the Tibetan tulpas. Well, he mentioned how collective belief actually created the religious constructs that people believed in, and that the belief is so strong that those things can be seen today by mystics. He claimed to have seen Valhalla and the Rainbow Bridge while with European mystics and had seen elements of American Indian lore when staying with Indian shamen. (plural of Shaman?) Such dream constructs are said to be on the "astral plane" and would help to reenforce the belief of the faithful. If you are in a receptive state and see the very elements of your belief made manifest before you, you're likely to take it more seriously afterwards. _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of David.Clements [David.Clements@astro.cf.ac.uk] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 7:43 PM Cc: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] DG: Neutrino Observatory Destroyed: Why? On Thu, 22 Nov 2001, Andy Robertson wrote: > > >>----- Original Message ----- > >>From: TheGreatCthulhuz@aol.com > > >>Neutrinos affect absolutely NOTHING. > > Ectually, I think neutrinos are what rips the outer layers off a type II > supernova!! Indeed... 10e57 neutrinos can do a lot of damage... If neutrinos can act as a communication means between our and other domains, which of our favourite deities might they be linked to. The all -pervasiveness might argue for Yog-Sothoth, the communication possibilities might argue for Nyarlathotep. SuperKam was being used as part of an experiment with a particle accelarator producing lots of neutrinos. The possibility arises that these artificial neutrinos could have annoyed someone or something. If this is true, maybe this same force could be affected by a quantity of radioctive beta emitting material, which would also emit neutrinos... Just a thought. Dave _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Greg Muir [gregmuir@adelphia.net] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 10:26 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: RE: [DG] Re: LOTR Maybe because more people like Star Wars? Broader appeal, thus the crazies don't have quite the "we are the whole fandom" cachet. You do not see fundies condemned as radically as they might because a lot of people share the same religion if not the depth of the belief. They would feel funny calling down someone for getting too much into something they already support. > > Just a side-thought...in my experience Star Wars fans > can be just as rabid mindless as Trekkies, how come > they don't have a denigrating label and aren't held in > widespread disdain? > > Cheers, > Simon Berman > New York > Hates Star Trek > Loves Star Wars But Hasn't Read the Books or Comics > > ===== > Give me one more medicated, peaceful moment. > > -A Perfect Circle, Orestes > > __________________________________________________ > Do You Yahoo!? > Yahoo! GeoCities - quick and easy web site hosting, just $8.95/month. > http://geocities.yahoo.com/ps/info1 > _______________________________________ > The Delta Green Mailing List > http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ > _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of ialdaloboth *genzundheit!* [ialdaloboth@hotmail.com] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 9:27 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: Re: [DG] Taliban abandon surrender plan after 'prophetic dream' >"... Mullah Omar had changed his mind because he had had a prophetic dream >in which he remained in power. "I have had a dream in which I am in charge >for as long as I live," ... " He's gonna be the big daddy of the cell block while awaiting execution, in other words : ) Let us not forget the hazards of Prophecy: does "There will be a great victory" ring any bells? J. _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Greg Muir [gregmuir@adelphia.net] Sent: Wednesday, November 21, 2001 12:25 AM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: RE: [DG] Taliban abandon surrender plan after 'prophetic dream' > "Recent reports suggested that Mullah Omar, facing almost certain > defeat, had agreed to surrender Kandahar. But yesterday Ahmad > Karzai, whose brother Hamid has been negotiating with the Taliban > for the surrender of the city, said Mullah Omar had changed his > mind because he had had a prophetic dream in which he remained in > power. "I have had a dream in which I am in charge for as long as > I live," Mr Karzai quoted Mullah Omar as saying." > Well, that remains technically true. Hitler remained in control of Germany all his life. _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of David Farnell [daf@fukuoka-u.ac.jp] Sent: Tuesday, November 20, 2001 9:53 PM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Cc: karna1819@earthlink.net Subject: [DG] [CHALLENGE 2] Chapter 3 CHAPTER THREE: The Short, Unfortunate