FanFic: The Recollection of Zinkin | *FINAL* Chapter: 13

[HUnewearl_Meira]

We have finally come to the 5th installment of The Recollection Saga. My level of creativity as of late seems to have risen tremendously, which is good, because that means that I'm able to put far greater attention on each individual chapter.

Some will find Zinkin to be slightly harder to read. Believe me when I say, it could've been harder. I've shown my original first paragraph to a couple of people, and they can testify that it was unnecessarily complicated. So I re-wrote everything I had, and what I've gotten is something that's far easier to read, yet has a higher grade level.


In any case, I think this chapter has a fairly interesting mood. I'll let all of you be its judge. Don't be afraid to express your thoughts!




Chapter 1

It was very late at night, long past the time when I would normally relegate my weary old body to my chamber for sleeping. For an unintelligible reason, I could not achieve slumber; my eyelids refused to close for any purpose, the only exception being that of a blink or a brief repose. I was staring at a photograph of my wife which I held in my hand, whose life ended tragically during a war, a score and a half ago, shortly after the birth of our son, Marin.
As I recollect, it was a stray missile from an Armageddon-class Assault Garanz that caused the rubble to fall on her and our son. Her maternal instincts to protect the child saved Marin, but unfortunately, her own life was the expense to settle the debt. Marin?s life was given by her to at the beginning of his life, and her life was taken to further prolong it. On how many occasions have I cursed myself for being unknowledgeable in those days, of what I have come to learn, now? On how many occasions have I cursed myself for hesitating to study the ancient magics and prayers that could have saved her life?
I was employed as a Technical Engineering Major at the Grand Corallite University in those days. My education was, however, rather expensive. The price of these student courses being as such, I needed a job that would allow me to choose my own hours, yet still pay rather well, I had registered as a HUmar at the local Hunters' Guild.
As I pulled the rubble from over her body, I realized that the possibility of her survival was rather lackluster. Her wounds were openly perceivable through the sun-dress that I had always complimented her on. In those final moments, I pulled her broken body out, I embraced her in my arms, and supporting her head with my hand, I gazed into her eyes. I watched the fading expression on her face, as she confided in me, "I'm leaving now, Zinkin. I can already see the Great Light waiting for me. His arms are wide open."
A teardrop carried the dust of the destruction down my face, as I asked her, "Would He be angry, if I thought to join you?"
She choked and coughed momentarily, before she could reply to me, "He says that you will; but you'll be an old man before His purpose for you is finished." Ultimately, her final words were, "Please Zinkin, look after Marin... I did all that I could."
With those final words complete, her eyes closed for the final time and her lungs were relieved of their duty to continue breathing. Sobbing, I further lifted her body, and lowered my ear to her chest, to listen as to the last beating of her heart. Her death was untimely, and for that time, any idea of what I could do alone, without her, escaped my mind.
As I laid her body down to rest, I looked into the area I'd pulled her from, discovering Marin, then only a few months old, nearly unscathed. Miraculously, my wife's broken body had shielded our son from the rubble, despite the painful death it brought to her.
Being the religious man that I was then, and indeed, am still to this day, I lifted Marin from the rubble, and lifted him to a beam of light shining through what used to be the wall of our humble apartment, and I declared, "Great Light, though you have taken my wife from me, you have spared my son. Though I may not understand your reasons, I will do your bidding until my death. I ask only one thing of you, in compensation for my loss!" At that point, I paused, and lowered Marin so that I may look over him before looking back to the sky and shouting, "That some day, my son might bear a daughter worthy of his mother's blood!"
The thunderhead struck with lightning, the ground quavered, and for an instant, and the dim column of sunlight grew brighter. In that moment, I knew that the Great Light had heard my psalm, and my request would be granted. Of course, however, I realized that the shaking of the ground was not actually the ground moving, itself; but rather, it was the shaking of the entire apartment building, as its foundations and support structures were beginning to give way to the battle of the robots in the streets.
I picked up my wife's body, placing it over my shoulder, and carrying Marin as securely as I could in my other arm, I ran for the building's stairs. As I ran through the halls, I realized just how extensive the damage was; many apartments were viciously destroyed, and given the absence of a large number of other escapees, it seems that there were not many survivors. My eyes witnessed only perhaps two or three others fleeing the building, during my extradition.
I ran down the stairs, jumping steps and narrowly avoiding several nasty spills, as the building rocked back and forth. I had to jump from one level to another, as the level between the two collapsed; much to my surprise, I only broke a toe in nearly botching the landing. After only a couple more floors of this exhausting run, I was finally able to run through the building's lobby, and out the front door.

No sooner, however, had I taken six steps, than I found myself the target of another stray missile. Much to my own fortune, a large android seemingly came from nowhere, and caught the missile between his two, large hands, stopping it mere centimeters from my face.
This desert-camouflaged android then pulled it away, and lobbed it back at the Assault Garanz that initially fired it. Ultimately, it didn't do a great deal of damage to the heavily armored, machismo of destruction, but an insignificant hit was better than nothing.
As I backed off, and tried for cover, I realized that the large android was one of the military?s 250-year old Tank-class Prime-type RAcasts. Given a cannon, it had the power and armor advantages of a tank, but the mobility of a heavy-suit soldier. He regrouped with a number of others, taking position, and summoning a plasma cannon of some sort from a remote inventory. Another Prime-type in the group ran to a massive enemy tank approaching from behind them, and began to lift its front end for some purpose.
The Prime-types were surrounded, but took aim at their biggest threat: the Armageddon-class Assault Garanz. As their weapons collectively charged, the Garanz opened its forward cannon bay, revealing that it'd charged for long enough. Unfortunately for the Prime-types, the Assault Garanz was ready first.
The blast of the Assault Garanz's cannon took the entire group of Prime-types down, crashing them all into the tank, which had been lifted by the heroic fighter in the back. When the dust settled, I saw a large pile of what must've been fourteen or fifteen Prime-types, most in several pieces, some scorched, and others entirely destroyed. Among them, were the tattered remains of the enemy tank that had been behind them.
The Assault Garanz then turned around, apparently declaring victory for itself. It immediately began leaving the area, at a slow and clearly damaged pace. I was personally certain that the classical Prime-types had failed to achieve victory in this battle. To the contrary, however, it then became evident that the battle had not yet finished.
Something in the pile of mangled RAcasts twitched, then twitched some more. The fallen soldier at the top of the pile was pushed off to the side, and consequently tumbled to the pavement below. Shaking the pile underneath him, that desert-camouflaged android climbed out from among his defeated brothers, and surveyed his situation for a moment from the top of the pile.
Discovering the tank, he limped slightly to drop down on top of it, crushing the front end, and then proceeded to wrap his arms around the base of the cannon. With a few twists, turns and wiggles, he successfully managed to remove the whole of the tank's Neutron Cannon from its top, and unsteadily mount it on its side, on his shoulder. Hatches in his armor opened, and numerous cables attached themselves to the weapon, harnessing its controls.
Again, he climbed over his fallen comrades, and then positioned himself before them. The ground suddenly compounded around him, and his feet dropped into the pavement. I now know this to have been a method used by Prime-types to plant themselves, by allowing their full weight to hold themselves down. The number of things a soldier can expect to meet on a battle field, which have the capacity to move several tons of armor, are few and far between. He began the charging of the cannon, and whistled to get the Garanz's attention.
The Garanz immediately turned around, and opened its forward cannon bay, but this time, it was the Prime-type who was more readily prepared. The instant the cannon bay opened, the RAcast let the Neutron Cannon fire, doing quite a job on the Assault Garanz's unarmored interior. For good measure, this Prime-type released the cables accessing the cannon, took a few steps, and threw it into the falling Garanz, bringing the 4-story tall mobile missile and cannon platform, permanently to the ground. Thus, this battle was won.
The path now relatively safe, I proceeded to take my son any my wife's body to the hospital, where I was told that there was nothing they could do for my wife beyond giving her a proper burial. They did treat my broken toe, however, and they also treated Marin for some bumps, scrapes, and a mild poisoning.

Many years later, after the War of the Robots had ended, I had become a Technical Engineer-In-Training, abandoning the life of a HUmar. While strolling down the street with Marin, now a bright young lad, and a Neo_Meiu-type named Ceres I was employing to fill a maternal role for my son, I found that same desert-camouflaged RAcast sitting on the sidewalk, against a wall, apparently contemplating a permanent shut-down. I approached the android and said, "You look familiar, Old Soldier."
Whereas, he had been gazing at the concrete sidewalk that his feet were firmly placed on, he then turned his blank stare to me, and in a raspy, electronic voice, he responded, "I am but one of many Prime-type RAcasts, sir."
I grabbed my fidgeting son by the hand and sought to satisfy my curiosity by engaging the downtrodden android with the question, "Were you in this city, seven years ago, with a group of Prime-types, fighting an Assault Garanz?"
"In my many years of military service, among other enemies, I have fought and defeated many Assault Garanz-types, sir," was his response.
I nodded to his response, but my curiosity was not reprieved of its hunger, leading me to clarify my question, explaining, "Of course, certainly I must realize this. There was something that made this particular incident special, however. You were the last Prime-type standing on the battlefield, and you completed the defeat of the Garanz by yourself."
The RAcast seemed to take a better scan of me, and then stared for a moment, apparently processing the information that he?d obtained. He seemed to enliven slightly and replied, "Yes, indeed, I recognize you, now. You were carrying a deceased woman and an infant."
I nodded in concurrence and replied, "Indeed. On that occasion, you saved my life, and furthermore, you saved the life of my son." As I explained this, I presented Marin before me, as to emphasize the relationship described.
"I was only doing my job, sir. Unfortunately, it is a job that I no longer have, due to the Garanz Force?s victory over the war."
"If only, my friend, all Prime-types were as sturdy and dedicated as you."
"I have nothing left, sir. I am an old 'bot, and my chronic unemployment has left me unable to continue to pay for my regular maintenance. It is only a matter of time before I am no longer able to function."
I did not feel as though I could allow this brave soul to simply vanish into history; nor could I allow this noble soldier the indignity of dieing alone and in the street. "Come with me," said I. "Come with me, and I will see to it, that you receive your regular maintenance. You will be employed once again, this time as my personal bodyguard."
His initial reaction was to decline my offer, but I insisted, and he lifted himself to his feet. We then rushed him to be maintained, and as such, since that time, he has been my employee, and I have been his client. Together, we have seen many skirmishes, and we have seen a number of conflicts. Mota Storm has become as indispensable a member of my family as even Marin or my granddaughter, Cam First.
These events are how I lost my wife, and came to know Mota Storm. I also believe that it was because of my prayer, that I now have a beautiful young granddaughter named after my wife, Cam First. Currently, as I write this, I am the leading Technical Engineer on Pioneer 1. My son, who is now 30, is a Land Surveyor also employed by Dr. Osto's research group. Ceres continues to take care of Marin, and Mota Storm continues to guard me. Cam is still very young, at age 8, though her mother, who didn't survive the trip to Ragol, was a Newman, so Cam's physical age appears to be closer to twelve.
What will follow, is a chronicle of our goings-on, on this planet of Ragol. There has been some mystery as of late, including the Commander Flowen's entire military exploration team being wiped out by something in the Ruins, which leads me to conclude that such a chronicle may prove useful to later investigators. It is my hope that others will find these writings to be informative, whatever it may turn out will happen to us; perhaps it will reveal our mistakes to come, and prevent them from being made again.



<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: HUnewearl_Meira on 2004-11-28 21:09 ]</font>


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<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: HUnewearl_Meira on 2005-09-14 18:02 ]</font>

[Aurra]

I don't usually read more than the first few lines of other fanfics, and I virtually never post in the threads, but this...

To this, I give nine thumbs up.

*slaps "Aurra Approved" sticker on thread*

[AngelEyez]

I must agree, this is very good

[Scejntjynahl]

As always Meira, the ability to establish the foundation of what will prove to be a grand scale recollection has been executed with precision and with such a flare that it leaves one with the desire to read more.

Zinkin will prove to be a quite insightfull journey that may answer some of the plaguing questions of your previous recollections, but knowing the schemer that you are, I am sure in return it will leave more questions unanswered. You are quite the fiend.

Keep them coming! http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif

[Nisshoku]

I'm speechless.

This is truly awesome. It is if I am seeing these events right through an old man's eyes.

Another great piece of work here. I'll definitely be looking out for new chapters of this.

[BOC]

no doubt that your writing has improved!! an action packed opening that i would say is probably one of your best yet.

i had high hopes for zinkin, and it looks like i'll not be disappointed!! http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif good to see you back (sooner than i though) and better than ever!!

i want a prime type as a personal bodyguard!!

PEACE!!!

[Bradicus]

As I read the first few paragraphs, the narrative felt slightly forced. I told myself that it was just one of the quirks of your newest character.
This feeling, however, faded almost instantly.

The old man became more and more real, and soon I was completely drawn into the tale. After being smacked with the harsh reality that only the first chapter was done, I realised something: Not only does this new Rec show another personality, but it is plain that your writing has improved.

I need more.

[Solstis]

On 2004-09-15 16:18, Bradicus wrote:
As I read the first few paragraphs, the narrative felt slightly forced. I told myself that it was just one of the quirks of your newest character.
This feeling, however, faded almost instantly.

The old man became more and more real, and soon I was completely drawn into the tale. After being smacked with the harsh reality that only the first chapter was done, I realised something: Not only does this new Rec show another personality, but it is plain that your writing has improved.

I need more.



I agree with wholeheartedly with Bradicus, but allow me to add a tad more.

At the completion of Chapter 1, I felt a sense of awe. The first chapter alone completely shattered by concept of "great" writing, and put all of my fics to shame.

I am humbled.

*passes out*

[Nai_Calus]

Ok, you got me crying on the first chapter. XP Happy now? http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_wacko.gif w00t. n.n

[shadowvincent]

God, I`ve been waiting for this to come out! The recollection saga has always been my favourite fanfic series ever since I read Meira. It contains the ONLY three fanfics I have read twice, namely Meira, Dragoon and Crankshaft. I get the distinct feeling I will be re-reading this one as well, after I re-read Paladin. Roll on the next chapter! PLEASE! Get rolling!

[Outrider]

Another great chapter, VG. I agree that at first, I was feeling a little iffy about it. I've been putting off reading this for a little while now, but now that I've finally sat down and read it, it's great.

I'm really interested to see what Pioneer 1 was like, and as such, I've been pretty excited about this part of the Saga.

[Kupi]

Any chance you could PM me that first edition of the story, Meira? I'd be interested exactly what it read like.

As usual, great stuff. I'm particularly interested in the part about "the religious man I was then". It implies that he lost his faith somewhere along the line, which is certainly interesting given the circumstances. I look forward to finding out what happens next. ^_^

[DezoPenguin]

(Note to self: must get back and read Paladin. Been away from PSO way too long; last time I was here Chapter 1 had just gone up!)

Anyway...

Nice! One of the strengths of the Recollection Saga has always been your ability to write the story in various "voices," from Meira's shortsighted giddiness to Crankshaft's egocentric stream-of-consciousness brilliance to VanGarrett's pragmatic, semi-detached assessment. Now comes Zinkin, with an entirely new perspective.

I find it intriguing that Zinkin was from Pioneer 1. I knew Mota Storm was from previous Recollection fics, but...still and all, it opens up new and interesting possibilities for storytelling.

(It also opens up some new and interesting possibilities for pathos. We all know the Big Boom is coming, and that wholesale slaughter of P1 residents will be the result...which doesn't bode well for Marin. So now we're going to spend the entire fic dreading the apparently inevitable yet hoping against hope the kid gets out alive. Come to think of it, we don't even know that Zinkin does* since we don't know at exactly what moment he's dictating the Recollection. The "prophecy" of Marin having a daughter opens up all kinds of interesting possibilities. Will he live? Will he die but his genetic material live on? Will the prophecy prove to be nothing but wishful thinking, a character flaw of Zinkin? Does this have something to do with the mysterious girl Mota Storm was going around with in earlier Recollection fics? I can't wait for the answers!)

