Poker Night Transcript #7

Poker Night Session 7 Thursday, October 30, 1999 Keeper: Doug Iannelli Lt. Chance Boudreaux: Jared Fialkow Saturday, December 20th, 1997. 1540 hours. . .

Keeper:	Taking a right onto Valley Drive, Marlon steers the Cut-V to a stop beside the flightline fuel storage tank, gesturing for you to roll down your window. Outside, you see two men attempting to tape plastic sheeting across the exposed cab of the damaged deuce-and-a-half and another kneeling before the bumper winch of the other nearer and undamaged truck, recoiling the tow cable. Across the tank site, the two bulldozers make their way toward the hangars, rumbling alongside the taxiway.
Boudreaux:	I roll the window down.
Keeper:	Leaning across the seat, Galloway hollers out the open window to Sparks who, seeing you pull up, rises. Galloway gestures him over.
Galloway:	"Sparks!. . . Sparks!"
Keeper:	The tall crew chief jogs over and sidles up to the window beside you, sliding his goggles down around his neck and bending to lean into the window. Jaws feverishly working over a wad of sweet-smelling gum, he stares in at the both of you.
Sparks:	"Yeah, boss?"
Keeper:	Galloway rubs his hands together to ward off the cold invading the warmth of the vehicle.
Galloway:	"CO says it's a wrap for today. Tell the guys to finish up whatever they've got going and hit the showers."
Keeper:	Sparks nods and you discern a slight grin cross his face. Tracking your eyesight over his shoulder, he glances briefly across the pit at the two men atop the hood of the dented truck who are vainly wrestling against the wind and plastic.
Sparks:	"Like a coupla monkeys fuckin' a football, huh?"
Keeper:	With a last look inside, Sparks taps the roof and slides the goggles back up over his eyes. As he begins to walk back to his previous task, Galloway again leans across the seat.
Galloway:	"Hey, Kenny? Where're McDermott and Pleasant?"
Keeper:	Turning, he points to the two men atop the damaged deuce-and-a-half and chuckles.
Sparks:	"McDermott's over there. Pleasant. . . .aaaah, fuck. . ."
Keeper:	In a gesture of exasperation, Sparks raises his arms and slaps them against his thighs.
Sparks:	"I was supposed to get over to the tower when I was done here and help him get that shit over to Hangar 2. So much for my early day. . ."
Keeper:	Sparks looks over the top of the Cut-V at the tower a short distance down and across the street. Galloway sets the emergency brake, kills the ignition and opens the door, stepping out.
Boudreaux:	I get out with him.
Galloway:	"Better get over there and finish that up before you call it quits then, Kenny. Cap's expecting that stuff to be palleted and ready to go in the morning. . . Shit, hang-on a second, Kenny. . ."
Keeper:	The winds of early relief clearly let out of his sails, Galloway's former crew chief nods, mother-fucking himself. Galloway circles the front of the Cut-V and positions himself between you and Sparks, obscuring the man from your conversation.
Galloway:	"Listen, Chance. Why don't you go over and check on Pleasant while I help these guys finish up here. I'll talk to McDermott and meet you over there in a little while."
Boudreaux:	"Alright."
Keeper:	Nodding, Marlon begins leading Kenny back toward the half-coiled tow cable. Stopping momentarily, he turns back to you again.
Galloway:	"And be careful."
Boudreaux:	"You, too." I head over to the tower, braving the winds to Pleasant's locale.
Keeper:	The air traffic control tower is only a short 50 or 60 yards further down Valley on the left, where the street terminates into the flightline area. Standing nearly 75 feet in height, it is protected by a 10-foot-high cyclone fence topped with rolled concertina wire. The only entrance, for both personnel and vehicles, is a sliding gate on the west side of the structure opening out onto the security road encircling the flight operations area.
Boudreaux:	(thinking to himself) "Ahhh, the beauty of military decor. . . this place belongs out here in the middle of nowhere." I head toward the gate.
Keeper:	The small parking lot, once used by the ATC personnel carrying out their 12 hour shifts in the tower, now stands empty. Nearing the facility, the winds grow ever more fierce and biting as your proximity to the open flightline draws you further away from the wind-breaks provided by the larger structures of the Station.
Boudreaux:	I increase my pace to get inside.