Promotion of Lt. Morrison by J. Edward Tremlett (ialdaloboth@hotmail.com) [everyone is broken. why can't you forget?] "You get hold of your man?" Lance asked Morton, who was putting his cellphone away. "No," Morton said. "I got hold of someone who'll get hold of someone who'll get hold of the man." Lance smirked, deciding he was better off not knowing. Outside the rentacar's window, night-time Indiana was flying by. Mile after mile of flat, flat land; it reminded him of his first girlfriend. "So we were talking about the worst thing we ever did," Morton said, leaning back against the bucket seat. "...and I said mine was classified information," Lance replied, passing a slow-poke in a lime-green SUV. "You?" Morton smiled a little. "Well...let me tell you...how much did your outfit deal with Air America?" "Those crazy fuckers? We worked with them, yeah, but at a distance." "Not your favorite people?" "That's putting it mildly. Bastards borrowed one of our planes once, and it got shot down over a no-go area. We went in to retrieve it, and the cargo hold was full of..." He stopped a moment, and swallowed hard. "Sorry...that's kind of classified, too." "Ah..." Morton replied. "Well, we didn't avoid them. There's a reason I don't fly anymore." "I was wondering..." Lance said, patting the steering wheel. "Not that I'm complaining about the road trip. We just could have gotten there a little faster--" "They're fast, but they're not secure," his passenger replied, looking out the window. "There's videocameras everywhere in an airport. You can't take a piss without someone noticing. You can't buy a ticket without leaving a trail. If you've got them looking for you..." He let the point trail off, but Lance shook his head. "Man, come on. We're them, remember?" Morton was about to say something, but then his cell phone went off. This time, Lance recognized it: the first few bars of "Sledgehammer". Morton answered, then listened in silence, his face as blank a mask as ever. We'll be there in two days," he told whoever was on the other end. "Keep us appraised every hour." He exhaled as he ended the connection. "Something's gone wrong." "What?" "Crossingham's Pacific facility just locked down. Our observers say that they've rolled out the private guards. They seem to be searching the premises for... "Someone," he finished, placing emphasis on that word. Lance got the idea that his passenger had meant to say something. He swallowed hard and exhaled, the nervous tic coming back into his left eyelid... *** [you're turning into something you are not] The elevator down into the bowels of Facility 12 was old and rusty, and made weird, seizing noises every few feet. It had room for only two people at a time, so Lt. Morrison had to get rather close to his guide--Major Black Kenneth. And, from this distance, he could verify that the scuttlebutt was true: the man's breath was terrible. "So how does it feel to be a man of worth, Lt.?" the Major barked, hands clasping the brown paper bag he'd brought along. "I'm sorry, sir?" "No need to be sorry, son. You're a Lieutenant as of an hour ago. How does it feel?" "Oh...that..." he said, suppressing the need to shrug. "It was just really unexpected, sir. I mean, I appreciate it. I guess it just hasn't sunk in yet." "It will, son," the Major replied. Some other smell was wafting up from the shaft to have a gross-out contest with Kenneth's breath. Morrison tried not to gag, thinking of the promotion instead. It had been pretty weird, as far as promotions go. He'd been in the shower at his quarters on-base--everyone at Facility 12 lived on base, even the top brass--and his phone had rung. He'd wrapped himself up in a towel and dashed out to answer it, thinking it might be an emergency call. "I interrupt with 'I know who you are,'" the voice on the other end blurted out halfway into Morrison's answer. "My question is, 'Who am I?'" Morrison blinked. Um...I'm sorry. Is this a medical emergency?" There's a moment of silence on the phone, the voice replied, followed by a slight chuckle. "The reply is, 'Not yet it isn't.' Congratulations." At that point, Morrison had sighed, going into chair mode. "Um... I think for a moment, and then I ask 'Are you all right?'" Part of the reason why Morrison had gotten the job at F-12 was for his background in psychology. Given the high number of suicide attempts amongst the enlisted, it was very handy to have someone who could put someone's brain back in order while wrapping up their wrists. This was starting to sound like a goofy disassociative disorder--or maybe just a prank call. "And I reply, very sharply, 'Do you know who the fuck you're talking to, son?'" "I reply, very quickly, afraid that this is a superior officer--" "I, BEING a superior officer, interrupt to say 'I'm the only person in this conversation cleared for postmodern