*Unless you've revealed same in "Paladin"--Like I said, I haven't read it yet.

Mota Storm, too, is an interesting character. Your description of the Prime-types really sums up the class nicely. And the battle scene allowed for you to insert some of your classic Dragoon-style action.

Some downsides: "Machismo" is not a synonym for "machine"...though on the other hand, your using it for a giant war machine does have significant ironic value, so maybe it was intentional? And it looks like SmartQuotes were in effect, 'cause all the single-quotes turned to ?s.

[BOC]

Need.... Zinkin.... might.... shivrel... up... and... die... or end... up typing... like this.... all the... time....

ack!

as u've probably guessed, still eagerly awaiting the next epic chapter in this wonderous masterpiece in the making http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_razz.gif

PEACE!!!

[HUnewearl_Meira]

Gargh... I had intended to post this before going out of town to my in-laws' to do the ol' Thanksgiving thing, but in the rush to get out of the house after work on Wednesday, it just didn't happen (PSOW giving me 500 Errors when I tried to hit the forums didn't help much, either).

So, now I'm sitting here with my cat in my lap like Dr. Evil, ready to give you another chapter. This chapter is rather mundane next to the first, but it brings some important information to the table, in any case. So... Here we go!






Chapter 2

Mota Storm and I ventured about on Gal de Val Island. Our interests were purely scientific. With the progressing installation of the Central Control Area on the island, Dr. Osto wanted the facility's regions surveyed for Technical properties. The inherent reaction of the neighborhood's reaction to Foie, for example, could be potentially important information in calculating the predicted results of an experiment. The Photons on this planet have a punctuated difference in behavior from those found on Coral, and for that matter, Ragol's wealth of Photons dwarfs that of Coral's.
Using simple, low-level Techniques, I employed my extensive sensory depth to observe the atmosphere's reaction to a sudden raise or decrease in temperature, electrical charges, concentrations of light, and as well, concentrations of malignance. After making an observation in one area, I documented my findings on a digital notepad, and proceeded to the next location that Marin's topographic survey recommended for a Technical Spot Check. I also tested, and documented the general effectiveness of each class of common Technique on the local wildlife. My findings in those respects were especially clear.
"Zinkin," said Mota Storm, as I checked my coordinates on a Global Positioning System device, while documenting the results of another spot check, "Explain to me again, why these surveys are important to the construction of the Central Control Area?" He did not seem annoyed, but perhaps a bit confused, indeed. In my experience, I've found that it doesn't particularly matter to him exactly why we're doing what we may be happening to be doing, but he generally does like to know, if he is asked about it on a later occasion.
His question was fair, and admittedly, I had done a poor job of explaining the answer to the prior version of the question at hand. As I finished documenting my findings, and started checking my map for the next location, I explained to him, "While the information is not immediately important to the physical construction of the buildings, it is indeed important to the calibration of the sensory equipment to be used in Dr. Osto's experiments." I walked to the next spot check several tens of meters away, checked my GPS location for accuracy, and as I adjusted my precise location, I continued, "The density of Photons can also be measured for certain properties with a Technical Survey. This information is crucial to understanding the results of Dr. Osto's experiments." With that said, I began casting my next technique sequence.
Interestingly, I found the two breeds of Gibbon to be mostly friendly, but sometimes mildly aggressive. These primates seem to be fairly territorial creatures; however, the aspect that I found most interesting about them is the large difference between the two species. Each variant has a different type of chemical system within their bodies that they use, presumably for defense, but possibly also for obtaining food. The slightly smaller Gibbon uses two chemicals to create a chemical fire that quickly evaporates into flame, thus creating a fireball that's remarkably similar to the Foie technique. The larger Gibbon, however, has what some might refer to as minty-cool breath, yet lacking the minty portion, as its breath is, indeed, quite malignant. The chemical system it uses combines to create an especially frigid spray, projected by a powerful burst of air from its lungs to coat its target, thereby freezing it, in yet another chemical substitution for a technique; this time, Gibarta.
Both species of Gibbon seem to co-exist, intermixing as a community, but unable to crossbreed with each other. The larger, ice-breathing species appears to be of a higher rank or social class within this community, despite having decidedly fewer numbers. It seems to me that the fire-breathing breed has developed an instinctive fear for incurring the wrath of the ice-breather, and thus, the social ranking has been established.
Mota Storm and I made our most significant discovery later, however. We'd completed nearly all of the Technical Survey when we encountered a beast that is undoubtedly, the governing being over the community. Previous survey teams that have done work in this area have named this being, "Gibbles." This clan leader is inordinately large, and though his body shape is not altogether like that of the Gibbons', he is indeed, quite ape-like. Gibbles' upper body is extremely over-built, including a sturdy pair of horns on his head, as well as forearms that are destined to remind one of tree trunks, also featuring a row of sharp, semi-retractable structures. His callous, hardened fists are massive, and strike as though they were small meteorites smashing into the ground.
Gibbles leaped a great distance into the air, and used the semi-retractable structures to guide his fall back to the mountain's surface, aiming to land on Mota Storm and me. Much to my own good fortune, Mota Storm was on the ball concerning his task as a bodyguard. When this massive ape came down upon us, he was readily prepared for the impact, and narrowly capable of catching a limb, and pulling Gibbles down to our side.
As the skirmish persisted, Mota Storm was only marginally capable of holding back the creature. "Stand aside!" I shouted to my defender, as I began preparing an attack. "I wanted to try a new technique during this outing, and it appears to me that we've encountered a ripe subject for the testing!"
Mota Storm conceded, and let the voluminous primate pass, to come toward me. This technique was an explosive technique, derived from the ancient spell, Legion. Though not as powerful as its magical counterpart, this technique, which I call Legionnaire, makes use of its caster's aggressive motives to create a series of small, focused explosions. I took a moment to summon up more aggressive instincts from times passed. My next step was to detect the air in the environment around myself and Gibbles. Finally, the last measure was to personify that aggression into sudden spikes in air pressure around my target, allowing air to escape only toward Gibbles, and only in small, quick bursts which behaved like bullets against the creature's flesh. Gibbles was, at that point, brought down in a bloody mess.
Mota Storm approached me, mildly impressed by my display of Legionnaire. "Meh," he jested, "I could've done that." He gave a kick toward the corpse, and then wiped his bloodied foot on the untamed grass that grew in scattered patches in this area.
My lip grew to a smirk as I looked to him and replied, "That was only level one." Subsequently, we both chuckled, and I considered the rest of my Technical Survey. By this time, there was only a single location left to check, and it was an easy enough task to step over there and get it done swiftly.

The ride on the Transport from Gal de Val back to the Central Dome provided me with ample time to compile my Survey data, as well as complete my Technical Report. As such, when we got back to our home, Mota Storm graciously resigned himself to his recharging station, and in the quiet of the evening, I chose to forgo watching locally broadcasted entertainment in favor of participating in my hobby: the study of ancient Techniques and Magic. On this particular night, I read, possibly for the thousandth time, the Second Generation Lutz's treatise on the Zan series of Wind Techniques, as well as the Gra series of Gravity Techniques. These documents were some that I'd gone over dozens of times, but I was always looking for ways to improve the techniques, or at least ways to translate them to the current Disk technology that allows a young Force to learn a new technique or degree of technique almost instantly. Alas, Zan and Gra perhaps were not meant to be formatted to Disk technology. Those wishing to learn these ancient techniques would have to do it the hard day, as they did in the age of the first several generations of Lutz.
Of course, this line of thinking brought me to another technique with a Disk quirk. This technique is Megid. Though Megid has been successfully translated to Disk format, this translation is, for lack of a better word, poor. Because the ultimate technique of Destruction cannot be properly translated, someone found it fitting to learn Megiddo, the Ultimate Destruction Spell from the Scrolls of Sa'Riik, and take what elements he could from it, to recreate Megid as a Disk-compatible technique. The result, however, instead of being a powerful series of chaotic explosions was a purple ball of Dark energy that strips its target of living energies. As did the original Megid technique, as well as the spell, Megiddo, it requires a great deal of negative emotions, such as anger, hatred and sorrow.
Many of us in the Technical community of the time saw this as a thorough bastardization of the Megid technique. Most of us, nevertheless, could only admit that it represents a valid representation of the offense, and does after all, solve the problem of trying to put Megid on a Disk. Thinking about all of this, I began looking over my personal transcription of the Scrolls of Sa'Riik. Megiddo, as previously described, is the Ultimate Destruction Spell. To loosely translate what the Scrolls of Sa'Riik has to say about it, the spell causes things to "simply cease to function by their normal purpose." To put it more lividly, living creatures die, animate objects break apart, inanimate objects crumble, and gasses explode; at times, these things will occur in sequence. Upon enacting the spell, it's said that the only way to survive it is to have a partner call upon the power of the Great Light by casting the Ultimate Protection Spell, Grants, which is not to be confused with the melee technique, Grantz, which teleports a great deal of light into a confined space.
My study was eventually interrupted when Marin contacted me over the BEE system. My son requested a favor of me, and I was happy to oblige him. He was asked to survey the Ruins area under military guard, and he needed someone to watch his daughter. Naturally, who better than Grandpa? Things being as they are, his survey takes him into dangerous territory, while my delivery of the Technical Report and Survey Data keeps me squarely within civilization. So, it was settled. Marin will deliver Cam First to my care in the morning, and I will see to her well-being. After finishing that conversation, I sat down again at my desk, and began writing this. Now, however, I believe it's time for me to tend to my own slumber.

[BOC]

hey!! chapter 2 is up!! not really action packed or funny, but still a good bit of writing.

and it can only mean there is more to come!

good to have ye back meira!

PEACE!!!

[HUnewearl_Meira]

Egads! It looks like I hit the same kind of several-month lull that I hit when I was writing The Recollection of Crankshaft. The ol' creative juices seem to be flowing again however, and hopefully I'll be able to get moving on this quicker from here on out.

Chapter 3 is somewhat longer than previous chapters, though it doesn't take the kind of drastic measures that many of VanGarrett's chapters took. This time we get to see Zinkin interact with his granddaughter, and a little bit more of Mota Storm in action.

So that being said, enjoy!

Chapter 3

Only the early beats of the morning had presented themselves when it came to pass that Marin and Ceres befell upon my home with Cam. The young woman was languidly slung over Marin's shoulder, slumbering with a most exceptional quality of enthusiasm. I had done likewise with him when he was young and would pretend to be asleep, hoping that being in a state of unconsciousness would mean that he didn't have to attend school. It would be a credit of omission to observe that his plans were expeditiously spoiled by my ability to cull him from his sheets.
With an elated smile hiding underneath my abundant mustache, I greeted the two, saying, "Good morning, Marin, Ceres." I gestured inward and beseeched them of their company, asking, "Certainly, you'll come in for a cup of coffee, or perhaps even a plate of eggs?"
Marin smirked as he carefully transplanted Cam to my arms. He responded to my proposal, saying, "I'd love to, Dad, but unfortunately, I need to meet with the survey crew rather shortly." I took Cam over my shoulder as Marin had, and in her limp state, she draped there quite pleasingly; much more easily so than Marin did when he was of a comparable age. Such testimony was sufficient evidence for me to conclude that she was indeed asleep.
Following Marin's declination, I looked to Ceres to regard her response, which was simply, "We have ten beats in which to drive a distance that requires no fewer than fifteen beats to cover." Her sensory antennae fidgeted as a vehicle passed near by. Placing a hand on Marin's shoulder, she urged him, "We've really got to be going."
Marin nodded to Ceres, then looked at me and excused himself, saying, "She's right, Dad. We've got to go. We're running late as it is."
Nodding and smiling, I conceded, "Very well. Go with the Light, my son." Upon their reciprocating responses, I closed the door.
The room, from which my desert-camouflaged bodyguard, Mota Storm soon stepped, was his own; the untidiest room in the house, though not without reason. The room contains a large charging station sitting on top of a vulcanized rubber pad, which was placed there to protect the hardwood floor from battery acid that occasionally leaks from the device. This pad was acquired during the long voyage from Coral to Ragol, after the acid left a considerable mess on the floor of my living quarters on Pioneer 1. Also in this room, are several tool chests full of tools ideal for working on RAcasts, many of them specialized for Prime-types. The largest article, however, also resting on a pad, exists a customized, and very expensive, Self-Maintenance Station that we acquired, so that routine maintenance could be performed on Mota Storm as needed, without having to repeatedly pay mechanics and specialists to tune his joints, replace his fluids, and check his sensory equipment. This was also a fairly old device, that'd been jostled on several different occasions, while moving from one location to another. It, quite unfortunately, has a slow leak of some of Mota Storm's necessary fluids. Try as we have, preventing stains from setting in on the floor has been futile, and the odor of the occasional electrical fire has forever contaminated the room with its foul violation.
As I laid Cam down on my couch in my living room and covered her with the blanket I keep there, Mota Storm asked of me, "Did I miss them?"
After brushing her hair from her eyes, I turned to him and answered, "Unfortunately, you have. Their additional preparations have rendered them tardy."
Given the foreknowledge of Mota Storm's mild feelings toward Ceres, and his general expression, or at least what he was capable of expressing, it was apparent that he was somewhat disappointed that he was unable to greet them, as well. He nodded as he turned to return to his room, and commented, "When they come back for Cam, they'll have to stay and visit for a bit."
Mota Storm once confided in me that he found Ceres' behavior to be rather enamoring, though he was unclear concerning what he found to be so appealing. Perhaps it is the motherly nature to her AI's design, that promotes the emotional nourishment of her mark, or perhaps it is the way her curves gleam smoothly when she reacts to danger, springing forth to protect Marin; such a contrast to Mota Storm's clunky heavings of his own great weight.
A related conversation between him and Marin one day incited an interesting response from Mota Storm. After observing Mota Storm's considerable attention to Ceres' movements, Marin jokingly offered to apprehend Ceres' technical schematics, asking if that would please him. To this, Mota Storm replied, "What makes you think I'd want her schematics? Do you jerk off when you look at Medical Charts, or something?"
While Mota Storm plugged himself back into my home's security system to monitor the grounds, I began preparing food. The local fowls, known as Rappies, produce eggs of considerable size, resulting in 1 Rappy egg over-easy being just as satisfying, if not more so, than 2 normal eggs, over-easy. The only difficulty was in preventing the massive yolk from bursting. I will openly admit that more than once, I have cheated, using modified Gra-based techniques to aid in this endeavor.
I was wagering on the assumption that the fragrance of eggs and sausages would be pleasing enough to wake Cam favorably. Much to my satisfaction, she soon stepped into my kitchen, stretching and yawning. Here, she proceeded to disregard the toast I'd prepared, and pour herself a bowl of cold cereal. "Cam?" I inquired, "Wouldn't you like some eggs and sausage?"
The bowl was quite large in her hands, almost, in fact, big enough to become quite a difficulty for her to carry; but she held it confidently. She looked up toward me from the corner of her eyes, and informed me rather matter-of-factly, "Eggs and sausage don't have marshmallows in them." This was stated as though it were common knowledge that the inclusion of marshmallows is a prerequisite for a proper and balanced breakfast. She proceeded to walk around the corner to the table in the dining area, where her artificially sweetened meal ejected a considerable quantity of milk and cereal upon its emergency landing on the tabletop.
I served myself a portion of the eggs, toast and sausage I had prepared, and then produced a smaller ration for Cam. Following, I placed her plate next to her bowl, and sat down around the corner of the table from her. She looked at me with the intent of making me feel guilty for giving her something she didn't ask for, but was very much unsuccessful in this undertaking.
As I broke the yolk of an egg with a wedge of toast, I explained, "I don't expect you to eat all of it Cam, but you should almost certainly have something more in your stomach than marshmallows and baked oats." I smiled at her, before taking a bite of my toast.
She just looked at me with a confused expression for a moment before shouting, "You are so weird, Grandpa!" After another moment of confused gazing, she returned to eating her cereal.
I watched her eat as I sorted through my own meal. When I was her age, the Newman project was still young, as well. In those days, it was somewhat strange to see a person who looks to be around 12 behave as if they were about 10, and in point of fact be 8. Though the years however, this sort of thing has grown into a common facet of our culture.