Keeper:	A concrete pathway from the parking lot amid a weed-ridden bed of decorative white stones leads the way to the steel double doors at the base of the structure. Outside and adjacent to the doors lie several consoles and assorted pieces of electronics equipment, neatly piled.
Boudreaux:	I head over to the doors to get in from the cold.
Keeper:	The doors open outward with a slight squeal and are nearly wrested from your grasp by the frigid gusts to your back. Inside, the area opens up into an atrium in the base of the tower, the air seemingly less thin within. Dim florescent ballasts illuminate a flight of scissor stairs rising up into the heights of the structure, the anti-skid strips on the individual steps scantly discernable from decades of use. In an alcove beneath the bottom-most flight of stairs rests a large gas-powered generator once tasked with providing emergency power to the all-important air traffic control operations.
Boudreaux:	"Pleasant? Are you here?"
Keeper:	Your voice resonates, momentarily startling you. There is no reply.
Boudreaux:	Hmmm. I head up the stairs.
Keeper:	Ascending the back-and-forth sets of steps, each footfall vibrates the entire stairway system, echoing off the concrete space around you. The air gradually warms the higher you move.
Boudreaux:	Do I hear anything beyond my own movements?
Keeper:	Make a Listen roll.
LISTEN roll for Boudreaux:	(1d100) = 6 [success]
Keeper:	Pausing for a moment to assess your surroundings, you find yourself alone and in silence save for the muted wailing of the wind outside. A pebble from the tread of your boot dislodges and, slipping through the grating underfoot, bounces down the stairwell with an unnerving racket before coming to rest on the tower floor some 50 feet below.
Boudreaux:	I continue up to the top.
Keeper:	Rounding the final flight of stairs, a closed metal door stands before you encased in a concrete cockloft. A placard, eye-level on the door, clearly reads: "AUTHORIZED FLIGHT OPERATIONS PERSONNEL ONLY."
Boudreaux:	I open the door.
Keeper:	Cautiously, you nudge the unlocked door open.
Boudreaux:	Quietly, I move inside.
Keeper:	You find yourself looking upon the open air traffic control center, now little more than a shambled assortment of former control stations littered with tools and pulled service panels and wiring. Glancing about, the windows offer a spectacular 360 degree panoramic view of the Station and the mountainous vistas surrounding it. The ambient gray light from outside combines with the dim artificial light within to create a quasi-twilight throughout the large open room. An empty hand cart rests near the door.
Boudreaux:	Is there any sign of Pleasant or anyone else?
Keeper:	Slowly moving forward through the maze of consoles, chairs, and tall electronics housings, you see no sign of anyone. Then, on the far side of the room, there is a sound - a metallic rattling.
Boudreaux:	I quietly sneak in that direction.
SNEAK Roll for Boudreaux:	(1d100) = 80 [failure]
Boudreaux:	Or not so quietly. . .I still move toward it, keeping my eyes and ears open.
Keeper:	Peering around a bulky housing unit and pushing aside coaxial cables draping down from above, you see him. Or more accurately stated, part of him.
Boudreaux:	What exactly do I see?
Keeper:	Extending out from within an open service panel beneath one of the window- front controller stations are the legs and feet of a large man. Nearby, draped over the back of a chair, are an equally large Gor-Tex parka, watchcap, and pair of gloves. Other than the audible pulse in your temples and the ragged breaths passing through your clenched teeth, there is no sound.
Boudreaux:	I lean down and touch his leg. "Carl? Are you okay?"
Pleasant:	"YAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
Keeper:	There is an excruciating scream followed by a loud banging from within the console. The legs flail maniacally. You recoil and land flat on your ass nearby. The rest of the gargantuan body quickly begins to shimmy its way out of the small portal and, within seconds, Pleasant is laying on the floor beside you, slumped against the console.
Boudreaux:	I extract myself from the floor. "Are you okay?"
Keeper:	He desperately tries to remove the Walk-Man headphones from his ears and, in doing so, knocks his glasses off. With a look of utter embarrassment, the big black man simultaneously turns off the tape at his hip and fumbles for and reseats his spectacles over the bridge of his sweaty nose.
Pleasant:	"I, uh. . .you, uh. . .I mean. . ."
Boudreaux:	I move over to check him out. "Sorry to startle you, Carl."
Keeper:	Slowly rising with your assistance, the man feebly runs his hands across his BDUs to press out the creases and rubs his perspiration-soaked scalp. He doesn't appear seriously injured. Breaking into a gentle grin, he laughs at himself.