communications! And salute me when I'm talking to you!'" Morrison saluted, his towel dropping to the floor to leave him buck-ass naked in his living room. Were they watching him through the windows, again...? "I continue, 'Get your sorry ass dressed and report to your superior officer immediately.'" "Yes, sir!" "And then I hang u--" CLICK--MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM Morrison did what he was told, expecting to have the book thrown at him. But, much to his surprise, his superior smiled and handed him his promotion. "Congratulations," he said: "Your security clearance has been upgraded along with this promotion. We need you to go to Gate 9 for duty. Major Kenneth will be waiting there for you to give further instructions." And he'd done as he was told, and Major Kenneth had been there. He'd given him a medical bag, and together they'd gone down into someplace Morrison had only heard veiled whispers about--usually from the sorry, weak-willed dogfaces he'd had to put back together again. "So what am I needed for, sir?" Morrison asked, trying to clear the smells out of his nose. What was that? Ammonia? Piss? Rotten meat? The Chinese Omelette from the commissary...? "One of our subjects needs a physical, son," Major Kenneth said, just as the elevator was slowly coming to a halt. "We're prepping him for duty. You've got to make sure he's ready for it." The door slid open theatrically. Past it was a cold, grey concrete hallway, its sides' lengths broken by metal doors next to long, floor-to-ceiling, clear windows. There were naked lightbulbs in the ceiling--most of which were either flickering or blown out. There was a thin, bright yellow line down the middle of the floor. There were terrible sounds coming to meet their ears: muffled screaming, gurgling, someone pounding their fists against a barrier again and again and again. And the smell.... "Welcome to The Basement, son," Major Kenneth said: "About time you saw what all the fuss was about." *** [yesterday i woke up sucking a lemon] Velma patted her face down with a wet towel, her face looking slightly hazy in the plane's first-class bathroom mirror. She could hear the squeaking of impatient feet outside the door, but they'd just have to wait. It had been a long flight, and she needed to freshen up. She'd picked up the habit from so many flights with senators: if you had to be sitting in cramped confinement with other folks for so long, you really looked like hell coming off the plane. And while that might be a good thing in the SS line of work, it made you rather unpleasant to work with. She'd known people who'd been reassigned to crap jobs after rubbing a target the wrong way... Did she think target? She sighed, unrolling the lipstick: client. Client client client client. They couldn't help it if they were targets. Even if they deserved it... With the lipstick halfway to her lips, she froze. She stared at the red wand. It was Bloody Kisses--her favorite for this kind of work. But... ("I'm sure I can count on you to be...discrete...here..." he'd said, wiping the woman's gut-juices off on the upscale hotel's towel, his penis a bloody exclamation point: "I hold the fate of the free world in my hands. Sometimes I just have to let loose...") "...got you," she muttered, putting the lipstick on with a fierce determination: "I got you, you bastard. You're dead. You can't hurt me. I got you. You bastard. You're. Dead. You can't. Hurt--" "Hey"! someone outside said, pounding on the door: "Yeh have a heart attack? I'm swimmin' in my juices out here." "Sorry!" she said, trying not to think of what that reminded her of. She looked at herself in the mirror one last time--too much lipstick. Shit. Shit shit shit--and then left. "About fucking time," the overweight man snorted, heading in to get his juices out. There were three other people behind him, all glaring at her. She made a mental note: next time she did this, she'd do it in the regular section, where there were more bathrooms. "I was going to organize a search party," David said when she got back to her seat, tipping her a wink. She sighed and sat down. "Sorry. Ritual. Did you sleep any better after you woke up?" "No, he sighed, "I haven't slept a good night's sleep in years." "Nightmares?" He shook his head, sipping the coffee they'd trundled by with while she was in the bathroom. "Memories." She nodded, and tried to flag down a steward to get a cup for herself. "I hate them. Do you ever just wish..." "What?" "This is going to sound really silly." "I hear silly every day. Hit me." "Do you ever just wish you could have an on-off switch in your head? So you could just choose to remember some things some of the time, and some things none of the time?" "Well, I'd kill for a mental eraser." "Not an eraser," she shook her head, wondering when the steward would heed her call. "You'd