After several tens of beats after breakfast, Cam, Mota Storm and I proceeded off to tend to the day's duties. Chiefly, I had to deliver the results of my Technical Survey, and my Technical Report to the lab on Gal de Val. While the construction has not yet been finished, several portions of the facilities have already begun to be used. In particular, the Control Towers have been finished, and are temporarily being powered by Pioneer 1's excess generators, until the completion of the Dam. No real experiments are being carried out as yet. The Central Dome's basic laboratory is still the primary facility until all operations can be moved to Gal de Val, but the Control Towers are acting as a staging ground for further planning, while the complexities of the system are still being installed.
Diversions included stopping by an Ice Cream Parlor to spoil my granddaughter with three scoops on a waffle cone. It's always a competition between parents and grandparents for the children's love, and it is largely due to occurrences like this, that grandparents often win the struggle.
She enthusiastically chose the Chocolate flavor for all three scoops, for it is to her, that chocolate is the Holy flavor, by which the universe is set proper; it is the ultimate truth in choices, and to choose anything else is to engage in blasphemy. She gave me a stern, disapproving look when I asked for a single scoop of Chocolate Chip for myself.
Subsequently, we enjoyed what can only be described as a pleasant Ragollian day, sitting on a park bench and consuming our ice cream as it melted down the sides of our cones. Mota Storm took the opportunity to survey the area for potential trouble. After thoroughly beguiling a teenager's attempt at vandalism, Mota Storm returned to the park bench as we were finishing our ice cream with the knowledge of a job well done.

When we eventually arrived to the lab, I personally delivered the report to a Contractor's assistant at the top floor, where he was overseeing the installation of some rather unique hardware to a computer known as "Mother". The entire top floor was to be Mother's interface. A large portion of Mother's purpose was the development of Artificial Intelligence.
I commented to him, "That's quite an impressive configuration, Foreman."
He nodded and explained, "It's for Dr. Calus. Dr. Osto believes that Calus's proficiency in Artificial Intelligence will help him make 'the next form of life', or whatever it is that aberrant freak is trying to do now."
"Yes," I confirmed, "Dr. Osto's brilliance can be eclipsed only by his eccentricity." With a nod to him, I returned to Mota Storm and Cam, who were waiting by the door, with a Systems Operator overseeing the security doors.
Mota Storm was discussing the security measures with him. The young Systems Operator explained, "Well, it's configured to defend against hostiles, but during working hours, it has be triggered manually."
"What is the instrument of defense?" Mota Storm inquired.
The Systems Operator smirked and showed us a display of a mechanism slightly larger than Mota Storm, heavily armored with Photon shielding. "This model is known as Epsilon. Next week, it'll be upgraded with a small amount of additional physical armoring, as well as adding Photon effects to the Photon shielding."
Mota Storm grunted, "They've finally replaced the Garanz-type, did they?"
The Systems Operator shook his head, "Not exactly. This is a custom Security unit with the potential to organize and instruct droves of Security class Garanz-types. You should see the big one being installed in Osto's Mining facilities."
Mota Storm has an understandable disdain for Garanz-types. After all, they destroyed his kind in the wars, and took his job when it was all over. He blurted out, "I could take it."
"I loathe interruption, but the time to depart has descended upon us," I announced. "Sir," I asked the Systems Operator, "If you could kindly open the door for us."
"Yes sir, Mr. First," he replied, as he stood and approached the door to enter a passcode. Unfortunately however, he was unable to finish inputting the code, before the security malfunction occurred. Instead of opening, the door, in a manner of speaking, closed more. A heavy security door came down, and emergency lighting took over the illumination of the room. The Foreman and his installers quickly took cover, but unfortunately for the Systems Operator, feedback from the control panel introduced him to the Light.
Mota Storm, Cam and I had different problems however, as this "Epsilon" unit materialized in the room. "I hate Garanz-types," Mota Storm commented.
"Of this, my metallic companion, I am aware. Let's just hope you can handle this synthetic beast," I said to him.
He drew his Plasma Rifle from his back and replied, "It may be intimidating, but it's no Armageddon-class."
In silence, it identified us as targets. I picked up a quivering Cam, and relied upon Mota Storm as my shield. "We'll be okay, Cam," I assured her, "Mota Storm will defend us." Defend us, he did.
Mota Storm stepped forward toward this security measure. Four shielding units circled about it, as described to us. The vulnerable core was thereby defended. Though this was a powerful defense, it rendered it unable to attack. It used an infrared beam to locate Mota Storm, and therewith, its shields widened their orbit. Upon seeing this, Mota Storm saw opportunity to make use of the enormous weight of his pre-photon armor.
"Weight-reduction units shutting down," he stated. All at once, the floor beneath us seemed to tremble. Mota Storm was now firmly planted with his complete weight on the ground. He stood there, waiting for the first of the shields to impact with him. Bracing himself, he was ready to take the hit. The shields' momentum was continuing to grow. Mota Storm knew he had destined himself to take a heavy blow.
All at once, the first shield slammed into him, nearly forcing him to move, but his spectacular weight held him in place. Instants later, the next slammed into the first, jolting him again, but he yet refused to budge. Another impacted, adding its force into this power struggle. It still could not dislodge the relentless Mota Storm from his position. He now had three exerting force against him, and even as a layer of photon energy was beginning to mar his armor, he began to take aim at the core of Epsilon.
The Prime-types were designed as all-terrain, highly customizable, self-driven tanks. When they were designed centuries ago, the job was done well. The fourth and final shield forced its way into the other three, and at that point, Mota Storm may or may not have moved a very brief distance. With the shields now no longer a hazard to his aim, he began to assail the core of the unit. His Standard-issue, Prime-type Plasma Rifle was slightly dated, and not quite as powerful as it had been when he received it nearly three-hundred years ago, and its ineffectiveness was augmented by today's defensive technology, but Mota Storm is never the less, an expert on its usage, and every shot counted.
A burning metallic drop fell to the floor from Mota Storm's arm, and expanded to several times its original size upon impact. Clearly, the Photon shielding was starting to melt his armor. By this time, he was well aware that he would have to adopt a new strategy, as Epsilon's AI was becoming aware of the Photon's efficiency against Mota Storm's armor, and began feeding more energy to them.
Mota Storm almost certainly must have come to the conclusion that his next attack would have to be a work of great tactical measure. He chose an opportune location to strike, and with surgical precision, he shot a bolt of plasma into place. He had now acquired Epsilon's full attention.
Three of the four shields returned to the core of the unit, to encircle it. The fourth, however, dropped to the ground, as a lifeless mass of ferrous material. Mota Storm procured it from the ground and secured it to his arm. Control Cables reached from the seams of his armor to harness the shield, and very soon, it was powered once again, and now under Mota Storm's control.
Mota Storm now encroached upon the formidable security device. It once again out-stretched its shields, and released a burst of Photon Energy in Mota Storm's general direction, which was promptly absorbed into the shield. Epsilon reversed the spin of its remaining shields, but to its own dismay, this attempt was thwarted by Mota Storm's defense with his stolen shield. Upon striking down the airborne shields, Mota Storm made a burst of his own shield's Photon layer. The sheer force of these blows threw the shields out of balance, and they teetered back and forth in the air, still under the control of Epsilon, but at the same time, failing to retain their usual upright posture.
With the shields no longer a significant threat, Mota Storm knew it was now time to finish this fight. He powered up his Gravity Reduction units, and began a forward charge upon the Epsilon. Epsilon began to retract its shields, unable to detect the exact problems with their posture. Mota Storm shield-butted Epsilon, then did it again, and repeated several times until Epsilon's urgency to draw back its shields grew critical, and he knew the shields would approach with great speed.
Quickly, Mota Storm shot at the back sides of the shields, toward edges with very specific purpose. His intent was not to destroy them, but to angle them. The precision of each shot resulted in the shields' pointed bottom edges impacting with the machine first, thereby causing Epsilon to impale itself.
With a final struggle to remain functional, Epsilon's various lights and photon emitters fluttered with activity, and its weight shifted back and forth like an animal that's been gut-shot, before it finally admitted to defeat. A small amount of electrical smoke rose from the security unit, and dropping the shield at its side, Mota Storm stepped away, and returned to Cam and I.
"Task accomplished," he announced. "Your body has been guarded."
The Foreman and his workers began to come back out into the open. I looked down at the fallen body of the Systems Operator. "So it has," I affirmed. "It appears that we do have a casualty, however." He was sprawled on the ground with a most surprised look on his face. I shielded Cam's eyes from the sight. "Mota Storm, if you would, place the Systems Operator on the counter, here." Mota Storm, of course, complied.
Thirty years ago and today, there is a realm of knowledge that is uncommon, but yet, was rampant three thousand years ago. A great amount of knowledge was lost when the technological revolution made our homes a paradise, but at the same time, spoiled us and made us physically, morally, and mentally weak. The Conjunction changed all of that, however. The weak died and the strong survived. We again, learned to be strong, but still a great amount of knowledge was lost, recorded only in Ancient Scriptures and passed from one generation of Espers to the next by the Great Lutz. Had the Esper Order established itself on Coral, I am confident that I would have joined it. I have, instead, studied the Scriptures, and the writings of priests from the time of Weizz Landale. From these ancient texts, I have learned a great deal, as did those few priests among the Escaping Tribes of Palma.
Long since had I memorized the prayer and ritual used to raise the recently fallen. It is of unimaginable importance to me. In the past, Death has become impatient with my loved ones, but never again will I allow a loved one to lose a battle against a petulance of wounds.

I placed my hands over the still-warm body of the Systems Operator, and felt his warmth. With my hand over his chest, I could sense his soul still gathering, and preparing to depart from our world. I closed my eyes and chanted in an ancient tongue, "Sabras Cabras, Sabras Bass!"
The Systems Operator's soul became my conduit to Elysium. This was not the first time I'd brought someone back from death, and I don't expect that it will be my last. Something different was transpiring this time, however. The Great Light would not immediately return the soul of the young man, but yet, He was not holding it back, either. He instead chose to finish a conversation started long, long ago.
A profound voice echoed in my mind. Verily, it said unto me, "You have served my will over many decades, and now my purpose for you draws near. Great difficulties will very soon be found among great men and great women. Some will believe that the Abyss has once again burst open into your midst. The Darkness will cover Ragol with its hatred and villainy, and no piercing Light by itself will be enough to cast it away. I say to you, let it be remembered that the coldest hour comes just before the Dawn. My children will not be abandoned."
Upon the completion of His message, I was cut off from Him, and the Systems Operator gasped for air. I stumbled back as the Great Light's words burned into my mind. Mota Storm caught me and asked, "Is there a problem, Zinkin?"
Regaining my composure, I stood upon my own feet and replied, "I fear there may be great trouble ahead of us, Mota Storm."

The remainder of the day was mostly uneventful. I explained to the Systems Operator that he had passed out when the Control Panel shorted out on him. He explained that they'd had a lot of unexplainable bugs in their system lately, and though the Security System has malfunctioned a number of times, this was the first time that Epsilon has attacked. Mota Storm explained that it would be the last time Epsilon would attack.
In the Evening, Mota Storm performed maintenance on himself, had his fluids replaced, and had a thorough charging, before linking himself into the residence's Security systems for the night. At this moment, Cam is happily adrift on a spare bed. Tomorrow morning, Marin will pick up Cam.

[BOC]

"What makes you think I'd want her schematics? Do you jerk off when you look at Medical Charts, or something?"

*hides biology book* hehehehe, er what?

as always, amazing work meira! All hail Mota Storm, heavy assed dude of destruction!

but don't leave it too long before your next creativity burst http://pso-world.com/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_wink.gif

PEACE!!!

[Scejntjynahl]

A long read indeed. But it is the minor details that lead to great stories. One can not just simply jump to the action, and lay waste to many unknow enemies. One must come to know the "hero", come to realize the motives that drive him/her. Zinkin seems to be destined to have great motives, and in turn will be a hero to be remembered.

Great work Meira.

[Nai_Calus]

Whoohoo! Another chapter finally. n.n Great work as always.

Heh, but of COURSE marshmallows are a requirement. XD

[shadowvincent]

Yes! It`s back! Nice to Epsilon getting a beating for once, heh heh. In all, great work. ^_^

[HUnewearl_Meira]

The good news is that Chapter 3 handled the last of the character introduction, and that Chapter 4 is starting to pull all the plot development off of the top shelf. The next few chapters should be rather enlightening for the entire saga.

The better news is that I seem to be on a roll with this. Even as I post this, I'm about halfway through Chapter 5, as well.



Chapter 4

Heathcliff Flowen was pronounced dead several weeks ago. His death after attempting to secure the Ruins was a significant portion of the reason why I chose to begin writing this record. I went to bed last night considering the security malfunction at the Lab. The system seems to be experiencing bugs that haven't been common in computer equipment since before even Mota Storm's time; neigh, ever since major programming tasks were taken over by AI constructs. Their ability to evaluate the requirements and goals, then proceed to produce flawless executable code has revolutionized our work. I'm therefore lead to assume that the malfunction was due to sensory equipment picking up false, or at least misleading signals. While I'm certain that the short that occurred in the security panel surely had something to do with everything, I can't imagine why the security system would react with its full force.
The Systems Operator had also explained that the Lab's Security System had made a habit of misfiring, so to speak. My further investigation into this subject late this afternoon, lead me to observe that the malfunctions began about a day after Heathcliff Flowen's arrival to Dr. Osto's facilities. I'm lead to wonder if there is a connection between the two.
The malfunctions are scattered fairly evenly around the clock, with many of the malfunctions occurring during late night hours when most of the breached locations are devoid of population. The log files indicate concentrated fluctuations of Photon energy in the areas, far beyond that of Ragol's expected range, while more conventional security means such as Security cameras show no evidence of any sort of interloper, be they Human, Newman or Android. I half expect to be asked to take a Survey and produce a Technical Report within the building.

