And I am half way tempted...when I remember how you hurt my daughter!
Sigin Vulpine thinks fiercely to himelf. But...hey...I'm a good fellow...and
you were stupid....but drunk....
"Why?" Solomon gasps, feeling like his blood was afire.
"For various reason," Sigin sighs, leaning on his mage staff as his
apprentice shivers on the floor. "It's the same method MY teacher used
on me, and it's the same method for you. It concentrates your mind on the
task at hand. And believe me, when you learn the ways of magic as I learned
as a dragon-something that until now was only open to dragon and no other
races-you'd better LEARN the right way. Learning to channel the mystical
energy yourself, without aid of crutches like staff or magical components….will
be deadly to those who are half assed in learning! Indeed, to be able to
learn properly, my apprentice, you'll need to learn to do the advanced
math almost instantly….without abacus or…..computer. Learn you will….for
you'll be my apprentice for ten years at least…perhaps more…. You'll stay
this way until I think your worthy of a true mage's robes! What
you feel is a need to learn…a craving that is almost a physical pain. It's
somewhat drastic, but….needed.
"Also," Sigin says in a sad voice. "What the Alliance wanted to do to
you and your brother for what you tried….especially when you consider what
you're about to see….."
"Cardassian Lover!" shouts Solomon weakly from the ground, trying futilely
to grab at Sigin. "The Alliance is nothing more than yet another military
coup who have the same dreams of Empire and conquest….all for the name
of the people but…..at others expense!"
Indeed, there had been dangerous rumblings amongst the crew that the
Voyager should somehow do SOMETHING about the Slammer ships. The Janeways
(vixen morph and human) had squashed that talk, and had instead pointed
out that the Voyager was in NO shape to dictate terms. She had instead
tried to….convince Sterndeck the errors of his ways.
That hadn't worked, and finally in frustration, the crew watched on
in silent horror as wave after wave of automated ship rose from the Ethiopian
desert floor….and flew off to destroy worlds.
At least HE and his BROTHER (a raccoon morph) had tried to stop the
evil….
With that thought, the donated memories from Dr. Vincent floods into
Ensign Edward Solomon's mind. He gasps in mute horror as the Lizard operative,
510, exults over the role he had played in aiming the piece of space rock
on a fatal collision course with Mirror 359 (one of many parallel worlds
the Enemy and the Alliance fought over…in this case the Alliance had been
able to repel the Enemy….but had lost so many personnel that….the asteroid
was unstoppable……). It had been done purely out of spite by the Enemy,
to punish the upstart non-People for daring to win against those who had
souls. He writhed in anger as he watched the Phantom operative shrugged
in apathy as he watched row after row of beggars try to receive something
from him….as he drove by in his hover vehicle. He watched in mute horror
as the entirety of what life was like for those not under the protective
wing of the Company…..or the relative benevolent atmosphere provided by
the Military. He watched as again and again, Agent Samual Dens laughed
as yet another futile effort by the Military drones failed to make it to
the Company owned government officials. Solomon began to see….the fanatical
views that the Military had was something of….well….an allergic reaction
to the injustice and depravity they saw back home.
Now, Solomon had a much deeper understanding of what the environment
of a cyberpunk novel REALLY entailed. The Military had initially attracted
those who desired revenge upon the Enemy (and seeing that in the first
few days of the Alliance/Enemy war….the surprise attack had reduced…from
the initial count of 10 billion people for each of the eighteen Home Earths……somewhere
between ten percent to….fifty percent….) The Military swelled to huge proportions
in the early days. As the surviving combat groups (that is….groups of fighting
warriors who had survived from destroyed…traditional combat units….but
were thrown together into something of an ad hoc combat team) were eaten
up by further conflicts….the Military continued to be fed by those who….
The "low life" who wanted to belong to something bigger than themselves
and their small gangs….joined and were pleasantly to find….that at least
the Military believed in the phrase "we take care of our own." Before…..beyond
a few trusted comrades on the streets….one couldn't trust anyone!
Solomon ground his teeth in anger as, in the alien memories, Agent Dens
laughed at such foolishness…
"I'm glad they HUNG you, you bastard," Solomon whispers fiercly, remembering
what had only appeared to be yet another brutal killing by the Alliance….
Solomon then made a retching sound and proceeded to be violently ill
as memories of what the Enemy operative had….before he had visited his
Phantom friends.
"Oh…God!" he groans, and heaves up his breakfast all over his brown
jerkin and pants.
-
 He had actually wanted
to…..help these bastards?! What in God's name had he almost unleashed upon…everyone?!
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