go nuts trying to figure out what happened during the blank spots." "Hmmm...you've put some thought into this," he said, smiling. Velma nodded, giving up on the coffee idea: "I'd just like to put some things behind me. Pull them up when I needed to, but the rest of the time just let them sleep." "Yeah," he said, handing the rest of his coffee over to her. "Go ahead, I don't have any germs." "Thanks," she replied, taking a sip. He put too much sugar in it, but other than that is was a breath of fresh air. "So tell me," she said, "if your dreams are all memories, when were you hijacked and taken to Antarctica?" He just smiled, shaking his head. She got the point and returned the smile, returning to the coffee. David looked out the window, watching the clouds as the plane started to turn. Every so often he wondered if the shadows in those clouds were moving... [still there's no point letting it go to waste] "It's all right, son," the Major was saying, standing stock still and looking the other way as Lt. Morrison threw up. "Get it all out of your system." "Jesus..." Morrison said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What in the hell... I mean..." "We know some of your patients told you about The Basement." "I thought... they were... *ullgch* ... just ... *cough cough* ... overreactions caused by stress and confinement... *cough* ... sir." "That's putting it mildly," Kenneth said, looking at what had caused the Lt. to lose it. Morrison had actually done pretty well, all things considered. He hadn't flinched when he'd realized the plexiglas windows were looking in onto cells. He also hadn't flinched once he'd taken a good look at some of the occupants: the invisible woman hiding in a dark corner, afraid of being burned by the light; the naked, headless thing with blinking nipples and a wide, drooling navel; the man slowly turning himself inside out through his distended mouth. He also hadn't been too shaken up by the state of the guards down here, posted every few hundred feet. The first one they'd seen was standing stock-still, eyes twitching as they showed off their ID. The next had just shot himself--badly: he was lying on the floor in a pool of blood and brains, shaking as he pissed himself and asking why he wasn't dead yet... It was Exhibit #206 that had gotten to him: a pulsing, red jellyfish-man in a tank. It wafted in soiled current, brains floating just above the water, arms and intestines dangling like tentacles. Its free-floating eyes stared in mute protest. "It was supposed to be the next generation of amphibious operative," Kenneth explained as Morrison slowly regained his composure. "Now, can you see his sorry ass carrying a regulation firearm?" "Uh...no...no, sir." "Exactly," the Major said, moving on. "In any endeavor, there's mistakes. You're looking at the mistakes, Lieutenant. The Basement's here to house them for future reference." "Is this... this is what my patients saw, sir?" "Damn straight." "My god..." "Well, we ordered them not to look. Guards are supposed to keep their eyes on the yellow line at all times. If a soldier can't obey orders, what does he get?" Morrison didn't answer, knowing that one of old. "You and I, on the other hand, are one-hundred percent cleared to look," the Major continued. "I wish I wasn't, sir." "Don't go all weepy on me, son. I've seen your psych-report. You've seen worse in your head, trying to imagine your patients' ramblings. Be honest, son: is anything down here worse than what you'd imagined?" "No...no, sir," Morrison lied. "Ah. And there you are," Kenneth said, satisfied. At last, they seemed to be getting out of the hallway. A harshly-lit stairway beckoned. "So, sir..." Morrison asked, "if these are...mistakes...why are we prepping one for duty?" "Because The Basement doesn't just house the mistakes, son," the Major replied. "That zoo in there's just the sideshow. Down here's the main attraction." And the smell was getting worse... *** [ambition makes you look pretty ugly] "So is there any word from our California Facility, young Christopher?" the Lord Crossingham asked like a bolt from the blue. Dark clouds were starting to turn the day into night outside, and the wind was blowing from the wrong direction. "No, not yet, Milord," young Christopher replied, looking up from that day's _Times_. "Were you sleeping?" "I never sleep. I merely close my eyes and have a good, hard think." He chuckled at that, the machines nearby making a hideous, hissing noise as he did. "That's one for the memoir." "I thought you didn't like memoirs, Milord?" "I don't. Self-indulgences for people for whom mortality is a dark stranger at the door." "When isn't it, Milord?" The old man smiled a little. His eyelids were like sore, porn-starlet assholes and his skin was the color of whiskey-piss. "Remind me to tell you, someday," he answered. "Auld