This investigation was not without inspiration, however. If not for Marin's behavior today, I might've taken yesterday's security malfunction at face value. While Ceres behaved as expected, Marin was nothing short of suspicious, and carried a dark aura with him.
Marin and Ceres made their appearance briefly short of a hundred beats or so after Cam and I had finished our breakfasts. With Cam thoroughly enthralled by Mota Storm's company, I answered the door with a smile at the ringing of the doorbell, only to find Marin's expression was not quite so enthusiastic. His face bore a frustration that his could not be hidden by his most potent attempts. "Good morning, Marin," I greeted him as I gestured him in.
"Morning, Father," he replied, then stepped in. "Where's the girl?" he asked. Under traditional circumstances, I would have anticipated this question to be asked in an endearing manner, but his enunciation was with the chill of a Dezolian winter.
I examined my son discerningly and asked him, "Are you having difficulty with something, Marin?" I approached him with great circumspection.
"No, no," he answered saying, "I'm just in a hurry, is all." He peered about in anxiety.
"What merits such hurry? Stay and relax for a while," I replied.
"I really must move along, Father. I cannot stay."
"You and I both know that you've no particular plans for today, Marin. You will stay and relax. Spend some time with your Father."
He shook his head, and finally conceded. "You're right, Father. I'll stay."
It was at about this time that Mota Storm stepped out of his room with Cam sitting on his shoulder. His clunking against the floor immediately drew our attention and Cam's noisy amusement announced the mode of their interaction. Mota Storm stopped a meter or two from Ceres, placed Cam on the floor, and bowed to her. "Good morning, young woman," he cordially greeted her.
Cam in the meanwhile, ran to her father's arms, but he did not kneel down to accept her, as I would have normally expected from him. His reaction seemed cold, almost uncaring. Even Cam's exclamation of, "Daddy!" was insufficient to stir his affection. As she jumped at him, he finally reached down to lift her from her feet.
I looked him in the eyes and asked, "Are you quite certain, Marin, that everything is all right?"
He sneered at me and replied, "Of course, Father. I don't know where you're getting the impression that something could be wrong."
Contrary to his insistence, I could see that there was something evil behind his face. I looked to Mota Storm and Ceres, who were having a conversation of their own, concerning what, I cannot be certain. I interrupted them nevertheless, and asked of the two, "Mota Storm, Ceres, would you take Cam to get a scoop of ice cream in the park? I have matters to discuss with my son."
"Certainly," complied Mota Storm.
Ceres nodded in reply and confirmed, "Very well. It would be our pleasure." This indeed served the double interest of providing me with some time to obtain Marin's full attention long enough to evaluate the situation, and giving Mota Storm the opportunity to take a walk in the park with who, to him, is a much younger and very attractive woman. Ceres looked to Cam with a smile and told her, "Come on, Cam. Let's go get some ice cream!"
Cam shouted her acceptance of the terms, but encountered some resistance from her father when attempt to jump down. He tried to stare me down before he begrudgingly released her to the androids. Clearly, he was not happy about this.
After casting a stern gaze upon him, I looked to Mota Storm and Ceres, to see their departure before beginning my discussion with Marin. I gestured him to have a seat on my couch, but he refused. It'd been many years since I had to take a strong tone with him, but this was a streak that was predestined to end. "Sit down," I ordered him. When he shook his head and continued to refuse, I enacted my own variants of Gra series Techniques to pull him into position and onto the couch.
Sitting down on the coffee table in front of him, and placing my weight on my elbow placed on my knee, I looked him in the eyes and ordered him unambiguously, "Tell me what happened on that trip to the Ruins, son. I insist on every detail."
He stared back at me for a moment, unwilling to comply. Doubtless, he eventually came to the justified conclusion that he'd be stuck there until he answered, and his restraint began to break. "It was a common Survey trip, Father. Nothing more."
Unsatisfied with his response, I grasped his hand and fed a weak run of Gizonde through it, causing his hair to try to stand on end, one strand repelling from the next. The electrical shock to his system certainly bought his attention, and as I stopped I leaned in closer to him and bid him to continue. "I requested content, not intent."
With signs of strain in his voice, he uttered, "We arrived, we took about three thousand shots, had lunch in the middle of it, and left late without eating dinner."
I watched his eyes as he spoke. There was more, and we both knew it. I tightened my grip on his hand, threatening another Gizonde. I commanded of him, "They chose you because you're also a qualified Force. The Ruins are dangerous. Tell me what else happened down there."
"Fine, fine, we were attacked a handful of times. Small groups of Dark-attribute creatures. They were no trouble. Geez, Dad, I just didn't want you to worry about it." He gave a sigh of relief as I relented and stood.
Though I was overall unsatisfied with the information I was given, I smiled at him. "Good. Now we can relax and simply enjoy the remainder of the day together." Looking at him, I could see that there was some manner of internal altercation occurring in his mind, between himself and whatever he brought back with him from the Ruins. Being descendents of Espers and even the ancient Telementals, our family has always been prone to supernatural hazards; as though each generation were another metaphysical lightning rod in the universe. These properties were the inspiration that guided the legendary Noah and Tajim into the deepest depths of Motavian caves, and to live as hermits to practice and learn the limits of their power.

Mota Storm and Ceres were gone with Cam for another hundred beats or so, and Marin left with Cam and Ceres only tens of beats after. I explained the situation to Mota Storm, and he then retrieved the Lab's security records for me. The remainder of the day has consisted of that particular investigation, interupted only by dinner. I'm bereft of what I am to expect for tomorrow, barring a request for work however, I may choose to research ancient magics and perhaps try to develop another technique.

[Nai_Calus]

That's one method of disciplining your kids... XD Wish I could do that to my mom. >_>;

Mmm, things are getting ugly already, aren't they? Hurry up and finish chapter 5. >o

[Scejntjynahl]

It is always something wonderful seen you weave your web of story telling. Hints and innuendos gallore, sometimes requiring a second read to make sure something has not gone amiss. Short yet pivotal. Great work Meira.

[BOC]

hey not bad, though somebody might want to call social services about old zinkin and his evil, if effective interogation methods http://pso-world.com/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_razz.gif.

crap, if my dad coulda done that, i would have been in a world of trouble http://pso-world.com/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_wink.gif

keep it coming miera!

PEACE!!!

[HUnewearl_Meira]

I think I like this chapter. It's somewhat short, but rather eventful.

Anyone wanting to know what's been distracting me from finishing this thing need only check the front page of AlbinoBlackSheep.




Chapter 5

Early this morning, WORKS contacted me. I was asked to conduct a Technical Survey of the Ruins. I was wary of accepting the job at first, but after looking over Marin's Geological Survey, I was pleased to see that the area consists mostly of large flat areas, which meant that I'll be required to take fewer measurements. For reasons that will soon become clear however, I am glad that I took the job.
It began with a lengthy trip in a rented vehicle. Though I could have driven myself, we chose to rent a vehicle that Mota Storm could interface with directly. The intent was to allow me to be able to do my preliminary set up along the way, and work on my report on the way back.
At the entrance to Dr. Osto's mining facilities near the Central Dome, we were greeted by the AI, Vol Opt, who took us to the entrance of the Ruins via teleported. After stepping past a few crates, we stepped into the Abysmal outpost. The stench of death mingled with the musk of abomination in this ancient vessel's stale air. My mind could sense the oppressive waves of black energy commanding me to choose between submission or retreat. In the spirit of defiance, I betrayed these quiet rebukes and continued my task.
My spite for the will of Darkness brought a swift interruption of my study. The first abomination to offer its unfriendly greeting was identified by Mota Storm from the mission details provided to us. The Indi Belra, as it was called, lifted its massive arms, and projected them at us with great haste. Mota Storm obtained a victory in stopping the projectiles in time, though his margin of victory was minimal, at best. Mere centimeters from me, a massive claw stopped in mid flight, and was dropped to the ground, where it shattered as an ash.
While the Belra regenerated its arms to attack us once more, Mota Storm quickly raised his rifle to begin his own assault. He knew already from data previously gathered, that he would not be able to take this monster down in a single normal attack, but in the interest of speed, he believed he might be able to bring it down quickly with several charged attacks. The logic was sound, but perhaps the results wouldn't have been fast enough for him. Rather than try to get off a shot before the Indi Belra attacked again, though his Control Cables he instructed the rifle to begin charging a larger shot, and he proceeded to deflect the next two pairs of arms to hurdle toward us, allowing his powerful weapon to reach its most critical level. When charging was complete, he released the shot before the Belra could once again pitch its missiles upon us. The blast was large and managed to topple the dark beast, but it unfortunately did not bring the shroud of death over it. The next, normal shot however, did.
I was allowed to complete my survey of this room, but with each progressive room, we discovered increasing resistance. These soldiers that we encountered seemed endless, with each Dimenian and each Delsaber yielding only another Dark Bringer or Bulkclaw. As I had suspected, Marin's statement of encountering only a few creatures was not a declaration of truth.
As Mota Storm wrestled a group of So and La Dimenians to the ground, I once again picked up on the voices of the Ruins. They chanted of unspeakable things, and sang the song of nightmares. Unified, they urged me to submit to their volition. Behind their threats of evil, I could hear, however, a familiar voice. Among the evil I could hear Marin, and his voice bore no resistance. He was, indeed, defeated.
Before long, I was no longer willing to continue the survey. The data collected by our difficulties was sufficient for an incomplete, but informative report. We had journeyed deep into the depths of this domain of corruption, and the pressure had become enormous. Mota Storm slew another Indi Belra, and I told him, "No longer, can we persist in gathering data. Let us retreat, and absolve ourselves of this horrid environment."
As he trampled a Death Gunner, a small, threatening, shielded quapod, he replied, "We shall depart with due haste." In concurrence, we began our rush for a proper exit, but found ourselves stopped in the midst of startling revelation.
"Have you been struck with the baton of fools?" I scolded. "Marin, by what evil have you been provoked to return to this complex of the damned?"
"It is by the evil, father," he replied, "that one should be sealed away while another inhales the breath of freedom." He pushed Cam behind himself, as he took a defensive posture. "You too, will join me, Father."
I corrected my posture and responded to him, "My son is not an ally of the Darkness. You possess the body of my offspring, but I am not your father." I noted to myself that Ceres was not apparently present, but I could be reasonably certain that she was yet nearby. I addressed my bodyguard, "Mota Storm, retrieve Cam. She will return with us to the Central Dome."
Mota Storm warned me, "I'm picking up an obstacle to our rear. Are you certain that you want me to do this now?"
I nodded, as I eyed Marin. "I am aware of Ceres' position, Mota Storm," I answered. My decision concluded that Mota Storm would hesitate to restrain Ceres more quickly than he would hesitate to hurt Marin to safely obtain Cam. "Retrieve my granddaughter."
As Mota Storm began to approach Marin, my watchful gaze detected his signal to Ceres. She was going to come for me, now. She would obey Marin to her death, despite her personal misgivings. Ceres grabbed me from behind and placed a Photon Dagger beneath my chin. I remained calm.
"Cease!" she shouted at Mota Storm, who was by this time, twisting Marin's arm by his wrist, to pull him away from Cam. Marin smirked. He believed that the situation was as he had planned it. Mota Storm looked at Ceres questioningly, and gave a slight tweak further to Marin's wrist, probing the waters, so to speak. Ceres tightened her grip on me, and brought the Photon Dagger closer to my throat. "I'll kill him!" she announced.
I spoke quietly to her. "I believe you truly would, Ceres. My doubts are that you believe you truly would." I called to Mota Storm, "Mota Storm! When I am gone, you are to allow no harm to come to my granddaughter! You are to protect her in all that is her good nature! This is to be your first priority!"
Mota Storm confirmed to me, "The directive is understood." Marin's expression was not one of satisfaction. Mota Storm continued to further suppress him.
Ceres reasserted her threat. "I will kill this man!" I could now feel the heat of the photon blade against my Adam's apple.
Mota Storm responded to Ceres, "Your orders are contingencied against the result of my actions. My orders are contingencied against the result of yours. Your threats are meaningless to the success of my mission."
Mota Storm's observation forced Ceres to re-evaluate her position. I was no longer a bargaining chip. Defeated, she released me, as Mota Storm released Marin to the ground, and picked up Cam. As he lifted her, however, Marin grabbed her head with his undamaged hand. I am unclear of what he did, but it caused her to pass out.
Mota Storm gave Cam to me, and Marin groaned at me as he stood. "Fine. Take her," he said. "This planet will belong to me soon enough."
I looked to Ceres as Mota Storm and I left the room. I bid to her, "Farewell, Ceres."

[Kupi]

Tiny Plaid Ninjas has taken that much of your time? O_o

...anyway, I was totally lost from "In concurrence, we began our rush for a proper exit, but found ourselves stopped in the midst of startling revelation" on. I think I might have to reread the rest of the 'fic, but I had no idea what was going on. It seemed to jump from a normal Ruins run into people fighting each other without much of a transition between the two. Just in the context of the chapter, I have no idea what's going on.

Of course, MythBusters is on TV and that's taking half my attention, too. XD

P.S. We have to meet on the Blue Burst Beta sometime!

[Scejntjynahl]

Not all gambles work to your benefit, and in victory you acquire a defeat. Not clear winner in this moment, but the chess board has been set, we now know who plays black and who defends white. Very well done Meira.

[HUnewearl_Meira]

This chapter is fairly short. So is the next, actually. I won't reveal at this time, just how many chapters I have finished beyond this. I can suggest that we'll have another chapter up every week for a few weeks, though.




Chapter 6

Whence upon waking, Cam's behavior had taken an uncharacteristic veer in an unhealthy direction. She began with talking back to me. A meager first step, I realize, especially since she has done this before, but in the past, it has been in a playful manner. It can be understood that I did take her from her father, but none of my explanations were sufficient to calm her. Her next course was to destroy the first draft of my Technical Report. As you might imagine, this did not go over too well. To my shame, I shouted at her for this.
She spent the remainder of the day with Mota Storm, whose capacity for anger is limited, in contrast to his unlimited capacity for loyalty. As I rewrote my report, I overheard her having a discussion with Mota Storm. The tone of this conversation was quite different from the argument she had with me, and while I suppose it could mean that she has developed a bipolar disorder, I rather suspect that there is something more sinister in our midst.
"He hates me, doesn't he, Mota?" Cam asked of my noble android.
Mota Storm replied, "Negative. None cares more for you than your grandfather."
"Then why did he yell at me?"
"You upset him."
"But how can he be upset with me, if he loves me so much?"
"You brought disappointment upon him."
"Huh?"
"Do you suppose you'd be so upset about being yelled at, if it had been a complete stranger with no relationship to you?"
"I, uh, I don't know... I suppose not."
"You generally won't be so upset when betrayed by a total stranger, as when you're betrayed by someone you love. This is what I have learned from watching your kind."

There was in fact, a great deal more to this conversation. By the end of it, Cam had stopped crying. Mota Storm's calm stability gave Cam the comfort she needed, and I believe their relationship has grown as a result. Meanwhile, I was finishing my Technical Report, and considering what my next task would be. With Cam thoroughly distracted by Mota Storm, I thought that I would, perhaps, do some research into Cam's problem.
I first began to look through the ancient historical records, most importantly, involving Dark Falz. In Space Century 132, circa AUW 1182, a powerful wizard and the ruler of Palma, La Shiec, had a vision which told him to break Algol's Seal, in return for which, La Shiec would be granted immortality. The Seal was coming up on its millennial period of vulnerability, and La Shiec took advantage of this, allowing the Profound Darkness to regurgitate its most powerful emotions into our world, with the mission of breaking the seal that contains it. By 1185, La Shiec was defeated by Alis Landale and her companions. Within days, they discovered that the Governor of Motavia had been possessed unwillingly by Dark Falz. Narrowly, they were able to save the Governor.
From this account, I learn that Dark Falz is capable of taking multiple hosts, both willingly and unwillingly. It can also be observed that if handled quickly, a host can be saved from possession. The historical records are ambiguous concerning how this is accomplished, however. The wizard, Noah, however, had a spell called, "Tele" which allowed him to communicate with other sentient species without a common language. Learning of this caused me to do more research on this spell. I soon discovered that the Tele spell also uses a touch of mind control to calm the target before communication is made.
I suspect that I may be able to use Tele's mind control abilities to cancel those of Dark Falz'. This gives me one option. A first course of action. I concluded, however, that there is potential for great, irreversible damage from this, and as such, I have chosen to consider a second possibility, should Tele prove to be a problem.

I went on to research Newmans. My study brought me to the first Newman, Neifirst. Because she was persecuted by most humans, and beloved by a handful, Neifirst suffered from great internal conflict. The legends say that her internal conflict became so great, that the compassionate half of her personality split from her body, creating a second Newman, who called herself, Nei, a name meaning in the Motavian language, "The Human who was Not a Human," but at the same time, was the Word of Power in a more ancient tongue.
I concluded that if Neifirst could split between her good half and her evil half, then logically, Cam should be able to, as well. Hopefully, such a split should be able to separate the Darkness's hold on her from her true self. I do realize that my logic is flawed in believing that the Profound Darkness's influence will constitute her entire darker half, but I am afraid that I cannot openly admit this to myself. In my mind, Cam will always truly be an Angel sent by the Great Light.

I returned to studying Tele, and I began the development of a new technique based on the spell's telepathic properties. I call this technique, "Telele." As I write this, I have made a great deal of progress, and I believe I will make arrangements to use the lab's facilities to test this technique.
Concurrently, Cam has been giving Mota Storm a hard time. She has been defiant, in his attempts to keep her entertained. She even threatened to leave at one point. I don't clearly know if it has been due to Dark Falz, or simple youthfulness. In light of the nature of her activity, I believe she's being driven to return to her father.
In the event that I should be forced to cause her to split, I believe that her father may be the wedge I must use. As regrettable as it is, I may have to force her to choose between myself and her father. I pray that if I must, this will accomplish the task.