Pleasant:	"I didn't hear you come up, sir. I guess we're even now."
Boudreaux:	(laughing) "I guess we are. Is your head okay?"
Keeper:	The man breaks into open, hysterical laughter.
Pleasant:	"Yes, Doc. I'm fine. . . really. . ."
Boudreaux:	"How's everything going?"
Keeper:	The big radio technician scans the open room and then gestures at the console you just scared him out from under.
Pleasant:	"Almost finished up here, sir. This is the last piece to go. Once Sparks comes by, just got to load it all up and get it over to the hangar and palleted. I've already got the rest of it down with a dolly. How about Fuller? Any changes?"
Boudreaux:	"He's doing alright for now. I'm a little worried about what might happen if we get snow tonight, though - the plane may have trouble landing. He needs to get to a real medical facility, soon."
Pleasant:	"Haven't checked in with the station at Colorado Springs yet, but we've got a NWOA unit up here. You can get a quick forecast from that."
Boudreaux:	"That might not be a bad idea. Oh yeah, Sparks is finishing up down by the tank. He should be over any minute now."
Pleasant:	"Great. Thanks."
Keeper:	Motioning you to follow him, the radioman leads you over to a low console near the eastern windows. Reaching up atop the console, he gingerly pulls forth a small black scanner-type box, pushing a button and adjusting the volume. With an abrupt electronic click, the audio squawks to life and a tinny, monotonous male voice emits from the small speaker. After a few moments listening, the forecast for the area including Saguache County is provided.
NWOA:	"[ . . . cloudy skies and cold through the night with a low of about -10 degrees. Slight chance of flurries through the evening hours decreasing into Sunday with no winter storm warnings in effect. This has been your NWOA . . . ]"
Pleasant:	"Doesn't sound too bad, Doc. The transport should be alright."
Boudreaux:	(looking out at the gathering clouds on the northwestern horizon) "Well, flurries shouldn't cause any problems. . . Man, would I rather be on a beach than here. Hell, make that anywhere but here."
Pleasant:	"Can't let this place get you down, Doctor. You've got to keep it in perspective. We all know the Navy would have been well within it's rights to lock us all up at Leavenworth."
Boudreaux:	"At last that's a warm enclosed space." I turn to look directly at Pleasant. "I need to ask you a few questions about this morning, Carl. What can you tell me about our 'visitors'?"
Keeper:	The big man shrugs.
Pleasant:	"I don't know, sir. I only saw the one in the car. He had Naval Intelligence ID and his paperwork was stamped 'classified.' Asked for directions to the Station Commander. His ID was for real, so we let him through. Why?"
Boudreaux:	"I'm just curious. Alot of things have happened since our company arrived this morning and I don't like the way this is smelling."
Keeper:	Pleasant leans back on the console, wiping his brow with a work rag.
Pleasant:	"You ought to talk to McDermott, sir. He might know more. He actually talked to the guy."
Boudreaux:	"Okay. I think I will. By the way, Captain says when you're finished with what you're doing you can take the rest of the day off."
Keeper:	Sliding his thermal undergarment sleeve up, Pleasant looks at his watch.
Pleasant:	"Day's almost through anyway."
Boudreaux:	"There was another little incident down at the excavation site earlier. . ."
Pleasant:	(obviously concerned) "Oh? What happened?"
Boudreaux:	"I'm not too sure. Only that one of the cables snapped while they were pulling Fuller's dozer out and damaged one of the trucks. Gonzales suffered some minor lacerations."
Keeper:	An "ouch" expression blankets Pleasant's normally jovial face.
Boudreaux:	"Anyway, I think it might have been a case of crossed signals. . . or carelessness. Who knows? At least everyone's still alive; that's what matters. And they got the dozer out. Captain's not too happy about the whole ordeal. Too many delays, I guess."
Keeper:	The large bear-of-a-man nods and peers down at the van, barely visible beyond the arched roof of the gymnasium. He looks at you thoughfully.
Pleasant:	"If you don't mind me asking, sir, what's got you so worried about them? It sounds like you think maybe Dave and I dropped the ball by letting them in."
Boudreaux:	"Those two goons out there really annoy me. I don't like anyone pointing a weapon at me."