Lang Syne" came from Christopher's cellphone. He looked at the number, and nodded to Lord Crossingham. "That's California. One moment, Milord..." "Christopher," he said, standing up to pace as he took the call. "Yes, I did... what's that noise in the background?" Crossingham took the moment to check his temperature again: still 31.5. Not bad, all things considered... "What's the current situation?" Christopher was asking. "What?...Well, if it got out of your facility, I don't see how you can make that statement...I beg your pardon?...Yes, he is, and you won't be speaking to him like that." He turned to look at Crossingham, shaking his head in disbelief. "Yes...?...What?" There was a lengthy pause, and Christopher's face went blank. "But..." he said, and then he was putting the phone down. "That would be Doctor Price on the other end, I presume..." Crossingham said, smiling a little. "What did you think of him?" "Good manners and proper breeding prohibit me from saying exactly, Milord..." "Oh, please, young Christopher. He's a one-man shower of fucking arseholes. I wouldn't have him be any other way." Christopher's face went blank again, and Crossingham laughed: Confounded arrogance! You don't think your generation invented those words, did you? Well...go on. I presume he gave you something to tell me. Let's have it." Young Christopher nodded, and repeated it like a little boy telling his Headmaster what another boy had said about him: "'And now that sugar-shack queen is a-married to me, yeah-heh.'" The old man's face scrunched up for a moment, and then went back to a mild smile. "I see. Then it's time to celebrate. I shall require two things from you, Young Christopher." "Yes, Milord?" "In the wine cellar, behind the main rack, there is an iron box. In it is a bottle of Chateau D'Salomon 61--" "Begging your Lord's pardon...I didn't think Chateau D'Salomon had an appreciable crop in 1961?" "Oh, they did. I persuaded them to sell me the lot, and now there's but one bottle left. I'll want you to bring it, and two glasses, and the small wooden box that's next to the bottle." "Of course Milord..." Christopher said, pausing only to smile and look at his former master with a cocked eyebrow. "Yes, Young Christopher?" "A one-man shower of fucking arseholes? That's some dreadfully bad language, Milord...if I might say so." "Is it now? Well...I always thought the rules were somewhat overrated. After all, one must remember that a preposition is not a good thing to end a sentence WITH." "Winston Churchill, Milord," Christopher said, smiling more as he turned to go. "Hmmph," Lord Crossingham said, red eyes closing. "Bloody Tory bastard stole it from me. Well, be on your way, young Christopher. And don't tarry." Christopher nodded on his way out of the room, turning to regard his former master once more, and then closed both doors. Once he was out of earshot, the old man opened his eyes once more, looked up at the ceiling and smirked. "Got you again, you old bastard." *** [this is what you get when you mess with us] "Did you ever read anything by Anne Rice, son?" the Major paused in his monologue to ask. "Uh, I saw the movie, sir," the Lieutenant replied, relieved that the cells down here didn't have windows: just thick, metal doors with a huge keyhole and an observation slide. But the smell... "Don't bother going any further into that one. It's all faggot crap, anyway. Faggots moaning about getting to live forever. What would you do with forever, son?" "I don't know sir... why?" "I tell you what I'd do. I'd rid the world of (((CLASSIFIED)))." "(((CLASSIFIED)))?" "You heard that right. (((CLASSIFIED))). Little, Communist (((CLASSIFIED))) fuckers everywhere." "They're Communist?" "Of course! They're (((CLASSIFIED))), aren't they...?" He paused. "Hmmmph. I'm sorry, son. I don't think you're cleared to know about that, yet. I always talk too much when I'm quitting smoking." "Uh...I can forget really well, sir." The Major laughed, taking one hand off the paper bag to laugh and clap Morrison on the back. "Good man. Now, you're a psychologist. What can you make of this?" He pulled a sheaf of papers out of the paper bag. They looked like transcripts. "'My name is unimportant,'" Morrison read as they went on down the hall. "'My favorite band is Shriekback. My favorite jeans are black Levis. My favorite ice cream is mint chocolate chip...'" A sudden thump at the door of the cell on Morrison's right brought him out of it. "Wheeeere's yourrrrr heaaaaaad aaaaaat!?" a hoarse voice screamed. "What?" Morrison shrieked, leaping back and almost dropping the papers. "Where's your head at!?" the voice continued. "Where's your head at!?" "Never mind him, Lt.," the Major said, gesturing to the door. "He was supposed to be a precognitive, but they got something a little wrong. They turned him into a walking radio, instead." "Wheeeere's