[Nai_Calus]

It's a little creepy how calmly Zinkin discusses the possibilities concerning Cam... But it's a good creepy. The impression given is one of Things That Could Be Going Wrong that are so bad they can't be paniced about, because doing so might be disastrous. Very nice. *applauds, passes out*

[HUnewearl_Meira]

Oddly, despite having finished a number of chapters ahead, I've neglected to post any of them. I'm supposing that the big distraction has been getting ready to attend the Anime Expo (http://www.anime-expo.org/) in Anaheim, later this week.




Chapter 7

With another stop in the park for ice cream, I once again took Cam to the lab to deliver a Technical Report. I was of course, relieved to discover that Chocolate flavored ice cream is still the true and holy choice, by which all is made right, and that again, Chocolate chip is a heresy and corruption.
Work was freshly completed on the towers, and they were an inspiring site, indeed. The view over the dam was especially impressive in the sunlight. Strangely though, things seemed to occur as we passed them. A technician's instruments began producing bizarre readings. A light bulb exploded, experiments spontaneously failed, and test subjects became inspired to fight back. It was mildly disturbing. When Cam charged across the corridor to get a better look at an especially furry research subject, it became apparent to me that it was, as I suspected, her own presence that was causing the disruption, rather than ours as a group.

This time, I delivered my report directly to Dr. Osto, who was himself, in the control room at the top floor. Handing it to him, I warned him, "I should hope, Doctor, that you aren't planning to bring anything back here from the Ruins. As you'll see from my report, it is a dreadful place, and the core of a minor seal."
He grinned and chuckled. "Your son told me very much of the same. You religious folk crack me up. Thanks for the report, Zinkin. I'll keep what you said in mind."
I leveled my eyes at Dr. Osto, and shook my head in disapproval. "You've been warned, Osto. Your death will be your own fault, if you carry out poor judgment."

As we began to leave, we were stopped by an Assistant to Dr. Osto. "Mr. First," he said, "Can I interest you in a tour of our facilities?"
This opportunity interested me, especially as I had been interested in testing Telele at this location. "Quite, young man. Tour me." The result was a wandering about of the facilities for several hours, one of the personal highlights of which, was the Medical lab.
"What happened to this young woman?" I asked of a wounded youthful Newman having android parts grafted onto her.
He answered, "She was a surviving member of an expeditionary team sent to the Ruins some time after Flowen's original expedition. We'd thought her entire team had been killed, but the next team to proceed found her."
"How did she survive?"
"She randomly has a gene that makes her immune to D-Cell infection. We're researching that gene right now, but unfortunately, to save her life, we've had to integrate much of her body with a mechanical life-support system built into an android shell."
Cam interjected, "She looks like Ceres."
Mota Storm was especially interested in knowing this: "Is there any particular reason why you chose Neo-Meiu parts to integrate into her?"
The Assistant explained, "When Pioneer 1 left Ragol, we had several Neo-Meiu units working with us, so the spare parts are abundant in our labs."
"It's a shame," I commented, "That such a lovely young woman should have to go through such a thing. You do realize that she'll be distraught when she discovers what she's become."
The assistant shook his head regrettably. "The real shame of it is that she will remember nothing prior to waking up in that room. The plan at the moment is to never tell her that she was born as flesh." Her hand twitched, and we moved on.

We also passed through a kennel of sorts, where creatures captured for testing were stored. For reasons that have gradually become apparent, they went absolutely batty when Cam entered the room. "This is strange," the Assistant said, "They're normally quite docile."
"I'll take your word for it. Perhaps we should move on," I said.
We nearly walked by a teleporter room, with a force-shielded door labeled, "Authorized Access Only" without commenting on it. I stopped our guide and asked him, "What's this?"
"That's the teleporter to Dr. Osto's private research facilities. They say he's got something really grandiose there."
"Dr. Osto requires other facilities in addition to these?"
"The experiments done here are relatively small-scale, and the results are readily available to the public. What he does in his Seabed facility, on the other hand, is his own business."
"Great Kuda, man!" I exclaimed, "For all you know, he could secretly be a mad scientist!" I smirked at him, as an indication of my joke.
"Well," He replied appropriately, "If he ever spontaneously installs a rocket launcher in his own chest, you'll be the first person I call."
I do remain disturbed by the revelation that Dr. Osto has projects that he keeps secret. I refuse to hide the fact that I have a general distrust for the man, despite his brilliance.
After the tour was complete, I discussed using the facilities to test a new technique with our guide.
"Before I leave, I'd like to make arrangements to use your facilities for several kilobeats, tomorrow," I told him.
He asked of me, "What do you plan to do?"
"I've been developing a new technique that I'd like to test. I'll need an empty room, and ten of your animal test subjects."
"I think I can arrange it, but there'll be a fee."
"I can pay your price."
"All right, let's go get the paperwork," he finished. Our course changed, and before long, I was filling out a long series of papers, including a number of waivers.

At home this evening, I returned to work on the Telele technique. Cam seemed awfully curious about my activities. I suppose the waning phase of her interest in Mota Storm was quickly underway. "What're you working on?" she asked.
I answered, "A new technique."
"What for?"
"I believe it will be useful."
"What's it do?"
"Telepathy." I believe this answer caused a spark to go off.
"Telepathy??" she exclaimed excitedly.
"Yes. It allows communication without a common language." My reply stretched the truth. Telele is in fact, a psychologist's dream.
"Can I learn it, too?" she asked, almost playfully.
I chuckled and replied, "I'm afraid that you may have yet a bit to learn before you can handle the responsibility of this technique." In response, she pouted for a moment, then tried to watch me over my shoulder. "You're certainly curious, today," I said to her. She shrugged, and left once again, to bother Mota Storm.

As I have been writing this, my concern for her has deepened. With urgency, I have completed the development of Telele, and tomorrow, I will refine it into three disks, after its initial testing.

[Bradicus]

Ugh. I have not read a single thing since chapter one (how many months ago?). You just claimed my entire morning tomorrow. I hope you're happy. I know I am http://pso-world.com/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif

[Kupi]

It strikes me that the fact that I'm having such a hard time keeping up with the story (relatively speaking; I remember the gist of it from chapter to chapter) might be a good indication that writing such long chapters at such huge intervals might be a bad thing for The Observer's Test.

So far as the actual 'fic is concerned, I thought the "Great Kuda!" line was great, even if it *does* do screwy things to the timeline. I wasn't expecting the follow-up gag (about Osto putting a rocket launcher in his chest), which made it all the funnier. It's always nice to see little throwbacks to the old games. Furthermore, it's always interesting to see someone else's take on the world at large. This chapter may be short, but it's head-rottingly sweet. Bravissimo!

[HUnewearl_Meira]

I wasn't going to post this tonight, but while procrastinating on going to bed, I concluded that I probably should.

For the moment, I seem to have a new drive to get this done. Partially because I want to get it finished, so I can move to other things, but also, and more importantly, because my interest in it has come back up.





Chapter 8

Leaving Cam under the reliable supervision of Mota Storm, I took public transit to the lab on Gal de Val. Truth be told, my need for a bodyguard in this time can be made the subject of question, but my use of such is as much a matter of friendship and habit. My testing of Telele took an early start, when a pair of young troublemakers came to threaten me, believing a skinny old man would have no means to defend himself against them. Admittedly, they were right. Anything I would normally do would have left them deceased, paralyzed, or at the very least, hospitalized for an extended period of time. There would have been, in any case, a great deal of legal forms to fill out, fines to pay, and possibly insurance companies to argue with. I did have this new, untested technique to fiddle with, however.
They approached me in dirty clothes with their hands in their pockets, and one asked, "How are we doing today, grandfather?"
I continued walking and replied, "I'm doing fine, but I'm afraid that I'm of no immediate relation to you, young man."
The other grabbed me by my arm and demanded, "Hey hey, slow down, gramps! There's no hurry! It's a fine Ragollian day! Enjoy the breeze!"
I freed my arm, and the other made his business clear. "Now, now, sir," he said, "You know you have to pay the toll on this sidewalk. Come on, hand over the Meseta cube."
"A couple of trolls, are you?" I asked. "No one may cross your bridge without paying the proper compensation?"
He replied, "Well, we can take your money," he pulled out a photon dagger and continued, "Or I suppose we can just cut it out of you." At this point, his friend produced a photon saber. "So what's it going to be?"
Firing up Telele, I could see in their minds that their value for human life had long been driven numb. They once resorted to crime to fill a desperate need for money to feed themselves and pay off debts, but the urgency was gone. It was now just a way to get from day to day. Honestly doing odd jobs in construction and other day-jobs were no longer a part of their habits.
I first caused them to start producing fear pheromones in modest quantities. They began to lose their nerve. One of them stopped in his tracks, and shook his head in the confusion of suddenly not being able to find the gall to do what he did every day. "Is there a problem, young man?" I asked. "Are you having second thoughts?"
As they began to back off, I began to approach. I looked at the second thug, and caused him to forget how to hold his weapon, which subsequently fell to the ground. This was something he would have to figure out again, at a later date. Removing other priorities from their day, I told them both, "I think you should both go home, and investigate the news resources for Help Wanted ads." I calmed them both as I said this, and made them receptive to suggestion.
Confused, but agreeable, the first thug murmured, "Yeah, want ads," he looked to his friend as he turned away from me, and said, "Come on, man. We've got better things to do." I watched them run off, and found myself curious concerning just how badly I mangled their minds, whether there would be any unfortunate side effects at a later date, and so on. Worries like these are, of course, the reason why I was going to the lab to test the technique. The remainder of my journey to the lab was without incident.

Arriving at the front desk of the tower, I asked the receptionist, "Have my test subjects been prepared?"
She looked up at me from her work, confirmed with a number of logs, and informed me, "It seems they've just finished, Mr. First. You've been given lab 42."
It seemed that all was as anticipated. I smiled and nodded to her, "Thank you." Traveling down the hall, I brushed passed a few lab assistants, interns, and various other researchers. Upon finding Lab 42, I entered to find several creatures segregated from each other in cages, as well as a lab assistant, assigned to aid me in my experiment.
He held his hand out to be shaken, and introduced himself, "Hello, Mr. First. My name is Corey. I'll be your assistant today."
I shook his hand and otherwise greeted him, saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Corey. You may call me Zinkin."
As we withdrew our hands, he reported, "As you've requested, we've supplied a Booma, an Ul Gibbon, a Guil Shark, and one claw." As I gestured my approval, he asked, "May I ask, sir, just what sort of a Technique are you planning to test, that requires these creatures?"
Looking over the cages, I responded, "Mostly, I just wanted a variety including Native creatures, Altered beasts, and at least one Dark attribute creature."
"But the technique," he inquired, "What is it based from?"
I turned and looked him in the eyes. In a calm, very casual tone, I answered him, "Telepathy. This technique is for Telepathy."
This seemed to bother him a bit. Perhaps he was worried that I'd discover something he was hiding. Whatever it was, his secret is safe with him. He confirmed, "Telepathy?"
"Yes," I replied, "Telepathy. Does that bother you?"
"No, sir, it's quite all right."
I smirked and teased him, "If you feel you need a tin foil hat or something, I'm sure the cafeteria could provide you with the necessary component parts." Without letting him respond, I turned back to the creatures and announced, "It is time to begin!"

My first test was on the Booma. As studies of the species had suggested, it was a fairly calm creature, and in fact, surprisingly docile, given its state of captivity. It sat in its cage, content to stay there for the moment. Further prodding into its mind revealed a longing to burrow, as well as a hopefulness that it would be supplied with a treat, as apparently it typically is when taken into a lab such as this. There was also a slight fear of injection, but perhaps more than that, a bit of apprehension concerning the erratic behavior of the neighboring Ul Gibbon that was violently trying to get out of its cage.
"Corey," I said, "Watch the Booma, and take notes on how it behaves." Corey, did comply, grabbing a note pad to take notes on. I manipulated the Booma, and began to irritate it. It soon growled at the Ul Gibbon next to it, and eventually slashed at it between the bars. Feeling that this was enough, I chose to calm it down, again. At this point, I'd hoped to have left it the way I found it, though the results of my meddling would not become apparent until much later.
My experience with the Ul Gibbon was a little more disturbing, however. Its anger was not entirely natural. It also had a great deal of anxiety it was dealing with, and though it felt like lashing out, it didn't seem to have any particular target in mind. It was raging, blindly. Furthermore, while being in captivity was influencing its irate disposition, this was not the only factor making it upset. What was chiefly responsible for the creature's general bad mood was not natural, and it was indeed, what disturbed me the most. The Gibbon was not alone in its mind.
Upon finding the foreign entity in its mind, it immediately tried to attack me. That is not to say that the Gibbon specifically tried to physically hurt me, but that the entity discovered my probing and fought back. In my mind, I could see the dark visage that was clouding and influencing the Gibbon's violent behavior. Within the mental patterns of this creature, this presence was as a cancer; growing and corrupting within, its tendrils sprawled and tangled in dozens of directions in a complicated mass of villainy. It did not invade the beast's mind, so much as take over a bit at a time.
Attempting to calm the creature down only caused the presence to spread further. I agitated the creature, and the presence seemed to feed on the beast's anger. This disturbed me further. Any attempt to allow the creature to let its guard down would result in the presence to improve its grip, while anything I could do to allow the creature to fight back would only make it stronger.
As I suspect this to be very much the same problem Cam is having, I decided to investigate further. I attacked the presence directly, in an attempt to sever it from the creature's mind. It fought with me. We struggled with each other for several beats. It tried to enter my own mind, and though I was able to defend myself, it was a difficult defense nevertheless. Finally, I had it contained, trapped behind a mental block.
Once again able to pay attention to the physical universe, I looked about the room. I looked at myself, then I looked at Corey, whose shocked expression was affixed on the Ul Gibbon. I turned my attention to the ape myself, and found his cage to be damaged and bloodied. The ape itself seemed basically fine, physically, but it was no longer jumping, making noise, or otherwise behaving angrily. In fact, it was not behaving at all. It sat, staring straight forward with the blankest of expressions on its face. Its trespasser may have been locked away, but the price was its functional intelligence.
"Well," I said, "That certainly didn't turn out as I had hoped. Corey, please make a note that the Ul Gibbon did not respond well to having a spiritual intruder removed." I looked at Corey. He turned his head to me, trying with some difficulty to regain control of his jaw, and confirm my instruction. "Go on, write it," I said. "I'll be moving on to the Guil Shark, next."
The Guil Shark behaved more calmly than the Gibbon, but not in the contented way that the Booma did. The Booma had an almost domesticated calmness to it, while the shark simply appeared absent minded. Observing this, I began probing. Immediately, I found that there was no conscious thought, whatsoever. Its instincts were being blocked, as well. It seemed to have a desire to burrow, and I also discovered a few other mental artifacts that reminded me greatly of the Booma. When I found that the Guil Shark also had the presence of Dark Falz, I was not surprised by it. I was, however, taken aback to discover that the demon had not only taken over all consciousness of this creature, but had also apparently altered its physical structure. This, would of course be why we classify the Guil Shark as an Altered Beast. At one time, this creature was a Gigobooma.
As I probed the entity in the Guil Shark, I learned what a mature possession can accomplish. The presence, startling me. "You intrude upon that which I have claimed," it said to me, in a tone and voice that somehow made each and every word vulgar.
I counter pointed, "You have claimed that which is not yours."
"By what order does a mortal interfere in the affairs of the divine?"
"By the order that the divine should disrupt the lives of mortals."
"Your life is to me, as an insect's life is to you. You are but an annoyance; vermin in my home."
"You've already taken my son from me, and now you threaten to take my granddaughter."
"I make no threats. The task has already been set into motion."
"You must release her!"
"Why would I do that? Must I take you, as well?" Upon those words, it began to reach for me. Only by a narrow margin, was I able to close the telepathic connection between us.
I found myself on the floor, with a bruised thigh. Corey was looking at me. I smiled awkwardly at him and commented, "I seem to have found the floor." I began standing up.
Corey nodded and said, "Yes, several minutes ago," he paused as I stood, and continued, "Are you all right?"
"Yes," I replied thoughtfully, "But I don't think I'll be examining the Claw. I believe I've down all the testing I'll be needing." Taking three blank Technique Disks from a counter, I approached the device provided to write to them, and instructed Corey, "You may go ahead and report the findings to Dr. Osto. I am finished, here."
"But sir, I need you to give me more details."
"If he gives you any difficulty, then tell him that he is to take it up with me."
"Yes, sir." With that, he dutifully left.