Pleasant:	"CO said they were a classified job. Isn't like we're capable of providing them any real security. Still, they do seem awfully hard-core considering they're in the middle of nowhere out here. Heh, you should've seen their reaction when Pavliska invited them to lunch!"
Boudreaux:	"What happened?"
Pleasant:	"Oh, they sent John home with his tail between his legs. I think he was a little hurt the way they shoo'd him off at gunpoint, he he. Captain wasn't too pleased, either."
Boudreaux:	"Yeah, they did that to me, too. And I wasn't too pleased. Last man that pulled a gun on me. . . well, anyway. . ."
Boudreaux:	"Carl, you seen anything unusual today? Anything that made you double-take?"
Pleasant:	"No more or less than usual. I've been up here most of the day, sir. (looking about) This old place can be veery disconcerting when you're up here all by yourself. I guess that's why you got me so good."
Boudreaux:	"I really apologize about that."
Keeper:	Pleasant wipes his hands once more with the work rag and moves to retrieve the hand cart by the door.
Pleasant:	"If that's all you need, Doc, I've got to get this last load downstairs and find out what's taking Sparks so long. Like you said, it's quitting time."
Boudreaux:	"Need any help?"
Pleasant:	"You sure, Doctor? I mean, I appreciate the offer, but isn't this kind of duty a little above your station? Sparks' already supposed to be giving me a hand."
Boudreaux:	"Let me help you with this last load, at least."
Pleasant:	(in a sing-song tone) "Oooo-kaaay. You're the boss."
Boudreaux:	"Just tell me what you need me to do."
Keeper:	With your assistance, Pleasant gets the bulky console loaded lengthwise on the dolly. After a moments rest, he dons his cold-weather gear and leads you in steering the load onto the landing outside the door. As you begin to descend the first flight of steps, you hear the doors below open and close. Galloway's voice echoes through the tower.
Galloway:	"Chance. . .is that you?!"
Boudreaux:	"Yup! Just helping Carl get this thing down!"
Galloway:	"We're on our way up!"
Boudreaux:	"Alright!"
Keeper:	Carl eases the handcart down to the first landing and sets it upright, relieving you of the weight. Peering over the railing, you see Marlon and Sparks climbing up the stairs. When they reach you they stop, both slightly out of breath.
Boudreaux:	"You guys run to get up here? Is everything alright down there?"
Galloway:	"Everything's fine (pant). It's these stairs (pant). . . they're a bitch. The truck's outside (pant). How much more you got, Carl?"
Pleasant:	"This is the last of it, sir."
Keeper:	Pointing to the loaded handcart, Marlon steps aside to allow Sparks to pass him.
Galloway:	"Get on that with him, Kenny (pant), and start getting that stuff downstairs loaded up. I'll be there in a minute."
Keeper:	Sparks nods and relieves you of your position on the dolly. Noisily, the two men begin moving down the awkward stairway. When they're out of earshot, Marlon whispers nervously to you.
Galloway:	"I pulled McDermott aside and talked to him a little."
Boudreaux:	"What'd he say?"
Keeper:	Marlon again glances over the railing, ensuring that Sparks' and Pleasant's progress is carrying them further away before continuing in a forced whisper.
Galloway:	"Dave says the guy in the car was ONI and that he had documents clearly marked 'TOP SECRET' along with some other acronyms or codes he wasn't sure about. Said the guy wasn't interested in talking to the guys at the gate and said he wanted to see the CO immediately."
Keeper:	Observing you mull this information over, Marlon becomes increasingly impatient.
Galloway:	"That jive with Pleasant's account of it all?"
Boudreaux:	"Yeah. . . he said Dave talked to the guy, and that it was all official and whatnot. What the hell are they doing here that warrants a 'TOP SECRET' classification?"
Galloway:	"Well it's fairly obvious the CO wasn't bullshittin' when he said they were a classified operation. Must be some heavy-duty shit to have off-Station security tagging along with it. So, where do we go from here?"
Boudreaux:	"I'm not sure. I really want to know what's in the gym. . . and that van, but those two goons are heavily armed and armored. Nightvision and everything."
Galloway:	"So how the hell are we gonna do that? You sure about this shit, Chance? I mean, we get busted snooping around this stuff, heads are gonna roll. . ."
Boudreaux:	"I know. Maybe we should wait until after Fuller's out of here. . .just wait and see what happens tonight. . ."