yourrrrr heaaaaaad aaaaaat!?" "Does he have an off switch, sir?" Morrison asked, trying to get his heartrate back down. "Same one we all do..." the Major grumbled, banging his fist on the door three times. It didn't work: the man kept chanting his question. "These are transcripts, sir?" Morrison asked once they got out of earshot of the man in the cell. "That they are. Since we've had him down here, S.N.N.'s been repeating that over and over again." "S.N.N., sir?" "Yes. His official designation's J.A.L.D.A, but we call him Subject Number None." "Number None?" "Is anything wrong with that, son?" "Uh, no sir...it sounds like a supervillain." "You could say that..." the Major replied, saluting the guard at the corner; the man was too busy staring at his crucifix and muttering "Hail Mary" to even ask them for ID. "The man's a body thief," Kenneth continued. "We wanted a super-spy. Someone we could let loose on the enemy and never have to worry about him being caught. We were thinking x-ray suits, or camouflage skin. Something from a comic book. That wasn't what we got." "But he's still useful enough, sir?" "Oh, hell yes. This man's Air Force has a proud history of turning lemons into lemonade. What we have is a genuine combination chameleon and neurophage--a one-man memory-retrieval system. He can disappear someone for us, impersonate that sorry SOB down to the smallest detail and come right back with everything said SOB ever knew. We just have to take the proper precautions. He gets a little carried away with his work." "Hmmm," Morrison replied, looking at the sheaf of papers. "'My favorite sights are the sun coming up in the morning and the sun going down in the evening. I love the 4th of July. I wish I knew who my father was...' This seems normal enough, sir." "So did Tim McVeigh, son," the Major said, stopping in his tracks at a particular door. "Then the (((CLASSIFIED))) fucked with his head during Desert Storm. You'll note that they liked the same kind of ice cream after that.... Anyway...we're here." Morrison looked at the door. Something about it gave him the shivers, as though he'd already been here once before. But he was dead then, wasn't he? Or was he now...? "You alright, son?" the Major barked. "Um...yes. Yes, sir," Morrison recovered. "Just thought of something, sir. Nothing important." "Thinking never is, son," Kenneth replied, taking the sheaf of transcripts from Lt. Morrison's hands and putting them back into the bag. "Especially not when there's a job to do and time's wasting." *** [but I'm not here--this isn't happening] Trevor Gilman had never felt so bad in all his life. All this mess because of him? Why did he have to get so curious? His mother would have been very angry with him. "I'm sorry, Dr. Price," he tried to say as the larger man dragged him through the halls by the elbow. The alarms were going off like firecrackers and guards were running this way and that. Outside, the lights were coming on and he could hear dune buggies revving over the sand. "It's a bit late for sorry, you fool," Price said, tossing him arm-first into Mr. Clements' room. It was a large office for one man, and had windows overlooking the whole of the facility. A large control panel stood by the window overlooking Research Facility Delta, and Mr. Clements was standing by it, his face no less jovial than usual. "Mister Clements, I'm sorry!" Trevor tried to say, but Dr. Price boxed him on one ear. "Shut up," he said, slamming the door behind him. The noise of the sirens was almost completely blocked by the heavy door. "What's happened?" Clements asked, smiling. "Director Clements, we've got a problem. Specimen D-315's gone loose." "Oh?" Clements said, looking at the janitor and talking to him as one might talk to a child, still smiling. "Trevor...did you go someplace you weren't supposed to?" "I'm sorry, Mister Clements," the man blubbered. Dr. Price shook his head, disgusted, and stomped off to the control panel as Clements walked over to the crying janitor. "It's alright..." Clements said, putting his hands on the man's shoulders and looking him in the face. "Just tell me the truth. You went someplace you weren't supposed to go, didn't you?" "Yes..." "See, that wasn't that hard?" Clements replied, putting both hands on Trevor's cheeks and smiling. "It's a good thing to be honest, even when you did something wrong. That's a very grown-up thing to do, Trevor. I'm very proud of you." "So what do we do?" Dr. Price asked. "You've sent the guards out, I see, but there's no way they're going to stop it." "I think our plans are being forced forward," Clements said, keeping his hands and eyes on Trevor, patting the man's tear-streaked cheeks. "Call Crossingham's man?" "Of course," Price said, pulling his cellphone out. As he dialed the number, Clements cocked his head and looked at