I proceeded to create 3 Telele Disks. I considered the Booma, as well as the Gibbon. Aside from a slight twitch of its eyelid, which I may or may not have been responsible for, the Booma was fine. The Gibbon, however, would never be the same. I watched the three creatures, as I pondered the results, holding the disks in my hand. These disks that I have created are level 1, level 15, and level 30. While potentially useful in other respects, I do not believe that I can use this technique to help Cam. While I may be able to stop the progress of the Darkness, doing so will likely leave her in the same mindless state that the Ul Gibbon is now exhibiting. To rid her of evil would not be worth losing her mind. As such, I must find another way.
I do not know what prevents me from destroying these three disks. Under no circumstances can these disks be allowed into the wrong hands. I suppose that this is part of what the Great Light intended of me. I was told that my purpose draws near. What have I left? My only hope, is that when my purpose is fulfilled, I may be allowed to retire and spend more time with Cam.

On another note, late this evening, I received a message from military personnel. It seems that they desire to have Telele for their own purposes. Verily, these are among the wrong hands of which I speak. Their request has been denied.




<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: HUnewearl_Meira on 2005-07-26 00:07 ]</font>

[Scejntjynahl]

Chapter 7:
This one is a bit biased since I see some great foreshadowing in this tale. Personal foreshadowing, but I wonder what will become of that Hunewearl that suffered so much? Now for the sense of impending doom, very well done with the reaction of the devices and animal going haywire. Something like nature is trying to warn us that something is amiss.

Chapter 8:
Now this chapter is rather lengthy. But it was required to be so. Here we see an internal struggle, much like a fight of wills. No special effects, no big explosions, but just as dangerous. Fighting a force like no other. Reminds me of the old tales of man versus nature. Beautifully narrated and the seriousness toned down just a bit with some witty comedic relief. A gret tale Meira. Again as always a great read.



<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Scejntjynahl on 2005-07-29 09:45 ]</font>

[LadyRedComet]

Don't be afraid to express your thoughts!

You said that in the first post, and you better mean it, because I'm not going to be unnecessarily nice and praiseful. You get enough of that from your abundant fans that you don't need to hear any of it again from me, and besides, I don't agree with all of it (but I've been informed over and over that people need an "objective" opinion, and certain of my friends think I'm good at supplying this). This is going to be a long post, which means I may not be able to complete it in one sitting (for example, at the moment I have only 1/2 hour of internet time before I have to leave), but I'm going to tell you exactly what I think of each chapter of this story. If you're not up to pure criticism, then don't bother reading this post any further.

First, my overall impression. This story is trying to sound over the top and intellectual, so it comes off as too wordy, too condescending, and as if it's trying way, way too hard. Seriously.


For an unintelligible reason, I could not achieve slumber;

For example, this sentence, from the very first paragraph, makes no sense (unless you change "unintelligible" to "unknowable" or "unknown"). Unintelligible is just not the right word for that sentence, it sounds wrong. Tell me, does "For some unknowable reason, I could not sleep" sound so bad? That's one of those things I was talking about above, that the story is trying too hard to sound like it's written by a genius. While I agree that you should write from the character's point of view, and to an extent you should write for your own enjoyment... you also have to take into consideration your audience's level of intelligence, as well as your own. Is this how you speak? Is this how anyone you know speaks? Is this something normal people will be able to understand and enjoy, or will it go straight over their heads?

Secondly, you use a lot of convoluted grammar, run on sentences, excessively long sentences, and just plain weird phrasing. I can understand that you're trying to portray this character as you envision him, but I'm of the opinion that you are going about it all wrong. If you fail to make the story clear, no matter how well you characterize it, the audience is not going to understand. A person that is a genius would, more than likely, have learned over the course of their life to speak and write at the level of the people around them, in order to make themselves understood. It doesn't matter that this is "better" than your rough draft, it still isn't clear and concise enough. I don't know if I can explain what I mean in any other terms, but it's as if you're trying really hard to sound like an intellectual or a genius, when you're misusing words or using them unnecessarily. I also don't think I can stress this point enough, because it so affects the readability of the story.

Another general comment: Show, don't tell. This is a general rule of fiction. Show the audience how the character is feeling, show the audience what happened, what is going on. Don't just tell them what happened, as if this is a history textbook. That's boring, and it also doesn't allow the audience to connect or sympathize with your characters in any way. Did I mention it's boring? That is perhaps my biggest problem with this story so far. The "spoonfeeding" writing, coupled with the "pseudo-intellectual" style creates an extremely boring story, with very few redeeming qualities. When I say very few, I mean that the only thing that could redeem it is the plot, but from what I have seen so far, that's as convoluted and confusing as the rest of it.

As I get time, I will add critiques of individual chapters to this post.

Chapter One

There's a lot in this chapter that is made extremely unclear by the narrative. As previously stated, the first paragraph is extremely confusing and is worded very poorly. I could quote a lot of it back to you, and explain what is wrong with it and what needs to be fixed, but I doubt it would do much good. At any rate, here are a few things that bothered me (the most confusing parts are bolded by me):


Marin?s life was given by her to at the beginning of his life, and her life was taken to further prolong it.


On how many occasions have I cursed myself for being unknowledgeable in those days, of what I have come to learn, now?


He says that you will; but you'll be an old man before His purpose for you is finished.

I must also inform you that there are many run-on sentences and there are other places where the phrasing is less-than-stellar, I just deemed them less important than the ones listed here so far.

However, you seem to do better as a whole once you get out of the first segment. I don't know why that first segment is so horribly written and overdone, when the action sequences, and even the part at the end of the chapter do not compare. At least they are not so riddled with over the top language and grammatical errors that they are almost unreadable. It's still not the most engaging or entertaining story I've ever read, but at least it seems to be progressing (at this point) to the point where it's readable.

I also fail to understand where the comments you received about "how moving" and "emotional" this chapter come from, because I see it being told to me what is being felt and implied that I should feel the same because Zinkin feels it and he's the main character. Maybe it's because Zinkin only seems bothered by the death of his wife for a few sentences, then becomes entranced in a battle that has very little to do with him. To me, this defies both common sense and my idea of what grief is. Would a person really stand there and watch this go on, keeping himself and his infant son in danger of their lives? Doesn't make sense to me, but maybe I'm just messed up in the head, since I seem to be the only one that is not in awe of your skills.

Maybe the next chapter will be better.

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: LadyRedComet on 2005-07-29 16:04 ]</font>

[Scejntjynahl]

Finally someone with actual critiques. As for me since I have no claim to been a writter of any kind, so I can not offer any good critiques, I only use the few terms that I have learned in my High School years and college years. But by no means could I be able to give constructive criticism.

LadyRedComet has offered very good points and has been able to back them up. Of course this falls down to that being my opinion as well.

But I do agree, at times I do feel like I am been spoonfed reading some of Meira's chapters.. But since I can not offer a solution, I hardly ever mention any possible flaws.

And there is of course my own personal bias. I know the characters and the author, I guess I would have an easier time actually critiquing if I was a neutral observer.

[Kupi]

...heavens, I *have* come off as a fanboy in this topic, haven't I? O_o

[HUnewearl_Meira]

Comments like LadyRedComet's are precisely why professional writers have editors.

Everyone should expect some answers from the next several chapters, this one included.




Chapter 9

I've thought the circumstances through more thoroughly. It comes to my attention that if I cause Cam to undergo Neifirst's Split, then the corrupted portion of her mind will be detached into an entity separate from herself. Once her two halves are separate entities, I believe I can safely remove Dark Falz's influence from the corrupted half without harming the uncorrupted half. With the conflict between the two halves removed, in theory, they should be able to re-merge, and simply be Cam, again. I feel that it is becoming more and more urgent to accomplish this however, as it seems that if it takes too long, I may already be too late.

Today, we decided to go to the park. Again, I would buy Cam an ice cream cone, and we aimed to spend the day feeding the Rappies. Standing in my entry, prepared to leave, I called for Cam. Mota Storm was standing at my side, when she ran to me from my study. I lifted her, and asked her playfully, "What were you doing in there?"
She replied, "I was looking at the neat things, Grandpa!" In retrospect, I realize that I should've questioned this further, but I was in a fairly good mood, and my trust of Cam was perhaps unwarranted in her condition.
After we'd acquired our frozen treats, we found a comfy bench to inhabit. In ever a curious mood, Cam asked me, "Grandpa, you know the picture of the glowing woman you have on your wall? Who is she?"
She spoke of a portrait of a legendary emissary of the Light, from long before the Great Light feuded with the Profound Darkness. I told her, "The woman's name is Allanque. Would you like me to tell you her story?"
"Yes!" she exclaimed.
"Well, you see," I began, "Long long ago, there was a civilization of supernatural beings. These beings were divided between each other, being the Light and the Dark. The Dark soon became ambitious, and cast their shadow over many mortal worlds, bringing more souls to their hateful ideology. A young emissary of the Light, Allanque, took pity on these poor souls. She was compared to a star, as you see, she would see these worlds in their eternal night, and offer her meek Light to those in the Darkness. She was herself, an angel of Hope. She is the proverbial Light at the end of the Tunnel."
Cam was clearly fascinated. Mota Storm was decidedly distracted, however. By this time, he was picking up on the communications between a group of RAmars chasing a bounty. He took a few steps away and looked in an Easterly direction. He soon drew his gun, and this is when he claimed Cam's attention. "What's Mota doing, Grandpa?"
"Sometimes Mota Storm hears things that we don't, Cam," I replied.
Mota Storm responded to this by explaining, "I intend to help a few hunters with their charge." A number of control cables extended from the seams of his armor, and attached themselves to his gun, which then powered up a very mild shot. Becoming interested, I stood and took a step toward him, to see what he was watching for.
Soon, a man of apparent low moral fiber came running around a corner. Chasing him, were four RAmars of similar proportion, with the exception of one, which was strangely short, and had a perpetually annoyed expression.
As the man being chased came into range, Mota Storm squarely took aim. When he had a clear line of sight, he took the shot. As per Mota Storm's design, the man was struck in the ankle by a weak plasma bolt. It was a non-fatal attack, but one that would likely ruin the man's ability to walk, let alone run, for the rest of his life. The RAmars caught up with this fugitive, and Mota Storm soon joined him.
At this time, I noticed that Cam was taking a peculiar interest in these RAmars. I looked to her and asked, "Would you like to meet those men?"
She nodded yes, in an expression that I found to be strangely serious for her. Never the less, I took her by the hand, and began to take her to them. At this time, the apparent leader of the group, whose name I never learned, but owned a Viridia Section ID, was sending the other three off with their bounty. From what I gather, it was so he could go back and clean up some loose ends that occurred during their chase.
As I got near, I overheard the RAmar explaining to Mota Storm that the man they'd captured was wanted on several counts of rape, and one count of murder, along with a host of minor felonies and misdemeanors. He looked at me as I stepped up to him with Cam. "Good Afternoon," I said.
He shook my hand, and greeted me, "Afternoon."
"I see you've met my bodyguard."
"He's a good shot."
"Indeed he is," I said, and continued, "Though it seems that my granddaughter here has chosen you to be impressed by."
He looked down at her and smirked before saying, "Has she now?'
Cam said nothing, but stared intently at him. I tried to get her attention. "Cam?" I said. I looked at the RAmar, and found that he'd taken what wasn't exactly a blank stare, but more along the lines of the stare produced by someone who is used to figuring things out, suddenly finding himself confused. I looked at Mota Storm, and he shrugged at me. The staring contest continued for a moment, until I finally said to Cam, "Cam, say 'hi'."
"Hi," Cam said, then backed off to hide behind me.
The RAmar shook his head, looked at Mota Storm and I and dismissed himself, "Well, um, I've got a bit of business still left to take care of, so nice meeting you, and uh, take care." He gave a casual wave, and strolled off. The remainder of the afternoon was rather uneventful, until our trip home took us through an open-air market. I should have taken more consideration as to the origins of a used Technique Disk I noticed near the bench we'd been sitting on. It would have, perhaps, left me more prepared to handle what was to come.

As we browsed through the market, Mota Storm's attention was drawn away. "I'm hearing those RAmars, again," he said.
"Pursuing another criminal, are they?" I asked naively.
Mota Storm replied, "I can't be certain on that. They've encrypted their communications. I can hear their voices, but can't make out their words."
As I looked down at Cam, she darted off into the crowd. "Cam!" I shouted, "Get back here!" Mota Storm and I tried to follow her, but we are two old men, so to speak, and she is a nimble little girl. Before long, I saw a masked RAmar with a Bluefull ID carrying her off. I cursed, and ordered Mota Storm to track that RAmar.
"He's part of the group from before," he informed me.
"Well, let's get him!" I commanded, as we took off. As we chased after him, I started trying to put things together in my mind. At first, I thought that maybe that long stare the Viridia RAmar had given Cam reminded him of a bounty; perhaps it was a case of mistaken identity. I wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe that, because the alternative was less favorable. Eventually, however, I came to accept what is surely the truth.
It came to mind that Cam was curious about the Technique I'd been working on, and the fact that it was built around Telepathy made it more interesting to her. Before we left this morning, Cam came running from my study, and even asked questions about it, later. The Disks had been hidden in a drawer underneath the portrait of Allanque. There was a used Technique Disk on the ground near the bench we'd been sitting at. She must've used one of the Telele disks while Mota Storm and I were distracted. That long, intense stare between the RAmar and Cam had to have been Dark Falz spreading. Surely, it was similar to what Corey saw between me and the Guil Shark.

We chased the RAmar out of the market place, but lost him shortly outside. Fortunately, Mota Storm has the tracking skills necessary to follow where they went. We've returned home for supplies, and also so Mota Storm can have his maintenance performed. I've checked the drawer I put the Telele disks in. As I had suspected, they're all missing. Ultimately, I don't believe Mota Storm's ability to track will be necessary. I believe that I know where they're going.

[Scejntjynahl]

Ok answers I can do with. But man, what I got was more questions. You have such a habit for cliffhangers http://pso-world.com/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_frown.gif

[HUnewearl_Meira]

Chapter 10 is an exhibition.