Galloway:	"And what about the other guys? Should we tell them?"
Boudreaux:	(shaking his head emphatically) "I'm not sure about that, Marlon. . ."
Keeper:	Marlon, clearly uptight about the situation, spins around momentarily, fingers massaging his temples.
Galloway:	"I know! I know! That's what I'm sayin' . . . oh, man, this is so fucked up!"
Boudreaux:	"I think we should just wait the night out. That way we don't rush anything. . . just watch 'em for a while and see what goes down. With the poker game tonight, we should be able to keep an eye on everyone and make sure tempers are maintained."
Keeper:	This time it's Galloway who mulls things over, nodding his head in assent.
Galloway:	"Hey, Chance. . . remember when I was tellin' you about that shit that went down here with the Air Force? Back in the '50s and '60s? Early warning radar stuff? I was goin' through some old files at the CQ for the CO a coupla' months back and came across it. You think this might have something to do with that?"
Boudreaux:	"I don't know. . . I don't really know much about what happened here back then."
Galloway:	"Nothing earth-shattering. Just that the Air Force maintained a semi-permanent presence here starting around '56 - '57 all the way up to the late '80s. The kicker is that Liberty was officially closed just prior to them coming here. No flight operations, no permanently-assigned staffing. Then, all of a sudden, the place becomes a center for electronic warfare and early warning radar operations."
Boudreaux:	"Can you get a copy of those files? Or tell me where to find them?"
Keeper:	With a brazen display of disgust at himself, Marlon looks sheepishly at you.
Galloway:	"Ahhh, that's just it - I file thirteened the records with the rest of the shit I was cleaning out."
Boudreaux:	"So the Air Force had something going on here. . . "
Galloway:	"Sure as shit did."
Boudreaux:	"Any ideas on what it was?"
Galloway:	"Like I said, EW and early warning radar stuff. Hell, this place was one of the biggest EW/EWR centers in the country for a while - that's public knowledge - which is weird only if you consider that SAC/NORAAD's just down the block."
Boudreaux:	"That does seem odd. Why have them so close together. . . unless there was something else going on here?"
Boudreaux:	"Wasn't that about the time all that activity in Roswell was happening?"
Galloway:	"Yeah, if you buy into all that. Look, I've seen some strange stuff in my days in the air, and I've seen the same news reports you have, but Jesus Christ, you're not sayin' you think that has something to do with this too, are you?"
Boudreaux:	"What if that was what they were developing the EWR for?"
Galloway:	"Fuck man, are you hearing yourself?! They'll Section 8 your ass quicker than shit you go spouting stuff like that off to too many people. . ."
Boudreaux:	(emphatically) "That's why I'm discussing it with you. . . quietly. Look, I'm just speaking my mind. I don't necessarily believe that's what it is. . . just hypothesizing."
Galloway:	"Hypothesizing? What the fuck are we gonna do, man? We can't tell anybody! We can't get anywhere near those fuckers and their van! And we can't leave!"
Boudreaux:	"There's a back door into the gym."
Galloway:	"Yeah, there's a back door. . . and a couple on the sides. I don't mind tellin ya', Chance, you're freakin' me out here."
Boudreaux:	"Relax. . . let's just chill out. I don't want you to be freaked out, but I do want you to have an open mind as to whatever might be going on, if there even is something going on."
Keeper:	Galloway just shakes his head pensively.
Galloway:	"What if it is nothing, Chance? Huh? I ain't no snake-eater. Those guys out there ain't fucking around! We start trouble, who knows what they'll do? What if it's nothing? Just our imagination?"
Boudreaux:	"Can you think of any reason why those fuckers should be camped out here in our yard with security like that and TOP SECRET clearance, to boot? Look, I don't want to make any moves yet. Let's just see what happens and take it from there. . .give it a night. I know I have an overactive imagination. If things are cool, we'll leave it alone. If not, I don't want you getting in hot water because of me."
Keeper:	Your reassurances seem to have a calmative effect. Agitation visibly subsiding, he nods aggressively, yet affirmatively, at your suggestion that you refrain from any immediate action.
Boudreaux:	"Look, let's go check on the boys and then go get some coffee or something."
Galloway:	"Yeah. . . yeah. I've got to get down there and help those guys close up shop. Then I'm heading straight to the barracks and hitting the shower. My head's killing me and I still have to cook tonight. I'll see you there."