Trevor, waiting for that one special, happy moment when the trust and light of a child came back into the man's red, wet eyes. Then he gripped the sides of that trusting face with a terrifying strength and speed, driving his thumbs into the man's eyesockets and pushing Trevor's cheeks with his palms so he couldn't hitch a breath to scream. At no time did the smile on Clements' face waver or break. "This is Doctor Price," Price said, watching Trevor die. "You asked me to keep you apprised? "Oh... the noise?" he said, looking at Trevor. Clements had released him, and the stupid man had fallen to the ground, eyes black and bloody pits as he mouthed his last breath: "Nothing, not anymore." "The specimens gotten out of the facility," he continued, flipping a few switches on the control pad by the window. "... Not to worry. We have our men looking for it on the grounds, and there's no way it can escape." He pressed one last switch, waiting for the light to flash on, showing that the containment material was being piped through to the outside sprayers. "Of course not. You're a moron.... It's not given. Now, is Lord Carrington there?...I won't, you will. Give him the following message." He looked at Clements, who looked up from his handiwork and nodded, that neutral, smiling look still on his face. "'And now that sugar-shack queen is a-married to me, yeah-heh.'" Dr. Price sung, wonderfully on-key. "...You've quite a talent for one-word responses," he continued. "I recommend therapy. Now be a good boy and tell Lord Carrington what I've said, and I'll call you when developments occur. Goodbye," he said, hanging up. "So that's done?" Clements asked, wiping the blood from his hands with a nearby box of tissues--recycled paper, of course. "Indeed, and the containment field's ready," Price replied, noting the flashing light. "Get it started then," the man said, smiling as he started to walk out. "Deal with the body?" "Of course...but...Director Clements?" "Yes?" "I know we get Federal tax deductions for it, but do you at last understand my concerns about employing the mentally deficient and educationally-challenged?" "They're fun to break," Clements said, a sudden hard look coming in his eyes, as though he were a small boy afraid of losing a favorite stuffed animal. "Ah...yes," Dr. Price said. "Well...never mind, sir. I'll carry on in here, shall I?" "Please," the director said, the smile back in place as though nothing had gone wrong. And then he was gone, the noise of sirens filling the room for the three seconds the door was open. And then it was quiet once more. "'One of these days, were gonna lay down tracks...,'" Price sang, pressing the button by the flashing light. "'In the die-rection of that...sugar shack...just her and me--yes--were gonna go back...to that...sugar shack...wooo-hooa to that...sugar shack...'" Outside, from sprinklers in the grass, it began to rain white powder. *** [release me. release me] Lt. Morrison took the bag out of his hand and looked at the metal door between him and his patient. "Should we knock, sir?" "Oh, he'll be asleep," the Major said, pulling out an old, iron key and unlocking the door: "Look for something that looks like a sleeping bag--that'll be him." The door opened, and another smell assaulted Morrison's nose. It wasn't as bad as the general reek of the place--thank goodness--but it was still unpleasant. Cinnamon gone bad? Indian food shit? What... "In you go," Kenneth said, gesturing. And he did. There was a short hallway leading to a left bend, which led to the room. The lights were very, very dim, and Morrison stood for a moment to try and adjust to the light. He walked in and turned to the left, just in time to hear the door close and lock behind him. "What...?" he asked, and then something unfolded from the shadows in the ceiling. Something raw and wet. It said "I'm sorry," and then leaped at him. A minute after the scream, the Major turned on the lights and looked in the cell through the sliding observation panel. On the ground was a fleshless, steaming body, ribs shining under the harsh lights. A jawbone and tongue dangled from what was left of its neck, but everything above it was gone, except for some spat-out fragments of skull on the floor around it. Kenneth shuddered. He wouldn't be able to get that song out of his head now. He just knew it. So he did the only thing he could: he pulled a zobo out of the brown paper bag, and started to play "Taps." He found it covered up the noises S.N.N. made when he got dressed and ate. He came out a few minutes later, Private Morrison did. His posture was languid, like a bored hustler on the make, and something fierce shone in his eyes--some mad, terrible revelation. "You feeling fit for duty, soldier?" Major Kenneth asked. "Of course... sir," Morrison said. His voice sounded like an deep, wrong note on an