Chapter 10

We set out early in the morning. The sun was still rising over the Central Dome. We rented a vehicle, and started driving toward the Ruins. It's a given that we were traveling faster than the speed limit. We were really moving, in fact. Typically, I would expect this crime to warrant a police cruiser, and maybe a few flashy lights. This is not the method chosen to get our attention.
We were first alerted to the fact that we were being trailed when a soldier on a motorcycle knocked on our window and signaled us to pull over. A glance through the back window of our vehicle revealed to me that we had the better portion of a military convoy following us, and by "better", I do not mean majority.
Mota Storm turned his attention to me for a moment. "They have a few Garanz-types, don't they?"
"Half a dozen, at least," I replied.
"You paid for the insurance on this car, right?"
"You bet, I did."
Upon my reply, Mota Storm engaged his full array of sensors. He wanted to know where every last invader was. His next course of action was to roll down the driver's side window. He leaned toward the soldier and asked casually asked him, "What do you want?"
"Pull over!" the soldier ordered.
Mota Storm clearly heard the command, but he played the fool. "What?" he shouted.
"Pull over!"
"WHAT?"
"PULL! OVER!"
"Come closer! I can't hear you!"
The soldier did as he was asked. He pulled closer along side, leaned in, and shouted, "PULL--" He was unable to finish the sentence, however. He quickly discovered that there was a large android hand in his way.
Mota Storm grabbed the soldier by the face, and wiggled him about, just a bit, before pulling him partly into the car, ramming the motorcycle out from underneath him, and ultimately, dropping him to his death on the ground, several meters below. There was no pretending, now. Now the fight had begun.
The vehicle pivoted roughly around Mota Storm's position, as he spun it around. Overriding a few limiting devices in the vehicle's mechanics, he slung us into reverse, and somehow managed to match the speed of the encroaching military unit. He drew his Plasma Rifle and started shooting. This was the first clear view we got of our pursuers. Dozens of soldiers on motorcycles, a couple of troop transports and seven or eight Infantry-class Garanz-type tanks.
After shooting down a few motorcyclists, Mota Storm picked up something else on his sensors, and once again, spun the car around. He had good reason to shift his attention. As it came into my field of vision, it became apparent, just where the rest of the military convoy was. Mota Storm stopped shooting, and put his rifle away. "I'm not sure yet, just how we're going to get passed this," he said, "but we'll go down with a fight, in any case."
A few sparks started flying from the dash board, and we started to slide horizontally toward the blockade. As the car started to tilt away from the assailants occupying the portion of space we were quickly moving toward, Mota Storm detached himself from the controls, tore off my seat belt, grabbed me, and we made a jump for it. As our rental car took out a number of soldiers and stationary weapons, I wondered if the insurance claim form had a check box for "Attacked by Military" or if I'd have to check "Other" and try to explain what happened in two lines or less.
Shots were fired, and Mota Storm shielded me. What were soon to be discovered to be tranquilizer rounds were deflected by his armor quite readily. When the spray ended, he stood and returned fire, specifically aiming for weapons. Unfortunately for us, that's when the Garanz-types started launching missiles from both sides.
This is the valiance I've come to expect from Mota Storm, however. Hopelessly out-gunned, and only possibly with enough armor to sustain all the damage quickly approaching him, he still stands and fights-- especially when confronted with a Garanz-type. He managed to shoot down a number of the missiles converging on our position, but was forced to shelter me from several at the last moment, putting some nasty scoring marks on his back.
Standing again, he began laying charged shots down on one Garanz at a time. His Plasma Rifle wasn't quite enough to take each Garanz down immediately, but only a few shots to each Garanz would get the job done. Succeeding volleys of missiles would further tarnish his reflective finish here and there, but no matter how many times he'd have to shoot missiles out of the air, no matter how many missiles he'd have to shelter me from, and perhaps most importantly, no matter how many times I would instruct him to surrender, he refused to give in until each and every Garanz had been brought to a terminal state of non-function. If androids are prone to war flashbacks, then surely, he was in the midst of one. His vendetta against the Garanz-type was very deeply rooted, and he could not bear the thought that he might leave one in a condition that didn't demand that he was the superior tank.
After he'd shot the last of them twice and the soldiers were closing in on us, he charged, pushing soldiers out of his way, as a plow pushes a fresh fall of snow out of its path. He scaled the side of this Garanz, and once atop of it, he began encumberancing it with pulse-shots from his rifle, and finished it off by releasing all of his weight-reduction devices, crashing the whole monstrosity, frontal sensory devices-first into the pavement.
He emerged from the smoke and flame of the wreckage a moment later, returning his rifle to its storage location in his back. Debris still falling off of him, some of it smoking, he stepped up to my side and stood with me. "My apologies," he commented to me. "You understand, I--"
"Yes, Mota Storm," I interrupted, "I understand." Soldiers were now surrounding us, guns at the ready. They soon held their position, just waiting for the order to do whatever it was that they were to do next. There were several maintenance personnel desperately trying to put out the flaming remains of the last Garanz to fall victim to Mota Storm's rampage.
At this time, their apparent leader stepped out from among them. He was dressed relatively ornately, and wore a beret atop a hairless, sleek and shiny scalp. His nose was large enough to have been distinctly the portion of his person that arrived first. Not unnaturally, his voice carried with it, a strong nasal quality, which served to make his condescending tone only a more potent irritant. In a vain effort to impress others in a collected manner, he addressed me, "Mr. First," he said, "That was quite a performance your android made."
"He's not a fan of your mechanized units," I retorted.
He shifted his weight onto his other foot and crossed his arms. "Let's cut to the chase," he demanded, "Hand over the Telele Disks."
"What gives you the impression that I would be carrying them on me?" I asked, his voice beginning to grate across my nerves.
He was stumped, but insisting his position of authority, he continued, "Tell me where they are."
I was shouting at him, now. "Why?! So you can go wage bigger, and bloodier wars with it? Stage political upheavals?"
He made the poor decision of getting into my face. His breath was foul, and I was worried he'd poke my eye out with his duke. "Telele is an incredibly valuable tool, and you know it!"
Dutifully, Mota Storm placed his hand on the man's gratuitous forehead, and pushed him away from me. "He can hear you just fine from an arm's length away," he instructed.
The officer threw a fit. I was just about ready to throw a fit of my own. I explained in a failed attempt to remain calm, "It is a very dangerous weapon, and I doubt that you or your personnel have the wisdom to keep it in check. You will not be obtaining Telele." I took a breath to try to calm myself, and explained, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've more important business to attend." I took a step in the direction Mota Storm and I had previously been moving in, but was stopped by the business end of a submachine gun. "Step out of my way, son," I said to him.
His commanding officer then made the comment that set me off. "There is no business more important than this, and you will not be leaving until I get what I want." We'd see about that.
Without hesitation, I turned toward him and projected that forbidden purple cloud at him. I'm confident that it was the largest burst of the Megid technique he'd ever seen, and unfortunately for him, it'd be the last thing he'd ever see. As the cloud engulfed him, he fell lifelessly to the ground; as did six or seven of his subordinates standing behind him. Knowing the soldiers were about to attack, in a rampage of my own I began casting techniques with wide ranges of effect, starting with Razonde, and finishing with Razan. There was no one left alive, and only a handful of assault vehicles remaining in a functional condition.
Slightly out of breath, I looked to Mota Storm and said, "Let's go." Given that, we took an assault vehicle, and continued on our way, as we are at this present moment. I plan to update this journal again tonight, after we've retrieved Cam and the disks.

[LadyRedComet]

On 2005-08-01 18:29, HUnewearl_Meira wrote:
Comments like LadyRedComet's are precisely why professional writers have editors.


Nice to see my effort's being wasted. I guess I shall not bother leaving feedback on the rest, since I guessed correctly from the beginning that you wouldn't listen or care. ^__^ I love authors that think they're so great but can't be arsed to have someone proofread before they post. And when it's pointed out, they ignore the mistakes, or blame lack of editing. Yeah, I've met this type before. A lot. Honestly, I am still surprised I haven't received hate mail from the fanb...er... friends of the author.

Keep up the "good" work. I still suggest a beta reader (though the concept seems foreign to the PSO fandom) and a thorough proofread.

[Kupi]

That isn't necessarily what I took from Meira's counter-comment, LadyRedComet. It seemed to me that Meira was saying that professional writers have editors so they don't wind up getting the kind of criticism you gave, or at least so that they get it before the work is published. Furthermore, chapters 9 and 10 seem to have taken what you said to heart; though there are still errors here and there, the writing style is hardly as... dense, I suppose? ...as it used to be.

[HUnewearl_Meira]

So we were randomly given internet access back at work this week, and I've officially been given my threat against pr0n surfing at work. Thankfully, I suspect this won't be a problem for me. I might consider posting next week's chapter from there, though.

I suppose this chapter isn't without exhibition, but there are indeed some answers to be found within. We're coming down to the end of this thing.



Chapter 11

After trashing a few Garanz in Dr. Osto's mining facilities, we found Vol Opt to be less welcoming than it had been, previously. Rather than force our way through, however, Mota Storm took advantage of his control cables, and we merely overrode it. We hadn't time to waste on such trivial rites of passage. From there, we gained access to the Ruins.
Once again I found myself fighting off the urgings of some dark entity to join or die. Oppressive wave after oppressive wave fell over me, but I stood against it. After Mota Storm and I cleared a room of a few Delsabers, it dawned on me that the mental assault being carried out upon me was telepathic in nature. As it was such, I fired up Telele, and responded. Not really knowing what I was probing, my first thought was to find knowledge of some important bodily function, such as breathing, and severely misplace it. Unfortunately, I found that any such knowledges were absent from the mind that I was invading.
"You'd better just send something to kill me," I finally told it, "Because the circumstances under which I would be joining you, are without existence." I then cut off my end of the telepathic connection.
Perhaps I shouldn't have been so forward with my opinion, however. After telling it off, it stopped requesting that I submit and join with it, but continued to request that I die. The request was furthermore enforced, when dozens of Delsabers and Dark Bringers spontaneously appeared with the intent of doing us great harm.
Mota Storm was very quick to assess the catalyst of our situation. "What did you just do?" he asked.
For lack of a better response, I explained, "I left a threatening message on their answering machine." The resulting battle was long and grueling. At this point, it was not simply to be left to Mota Storm to do all the fighting. My own participation was necessary.
The succession of Dark attribute creatures didn't come to an end, or indeed, even begin to slow until we'd journeyed deep into the Ruins. The onslaught in fact, ended rather abruptly, with the appearance of a Ranger dressed in a black uniform, with a black helmet. His Oran section ID stood out quite brightly from the rest of his armor. "I can't allow you to go any further," he told us.
"That is most unfortunate," I replied. "I'm afraid we can't allow you to stop us."
He nodded and replied, "Yes, I understand."
Adding his input, Mota Storm informed him, "You do realize that we'll have to kill you, right?"
This Oran RAmar responded, "Somehow, I have my doubts that you'll succeed, but not due to any effort of my own. You're in luck today, because whatever this is that's controlling me, it doesn't yet have my complete obedience. I only ask that you rough me up a bit, so I won't be able to stab you in your backs."
Mota Storm nodded. "Gladly," he said. Following, he holstered his rifle, stepped up to the RAmar, and broke several choice joints, including fingers and knees, thus assuring his immobility.
Breathing heavily, trying to deal with the pain, he said to Mota Storm, "Thank you." He paused, and continued, "You'd better hurry through that door. The Dark Force is getting ready to do something with those technique disks, and I don't know what he has planned for that little girl, but I doubt it's anything good."
I knelt down next to him and told him, "If there were anything I could do to help you, it would be done. I will pray for your soul."
"I'd appreciate that," he said. "Just, really though, hurry on."
I nodded to him, and Mota Storm and I took off for the door he'd come through.

On the other side of the door, we discovered a large, fairly empty room. The opposite side of the room from us featured a short gulf, on the far side of which, the floor was raised by several meters. We stepped in, just in time to see Marin drain one of the remaining two Telele disks of its knowledge. Ceres stood next to him, attentively. Two, very tall, robed figures stood near him, as well, both of which, I recognized from ancient lore as a very threatening breed of dark wizard, known as De-Elm-Lars; a slightly weaker cousin of Xe-A-Thoul.
"Marin!" I shouted, "What do you suppose you're trying to do??"
He looked at me, and smirked. "Ah, Father," he said, "You're just in time. I was just about to test your handiwork."
I think Mota Storm realized what he was going to do, just about as quickly as I did. I knew he didn't have a very thorough understanding of Telele, and I furthermore knew just what the technique was capable of at level 15, which I correctly surmised was the disk he'd used. It should suffice to say, there is nothing good you can do with that much telepathic ability; it's just enough to cause problems, but not enough to fix them. I heard my mechanical companion whoa unto himself, before he began dashing toward Marin and Ceres.
Marin turned his attention to she who had been his seregate mother, his devout guardian, she who had been present at every major crossroads of his life. He placed a hand on her synthetic cheek. Mota Storm's footsteps plod loudly against the concrete floor. A synthetic tear dripped from Ceres' eye, and she closed her eyelids. "I will obey," she confided. Her face tilted downward for a moment, before she spasmed, and her spine jerked straight. As Marin lowered his hand, she went limp, and fell off the raised platform, caught by Mota Storm.
"Ceres!" Mota Storm gasped. He looked up to Marin, and angrily and perhaps even confused, he shouted at him, "What have you done? She was like a mother to you!"
Marin turned the remaining disk about between his fingers, looked up at him, and commented so casually, "She was... Expendable."
Mota Storm was infuriated. I've always known that he secretly looked forward to outliving Marin and I, so that he and Ceres could be together; or so I like to jest. He just shouted at him, "I can't even think up a clever response to that!" and shot Marin in the wrist, just as quickly as he could draw his rifle, which was actually rather fast. Just as quickly, he snagged the consequently airborne technique disk in the air with a control cable.
As Mota Storm was returning to me, with Ceres and the disk, the De-Elm-Lars started to take a jump to come after us. They were halted by Marin, however. "No!" he barked at them, "Let's hold them here, for now. My father is a powerful Force. Dark Falz will want him. We'll let the inherent corruption of this place overtake him." The dark wizards complied, and they left the room, sealing the doors shut as they exited.
"What now?" Mota Storm asked.
"Now," I said thoughtfully, "you let me take care of Ceres and that disk. You work on getting that door opened."

Such it was, has been, and currently is. For the last two hundred beats or so, we've been stuck in this room. Ceres is relatively lifeless. Though she is still in a basically functioning order, there are currently no conscious routines or functions in operation. I suspect that when Marin tapped into her mind, all he found was a great deal of seemingly meaningless, garbage information, and upon trying to navigate it, well, I'm not exactly sure what it did, but there doesn't seem to be much left going on in there, in any case.
Mota Storm is, at the moment, using his anger to motivate his beating on the door. About ten beats ago, he finally changed from trying to beat it open with brute force, to firing upon it with charged plasma shots from his rifle. He's made a lot more progress like this, and I suspect we'll be through, very soon.

[HUnewearl_Meira]

As I post this, I'm already well into the planning of The Recollection of Mota Storm, and the first chapter is already written, though subject to revision.

As for The Recollection of Zinkin, there's only one chapter left to post after this.