Boudreaux:	"You, okay?"
Galloway:	"Yeah, I'm okay. (obviously embarrassed) Sorry. . . I guess I lost it there for a minute. All this shit's weirdin' me out a little."
Boudreaux:	"I know. A good round of poker'll calm us down. Just keep your eyes open. I want to go check on Fuller before I call it a day. I'll see you in a few."
Keeper:	Galloway nods and begins descending the stairs. Looking at your watch, it's nearly 1615. If you hurry, you can make to the MTF to check on Fuller, catch a shower, and still be ready for the evening meal at 1730.
Boudreaux:	That's what I plan to do, then. I head down the stairs and out of the tower.
Keeper:	Moving down the stairs, you exit into the cold outside the tower. Pleasant and Sparks have nearly completed loading the equipment into the rear of the deuce- and-a-half parked in the parking lot. Moving through the gate, you circle the fenceline and proceed east down Valley. Ahead, several men are already meandering toward the barracks to wash up and prepare for the night's poker game.
Boudreaux:	Mindful of my available time and the freezing weather, I move quickly to the MTF.
Keeper:	Halfway to the MTF, you hear the signature pop and hiss of the deuce's air brake release behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you see it moving out onto the security road toward Liberty's three aircraft hangars, Marlon's Cut-V trailing behind it.
Boudreaux:	(thinking to himself) "Good. At least that job's getting finished up. Captain ought to be happy about that, I hope. . ."
Keeper:	Climbing the worn steps of the infirmary, the sight of the dried spots and splatterings of blood on the wood remind you of the kind of day it's been. Stepping inside, comforting warmth greets you. Spacek emerges at the far end of the hallway, patient chart in hand.
Boudreaux:	"How's everything going, Spacek?"

Spacek:	"Yo, Doc! No changes in dis neck ah da woods."
Boudreaux:	"Just what I wanted to hear!"
Keeper:	The corpsman smiles as he approaches, handing you the chart so that you can review the cumulative vital signs and nursing notes compiled in your absence.
Boudreaux:	I take the chart and proceed toward Fuller.
Keeper:	Casually strolling down the hall, perusing the chart in your hands, you enter the emergency bay. Corresponding with the data you've just read, Fuller appears to be stable and comfortable.
Boudreaux:	How are his IV and bandages? Is he in need of any refills or changes?
Keeper:	The monitor sings its beeping rhythm in time to the hissing of the ventilator bellows as you circle the bed and inspect the IVAC unit and Fuller's dressing. Both are satisfactory.
Boudreaux:	I head over to my office.

Boudreaux:	(whispered) Someone's going to have to stay with him all night.

Keeper:	(whispered) Medically, yes, that would be the wisest decision. The roster for guard duty this evening is a little heavy, after the fight this morning. You should be able to manage between yourself, Spacek, and one or two of them. Your quarters are right across the street, so it's only a matter of a phone call and you can be at the MTF in minutes should his condition deteriorate.
Boudreaux:	(whispered) I was thinking about who'll watch him during the poker game. (Priorities, right?)
Keeper:	Returning to your office, you plop down in your chair. The days events and your growing suspicions cloud your thoughts. Spacek peers in from the doorway.
Boudreaux:	"Everything looks good, Julius. Want to head out and get cleaned up before dinner?"

Spacek:	"Actually, I gots an extra set ah BDUs in my office. I was thinkin' ah showerin' here an' lettin' you gets the hot meal dis time 'round. 'Sides, I don't wants no trouble keepin' me from da cards tonight, freaky as everyone's actin' t'day."
Boudreaux:	"I appreciate that. You sure you don't mind?"

Spacek:	(shooing you away) "Go on, git!"
Boudreaux:	I start getting my parka back on. "I think I'll have one of the guards take over while we relax a little tonight."
Keeper:	Spacek breaks into a broad, toothy grin, nodding his head.

Spacek:	"Now dat's a plan. 'Cept I guess dat means drinkin' a beer's outta da question for us, huh?"

Keeper:	(whispered) Beer is allowed on Saturday evenings. It's hard liquor that's expressly forbidden - and the merchandise for which Degrassi has recently found himself in hot water.

Boudreaux:	(whispered) Cool. I wasn't clear on that.