accordion. "It's been a while." "Since we saw each other, or you locked me in that hole?" "One's the same as the other, soldier." "No," Morrison replied, shaking his borrowed head. "No, sir. You've come by about once a month, sir. I've seen you." The Major blinked: "But--" "You'd be amazed what you see when you don't sleep...sir," he replied, following the "sir" with a gobbet of spit, aimed right between the Major's spats. It was red, and had chunks of gristle and flecks of bone floating in it. The Major blinked again. "You'd better watch that attitude, son." Morrison just smiled, and stared. "What attitude, sir?" "Never mind..." Kenneth replied, turning just so slightly away from that gaze. "We've got a job for you, soldier. It's a big assignment. Comes straight from the top." "You need me to eat someone?" "Yes," he said, pulling a folder from the paper bag and handing it over. "The dossier's in there. I hope you're in the mood for a plane flight." Morrison whipped it out of Kenneth's hand with a fluid gesture, and started to look at it with his usual, feigned disinterest. Then he came to one line and stopped reading. His borrowed eyes turned hard. "I thought you might appreciate that," the Major said, putting the audio-tape readouts back into the paper bag and pulling a squat, gold lighter out of his shirt pocket. The lighter read "FUCK (((CLASSIFIED)))." "You...could say that..." Morrison said, some of his veneer seeming to peel away. "We have a bit of a history, this one and I, sir." "So you won't mind the duty, for a change," the Major continued, lighting the bag on fire from the bottom and holding it out to watch it burn. "Not that we're going to trust you, of course." "Of course not, sir," the man said, tucking the dossier under his arm and straightening his uniform's tie. "But when it comes to your personal dietary needs, there's to be no eating anyone important, this time," Kenneth ordered, letting the bag burn for so long and then tossing it aside to gut and smolder on the floor. Morrison shrugged. "He didn't say who he was at the bar, sir." "They never do, and that's no excuse." "Right, sir," Morrison said, turning back to nod as he thought of a way to circumvent that problem. "Oh, and I talk to myself so I can remember who I am, sir." "Come again, soldier?" "I've been a hall of mirrors since you all did this to me. And every time you let me loose there's at least one more bent frame to see the world through. So when I'm down here, I have to remind myself of who I really am. Otherwise... I'd go crazy. Sir." "That hippie crap means Jack and Shit to me, soldier." "Hopefully...it'll never mean anything more than that...sir," Morrison replied, letting the point rest at the end of a tongue from another planet. The Major pointed up the hall, and Morrison--as always--led the way back there, towards the elevator at the end. He didn't blame the Major for being too cautious: tracking chip and remote-destruct charge or no, it'd be a full ten seconds before anyone monitoring the conversation realized the Major was in trouble. And a lot could be done in ten seconds, if you knew how people came apart. As they walked away, the paper bag continued to burn. The sensitive documents the real Lt. Morrison (orphan, 27, Libra) had read prior to his ingestion--and assumption--flared and charred. Little pieces of a life turned into grey ash, pausing only long enough to be read, line by line, before flaking off into acrid smoke: "My name is unimportant. My favorite band is Shriekback. My favorite jeans are black Levis. My favorite ice cream is mint chocolate chip. "I like long walks in the rain, reading old books and the smell of a man's neck when he lets you kiss him. I hate Mondays and buying cars. If I were a tree I'd want to be a bonsai. If I were an animal it would be a tree sloth. "My favorite sights are the sun coming up in the morning and the sun going down in the evening. I love the 4th of July. I wish I knew who my father was. "And one day I will be free." ************************* [Damn good work, J. Edgar...er, Edward--I just about sprayed my tea over the monitor a couple of times. And HUGE! Now I can't get that song out of my head, and I've never even heard it. Right--next up is Arjun "I could introduce you to Arundhati" Roy , with Chapter 4 due in one week. --Dave] _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/ From: owner-deltagreen@revolutionsf.com on behalf of Greg Muir [gregmuir@adelphia.net] Sent: Wednesday, November 21, 2001 1:29 AM To: deltagreen@revolutionsf.com Subject: RE: [DG] Taliban abandon surrender plan after 'prophetic dream' > > Let us not forget the hazards of Prophecy: does "There will be a great > victory" ring any bells? > Which horrible cockup was that from? _______________________________________ The Delta Green Mailing List http://www.delta-green.com/comint/dgml/