Chapter 12

When Mota Storm finally got the door open, he picked up Ceres, and we proceeded. A walk down a brief hall brought us to another large room, where Marin had been waiting for something from the dark wizards he'd been commanding. One De-Elm-Lars reported to him, speaking in an ancient language, "Die Vorrichtung ist fast bereit. Bald kommen wir zur Stadt zuruck," which in our language translates more or less to, "The device is almost ready. Soon, we will return to the city."
Marin's own face had a distinct dark visage over it, I soon discovered. This visage was that of Dark Falz itself. Its eyes were deep, sunken in, glowing a very slight orange in their dark recesses. Its nose was indistinguishable from the various folds and wrinkles of the rest of the face. These folds and wrinkles in turn, fell down into several layers of jowls, framing a mouth without lips, exhibiting a jagged mouthful of teeth. As a being of supernatural origin, Dark Falz of course, does not need lips, teeth, a mouth, or even so much a face at all; however, the visage we see is a visible manifestation of the pain, hatred and general malificence that birthed this being into our world. That I saw this over Marin's face is something that I suppose should not have surprised me. Of course, I suppose it is only natural that one might be taken aback whence upon seeing the face of the ultimate evil in their own offspring's eyes.
"Marin!" I shouted, "You will return Cam to me, immediately!" I stood and pointed accusingly. He looked at me, over his shoulder, and then cradled his daughter's head to his side. "Do not make me take her by force, Marin."
He turned his attention away from me, and began moving toward a door. "Take it up with De-Elm-Lars, here," he said. As he left the room, the robed figure he'd been speaking with approached Mota Storm and I.
It spoke to us in our language, albeit crudely, as though our language were alien to it. "At the time of death belong to you it gives here," it announced. "I convey fate belong to you." It adjusted its robes, then snapped its arms down, dropping the loose cuffs to its wrists, as if it has just said something witty.
Mota Storm set Ceres down, out of the way, and immediately began shooting at it, but very much in vain. It simply raised a hand, and each plasma bolt dissolved into nothingness upon their approach. "Conventional weapons are without effect," Mota Storm reported.
I nodded and replied, "That's okay, Mota Storm. You just keep Ceres safe. I'll handle this." Mota Storm was reluctant, and was about to argue, but I stopped him quickly, shouting, "Just take her and find shelter!" Finally, he complied. He grabbed Ceres' body up, and left the room.
"Jetzt ist es Sie und ich gerecht," I said to the being in its own language, meaning, "Now it's just you and me."
His reply, "Sie sind sicher ein glutton fur Bestrafung," meant, "You are surely a glutton for punishment." With those words, he attempted to crush me with magical energy. I was saved only by the ancient protection spell, Prot.
Still just warming up, I countered with the Ice spell, Efess, which the being shrugged off. To it, such a spell is comparable to being shot with a rubber bullet. It hurts yes, but it's unlikely to stop you. As I said, of course, I was simply warming up.
It brought a pillar of flame upon me, and once again, I was saved only by my protection spell. This is not to say that I did not get hurt, as I truly did, but Prot contributed quite extensively to my survival. I responded to the fire attack, with the electricity spell, Tandle. Lightning coursed through him; a galvanizing blow. This time, it was quickly apparent that he was hurt.
Two more blue robed figures appeared, in green flashes of teleportation spells of their own devising. This fight was quickly getting serious. I added a Wall spell to Prot, and began focusing more of my attention to maintaining my defenses. As the other two started trying to crush me, I even felt it necessary to raise Deband, though I knew that the protection received from this spell would be only marginal at best. It can certainly be concluded, this fight had just taken a turn to the worst.
Focusing now on defense, I was raising every defensive spell I could think of, including a few of my own, as well as a regenerative variation of Resta, I'd developed. They hammered on me, trying to break through the defensive matrix I'd built around myself. The pressure was building, and how long I'd be able to maintain it was a question that was beginning to wander through my mind. I'd have to take a risk, and exert some of my concentration on slowing them down.
To this end, I cast the parent spell of the Gra technique: Negatis. At the cost of several defensive layers, and therefore, allowing myself to be harmed further, I created a contained pocket of very dense gravity, in the air behind the three De-Elm-Lars, which dragged each back, and stopped their onslaught, for the moment, at least. While they were distracted, I felt myself forced to drop my defense entirely, leaving me only with my original Prot spell, the Wall spell, and Deband, which do not require a great deal of my continued attention to maintain.
I fell to the ground, gasping for breath. I believe that my chest was bruised quite severely when I initially dropped defenses to cast Negatis. On my hands and knees, just trying to breathe, I found myself coughing blood, pain arcing through my torso with every gasp. If I'd been in a better condition, I would've been in a position to end the fight there, however. As I looked up, trying to assess my circumstances between eructations of blood, I saw that the robed beings of the dark were also finding themselves severely harmed, as well, but recovering at a rate that I simply couldn't compete with.
I scrambled to raise my defensive spells once again, as the group of De-Elm-Lars began to waft back toward me. I was really hurt now, and they knew it. They began pounding at me again, though it was quite apparent that they, themselves, were running low on steam. I knew I had to take the chance to finish them off, but I couldn't drop my defenses for long enough to cast something fatal on them. I needed them to be distracted long enough for me to bring them down, and I'd have to do it while desperately trying to ignore the pain I was experiencing. I spent a moment practicing just that: ignoring the pain. I wasn't terribly successful, but I was at least terribly motivated, so I went ahead and dropped a defensive spell for long enough to cast the most basic of offensive spells, the Fire spell, three times. Each casting of the spell was targeted at the faces of the De-Elm-Lars, as I figured, if a reasonably sized fireball into the primary cluster of sensory facilities wouldn't distract them, then nothing would.
To my great fortune, I was right. A back-up chorus of the greater fire spell, Flaeli, put them off even further, and granted me the time to drop all my defensive spells, and cast the second most powerful spell that I am personally aware of. That spell is the parent of the modern Grantz technique; it is built up of a barrage of the Great Light's patron element, that holy light, exploding upon its targets. That spell is called, Legeon. Sparks and brilliant flashes crashed upon the demons, tearing their robes and burning their flesh. They soon fell to the ground.
I began to limp toward them. I assumed that I had killed them. It was a reasonable determination. As I approached, however, two of the three raised, once more. The first De-Elm-Lars to confront me had fallen, but the other two had some kick to them, yet. I had to strike once more, while they were still disoriented. I couldn't continue to hold any sort of defenses against them. It was now or never. Mustering the last of my strength and discipline, I cast Tandle on them both, one last time, and maintained it for as long as I could. After exhausting my potential, finally, they both dropped as smoking masses on the ground.
Nearly on the verge of dropping to the ground myself, I stumbled back through the door that Mota Storm and I had been through, previously. After casting my eyes upon Mota Storm trying to open the door that would let us escape, then a marginally functional Ceres, standing to the side of the door, I finally passed out.

When I woke, I opened my eyes to see Ceres' face, looking down on me. She was stroking my head, which I soon discovered to be in her lap. We were in the military vehicle that Mota Storm and I had previously requisitioned, and we were traveling. Ceres said nothing to me. She just continued to stroke my head, and gazed a caring gaze over me.
"Mota Storm," I asked, "What are we doing?"
He replied, "I concluded that a strategic retreat was in order. We will recuperate, and return for Cam."
"I see," I responded. "You've repaired Ceres, have you?"
"I got her automatic repair systems online, and they took care of the rest," he explained, "Unfortunately, she doesn't remember anything. Marin's attempt to use Telele on her must've wiped her clean. Her Operating System seems to be in working order, at least."
I sat up, and climbed into the front passenger seat, next to Mota Storm. "Thank you, Ceres," I said.
"It was my pleasure," she replied.

We're now returning to the Central Dome. I suppose we'll probably take Ceres back to Marin's home near the Central Dome. She's asked several times now, who her master is. Mota Storm and I have been hesitant to tell her, lest she return to the Ruins to try to find Marin. I think we'll have come up with something by the time we leave her.

[Scejntjynahl]

Heh. I am finally getting used to having the story told me. I have to keep remembering that this is a memory. Of events that took place, hence so much detail is given. Like the almighty powers of hindsight dictate http://pso-world.com/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_razz.gif

Very dramatic that even Zinkin was almost defeated, it is one of the few things that I like of an action sequence. I care little for easy victories, they are somehow hollow. But this particular struggle was a delight to see. Tactical retreat indeed, Mota Storm is more than just nuts and bolts http://pso-world.com/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_smile.gif

Cant wait how you wrap this up. I am already engrossed in the story line, so I tend not too notice any technical mistakes or such things as run on sentences at the moment. But if you like I can scrutinize your work more later and pm any suggestions that may arise.

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Scejntjynahl on 2005-09-08 08:34 ]</font>

[HUnewearl_Meira]

Here we go. The final chapter. I'll make a few more comments at the end.



Chapter 13

Given the phenomenal effort that was required to bring down the De-Elm-Lars, some of the weaker emissaries of the Darkness, it is difficult to fathom what would be necessary to stop them all. There is one possibility that I hesitate to submit as an option.

We arrived at my home, where I got some rest and consumed a few Trimates and Trifluids, to help me to heal and regain my energy. Mota Storm examined Ceres, to make sure nothing else had gone wrong with her. When he finished that, he got himself repaired, maintained and recharged, as well. The wasn't a great deal of conversation that went on at this juncture, but I can only figure that the matters at hand weighed as heavily on Mota Storm's mind as they did on mine.
We eventually returned to the military vehicle, and made our way to Marin's home. There, I used a key Marin had given me to enter, and we lead Ceres inside. "What is this place?" she asked, "Whose home is this?"
"It's your home," Mota Storm replied.
"Oh," she said, "Will my master return soon?"
I stood back and let Mota Storm decide what to tell her. "He'll be home eventually, Ceres," he said, sullenly. "He's working as a Surveyor on Gal de Val," he continued. "It may take him some time. Quite a bit of time. Just," he paused, "Be patient." It was hard to look at the smile on Ceres' face, when Mota Storm said that Marin would return. We both knew that he would never come back. "I'm sorry Ceres," Mota Storm finally said, "But Zinkin and I must leave, now. We've some important matters to attend to."
She nodded, and hugged Mota Storm. "Thank you for the ride home, Mota Storm," she said. "Hopefully, we can get to know each other better, next time we meet." Then she kissed him on the cheek. I wondered if she'd be so happy to see him, the next time they met. Surely, by then she will know that he lied to her.
As Ceres turned toward me, I forced a smile at her. Wordlessly, she stepped toward me, and gave me a hug, as well. "Farewell, Ceres," I said to her. Knowing that this would be the last time I saw her, I held her tightly. It occurred to me in that moment, that in her lifetime she'd been every bit of a wife to me, short of the romance and personal moments that go with it. She'd been the mother of my child, and the maintainer of my home. She had cooked my meals, run the household errands, and always been home to greet me with a smile when I returned from work. "May the Light always shine favorably on you," I said to her, and let her go. I tried to wipe a tear away discretely, but I knew that it could not be hidden.
I looked to Mota Storm. He said his goodbyes as well, and we left. As we walked back to our assault vehicle, my android companion commented, "I envy you."
"Why is that?" I asked.
"If I had eyes and tear ducts, I would shed a few tears, myself."

We got in the vehicle, and started on our way back to the Ruins. I found myself searching for a conclusion to come to. I had to make a decision. I thought about Marin, and his situation. I thought about Cam. I thought about the De-Elm-Lars, Gi-Le-Farg, Xe-A-Thoul and other demons that we would find in this 'city' that they were going to from the Ruins. Marin has to be stopped. I realize that this goes beyond even just getting Cam back.
I know of only one spell more destructive than Legeon, and I believe that my hatred of the Darkness is enough to fuel it. Can I allow myself to be consumed by it? Megiddo is a very dangerous spell. Unlike its infant, Megid, it is just as hazardous to its caster as it is to its target. Unless I make a mad run with Legeon, I don't know what else I can do.
Perhaps I was a fool to believe that I could ever settle without dilemma, and simply enjoy my granddaughter's brief youth, which will be taken from her so quickly by her mother's Newman genes. "Mota Storm," I said, "I want you start keeping a log of everything that happens."
"Everything?" he asked.
"To a reasonable amount of detail," I responded, not wanting him to record every ball of dust that may happen to drift through the air. "When we get Cam back, I want you to flee, anyway you can. I want you to take her with you. As of now, her safety is your number one priority. At all costs, she must remain safe."
"Understood, sir," he replied. "But what of you?"
"I've come to my decision, Mota Storm. I'll be making my final journal entry, shortly. I will give the file to you for your records, when I am finished."
"May I ask," he started.
"No, you may not," I finished. After that, I began writing this.

It has been a difficult decision, but then, I've lived a long, and at times, difficult life. The Great Light made a promise to me long, long ago, and all too recently, I was reminded of it. He had a purpose for me, and I feel that the time has come for me to fulfill it. They say that life is a journey, and I believe I am coming to my journey's end. As regrettable as the results may be, I fear that I now know what I must do.

To all who may read this record, I bid you farewell. May the Light always shine favorably upon you. We may meet one day, with the rest of the Protectors, in Elsydeon.


------------------------------------------------



Undoubtedly, some of you are feeling a little disappointed with this fairly anti-climactic ending. That's why the first chapter of The Recollection of Mota Storm will make up for it, and tie up the loose ends that Zinkin is leaving.


In review, I don't think I accomplished my own challenge, in trying to write a really good, high-grade level story. This is not a failed challenge that I intend to leave like this.

I plan, in the near future, to revise each of my fanfics that haven't yet been posted to Phantasy-Star.net (http://www.phantasy-star.net/fanfics/fiction.html), then submit them to that site. I intend to pay particularly special attention to this one. Professional writers often go to great lengths to get things exactly the way they want them. This is the sort of treatment The Recollection of Zinkin is going to get. The Recollection Saga is, after all, my attempt to gain some personal experience before writing something for real.

Finally, LadyRedComet, if you think you're up to the editing challenge, then you can expect to start seeing some revised chapters ready for criticism in your PM box, and don't be expecting to see anything below an 11th Grade level.

[DezoPenguin]

On 2005-09-14 18:02, HUnewearl_Meira wrote:

Undoubtedly, some of you are feeling a little disappointed with this fairly anti-climactic ending. That's why the first chapter of The Recollection of Mota Storm will make up for it, and tie up the loose ends that Zinkin is leaving.


In review, I don't think I accomplished my own challenge, in trying to write a really good, high-grade level story. This is not a failed challenge that I intend to leave like this.

I plan, in the near future, to revise each of my fanfics that haven't yet been posted to Phantasy-Star.net (http://www.phantasy-star.net/fanfics/fiction.html), then submit them to that site.


So this is really more of "The Pioneer 1 Recollections, Part One"... Yeah, this ending was definitely anticlimactic. Worse, it's not a cliffhanger, tune-in-next-episode kind of ending, being more of a fadeout. We don't know that Zinkin's going to die with Megido, but we do know he's going down one way or another unless you're going to play merry cob with the canon continuity and introduce additional survivors from Pioneer 1 (Marin, the Soul Crushers, and any similar Falz minions obviously don't count, though I'm intrigued by how Mota Storm and Allanque are going to make it). Since the end of TROZ and the beginning of TROMS is a major split in this "arc" of the Recollection Saga, I think it either needs a bit more closure or a bit more tension. As it is, it lacks the underlying drama that needs to go here, either the emotional "kick" of Zinkin, in essence, signing off on his life, or the suspense of resolution delayed. As it is, TROZ closes more like a chapter break within a story than it does as the conclusion of a segment.

I'm disappointed in not getting to see Cam split into Allanque and Shalan (or whatever her name was...the evil FOnewearl from the end of The Recollection of Paladin whom Allanque is so evenly matched with) in this Recollection, just because it would have been nice to get Zinkin's reaction, as a father, to this dramatic event, especially since it's Zinkin's research that is foreshadowing it.

I'm glad you're going to get the additional Recollections tuned up for the PSPages archive -- simply an easier format to read (though not comment).

I do think, though, that your awareness of the impending editing has really hurt this chapter of TROZ. The whole thing feels rushed, kind of an "I know I'm going to edit it later, so let's just get this scene done!" kind of thing.

Finally, and this is something of a comment on what Lady RedComet mentioned earlier. As an attorney, I'm intimately familiar with people of high intelligence and professional skill who write in a very ponderous and overly-formal manner, using far more complex vocabulary than the situation demands. I actually found it very realistic and expressive of character that Zinkin narrated events in this way--it "rang true" to who he was. He's highly intelligent (so he has a large vocabulary to choose from), he's a scientist (meaning that he's likely to select a word that has the precise meaning he wants), and since his wife's death most of his personal contact has been with Mota Storm and Ceres (artificial intelligences whose conversation would naturally share the first two tendencies), Marin (who would be similar to Zinkin in personality), and Cam (who Zinkin would "talk down" to, consciously changing his word choice to a child's level). This is not a man who would be inclined to be a good communicator; his personal journals would read more like a scientific report that happened to include emotional content (and it would be largely within the context of emotional scenes that his style would "break down" to a more free-flowing level because the language of emotion tends to be more artistic and metaphoric). However, I do agree with Lady RedComet in that certain word choices weren't appropriate--Zinkin would be overly wordy, but he would never choose the wrong word to describe the situation. The last few chapters, in which you appear to be trying to make Zinkin sound less ponderous, have--for me--the effect of weakening his character, stealing the sense of personal impact that first-person narration is supposed to provide. So I would actually like to see more of the wordy, obscure Zinkin from earlier chapters--just with close attention paid to the precise meaning of the words used.