Boudreaux:	"Nah, you can have a beer or two. I'll stick to coffee. We should be okay. Just don't overdo it."
Keeper:	The corpsman again nods, liking this better with every word you speak.
Boudreaux:	"Thanks, I'll be back in a little while." A hot shower sounds good right now. I head over to the officer's billets.
Keeper:	Being one of only three commissioned officers at NAAS Liberty affords you the luxury of sharing a two-storey barrack designed to accomodate 48 bunked enlisted men with Galloway (the CO has his own private quarters in the CQ). If it wasn't for the drafty wood floors and the overall remote location of this assignment, it would be, in your estimation, a serviceman's paradise.
Keeper:	Located across the street and adjacent of the intersection of Valley and Comstock outside the MTF, your down-time abode is more or less centrally located among the remaining facilities at Liberty. Directly across Valley, the nine enlisted men share three similar buildings.
Keeper:	Constructed much like the buildings at Liberty, the barracks differ only in that they have an entrance at each end of their shotgun frames, large open areas on both floors (much like the second storey of the infirmary), and larger shower and lavatory facilities. Galloway, true to his sophomoric nature, claimed dibs on the upstairs area early in his assignment, leaving you the entirety of the more drafty first floor to call your own.
Boudreaux:	Oh well, I can get out easier if needed. I head in to undress.
Keeper:	Stepping into the building, you pass the front set of steps leading to the upper floor and are greeting by your single military bed and the two large wall lockers that constitute the predominant furnishings provided by Uncle Sam. A small television and VCR rest atop a small nightstand on one side of the bed, while a combination CD player/radio/alarm clock adorns another on the opposite side. Tacked prominently on the interior door of one of the open wall lockers is a 1997 G. Gordon Liddy "Stacked and Packed" calender of which you receive an annual complimentary copy given that the notorious ex-Watergate felon and radio talk show host's son is a SEAL officer attached to one of the East Coast Teams.
Boudreaux:	"Home sweet home." I grab a towel and head to the showers to clean up.
Keeper:	Disrobing and pulling a towel from the drying rack on the side of one of the lockers, you step into the confines of the large six-man shower stall. The warmth of the water invigorates your tired and chilled body. Within minutes, the steam from the hot water inundates the lavatory and casts a foggy haze across the windows and mirrors.
Boudreaux:	(thinking to himself) "This is just what I needed."
Keeper:	Applying a daub of shampoo to your hand, you close your eyes as you work the lather through your hair. Moving your head under the spray of the showerhead, warm water cascades down your body, rinsing the soapy residue from your body. With a refreshed exhalation, you turn the water off. Toweling off, you step out of the stall and into the misty lavatory.
Boudreaux:	(thinking to himself) "Aaah. Now some food and I will be a happy man."
Keeper:	Wet footsteps accompanied only by the faint drip. . . drip of the condensed water falling from the ceiling behind you, you move to a sink and wipe away the fog obscuring your reflection. As you dry your face, you first hear it.
Boudreaux:	Hear what?
LISTEN Roll for Boudreaux:	(1d100) = 84 [failure]
Keeper:	A faint, mechanical squeaking not unlike the sound of an unoiled bicycle chain accompanied by a more pronounced, yet strange, clicking noise. It requires no undue attention to perceive. Then, suddenly, you realize that the characteristics of the room and the mist about it have altered.
Boudreaux:	I wrap the towel around my waist.
Keeper:	The lighting is oddly different, dusky, and the currents of steam have thickened taken on a distinctly ocher hue.
Boudreaux:	Where does the sound seem to be coming from? Does it originate from within the mist, or is it definately in the lavatory?
Keeper:	The odd noises appear to be emanating from the direction of the shower stall you only recently exited; a click here, a faint whirrrr there.
Boudreaux:	I cautiously and quietly head back there.
Keeper:	Creeping forward, one hand clasping the towel about your waist, you wade into the thickness of the mist before you are startled by a low silhouette emerging from the deep haze of the shower stall - so much so that you nearly lose your footing on the slick tiling beneath you.
Boudreaux:	"Damn!" I regain my balance and observe closely the figure emerging from the mists.
Keeper:	From within the wafting planes of yellowy mist, a strange looking animated doll teeters out over the low water threshold of the shower stall. Fashioned from what you can only describe as antique clockwork, the thing appears to be a parody of a tiny girl, all gears and rods and pistons. About two-feet in height, her, it's, approach is heralded by a clamour of rattles, pops, and the meshing of metallic cogs. It has no legs, but is instead propelled by two spoked metal wheels; one small one in the rear preceded by a larger version up front.
Boudreaux:	(under his breath) "What the hell. . .?" Is it coming towards me? "MARLON!"
Keeper:	Zig-zagging forward, it comes to rest just short of you; precariously balancing on the two wheels. With a mechanical sound of moving pistons, it teeters back a bit, staring up at you with odd, artificial eyes. Tucked carefully within the mechanisms of its chest is a small formal-looking enevelope sealed with a crimson wax stamp. Smudges of oil mar the it's eggshell color.
Boudreaux:	I reach out to touch it. "Who, or what, are you?"
Keeper:	Kneeling, you reach an outstretched hand to the strange thing, fingers moving across the cool metal surfaces. Rubbing your fingers together, you detect the faint slickness of oil or lubricant. Whatever it is, it's tangible. It makes no move to resist your probing save blinking mechanical lids over its dead eyes.
Boudreaux:	I take the envelope.
Keeper:	Grasping the corner of the parcel, you slide it from its place nestled amid the innards of the automaton. It looks and feels like a high-quality wedding announcement.
Boudreaux:	Is there any writing on it?
Keeper:	Flipping the enevelope over opposite the seal, you inspect it more closely. Plainly penned in beautifully scripted calligraphy is "Leftenant Chance Boudreaux".
Boudreaux:	"What the. . ." I open it up.
Keeper:	Waxen seal cracking and falling to the floor, you open the envelope to find an equally elegant formal invitation within.
Boudreaux:	I read it, still keeping an eye on the "doll."
Keeper:	In bold, yet fanciful calligraphric script, the correspondance reads: Leftenant Chance Boudreaux You are invited to a Masquerade Ball. The Palace, in the Evening, One Week hence. We shall celebrate the Birth-Day of Cassilda, Queen of the Royal Court of Yhtill. Come in Costume. Come to Dine. Come to Dance. Come.
Keeper:	The thing remains motionless, although pistons and gears continually bob and gyrate within it's mass.
Boudreaux:	"Can you hear me?" What does the mist look like now?
Keeper:	The mechanical messenger stares blankly at you, face permanently affixed in a Cupie-like smile. The mist swirling about you retains its sickly yellow hue and the shadows piercing it seem long and out of place. Then, a distant call carries through the miasma.
Galloway:	"Chaaaaaaance. . . . . . . aaaaare. . . yooooou. . . deeeeeceeeennnt?"
Boudreaux:	"GIVE ME FIVE MINUTES!" I spin back around. Can I see the path the thing took on the wet floor?
Keeper:	As you turn from your response to Galloway, the scene has altered.
Boudreaux:	I reach out for the "doll".
Keeper:	As your arms stretch towards it, it, and the letter and envelope clasped in your hands, disintegrate before your very eyes. Glancing about, the mists have assumed a more mundane nature and the lighting more natural. And yes, there before you, serpentining from within the shower stall, are the two thin tracks - fading even as you look upon them.
Boudreaux:	I move into the shower stall, trying to follow the trail.
Keeper:	Peering into the lavatory, Marlon looks oddly at the sight of you kneeling, clad only in a towel, staring at the shower room floor.
Galloway:	"Hey buddy, you alright? Better get a move on. Don't want to miss my famous spaghetti."
Boudreaux:	I turn to face Marlon. "Sorry. . . dropped my razor. Give me five minutes and I'll be ready to go."
Keeper:	Moving as if to pick up your "dropped razor", you notice the time on your watch. 1727. Have you been in the shower thirty minutes?
Boudreaux:	(nervously) "What time is it, Marlon?"
Galloway:	"Almost 1730. Dinner's just about ready. I came by to see what was taking you so long."
Boudreaux:	(shaking his head) "I must have lost track of time. . .wow."
Keeper:	Hanging a fresh set of BDUs on a towel rack just inside the lavatory, Marlon hustles you along, handing you your shower bag.
Boudreaux:	Taking the shower bag in hand, I stop. "Marlon. . . you ever heard of a place called Yhtill?"
Keeper:	Marlon looks curiously at you, vague incomprehension displayed in his features.
Galloway:	"Yeh-what?"