1.3 ~ Mercy vs Pity
He's finally at the old Observatory compound, hiding behind a burned ponderosa. The Great Event will divide all of history.
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[…FINAL SECTION ‘THE GREAT EVENT’ FILE no. <03.15.063/D9.X4.P2>]
Mercy vs Pity
Forgiveness implies blame. Survival is different. He’s ready for anything, yet while he approached the charred remains of the desolate astronomy campus, the old man succumbed to guarded hope. A sense of possible safety.
They know not what they do. I think they went back down the trail.
He lost his thoughts again; the prior two decades rushed in.
The tragic Moon Fire had burned hundreds of homes in the Cheshire neighborhood, and also east into Upper Greenlaw. Not to mention the downtown business district. It tore through the old museum and up into Schultz Pass. Most of the oldtown area and about half of the city hospital were either destroyed or unusable afterward. Seven ICU patients were left to perish in the flames. It happened so fast. Many died.
The fires couldn’t be controlled because of the new water rules and withholdings; the fire trucks couldn't refill. They weren’t allowed. Three brigades took it upon themselves to go pump out at Lake Mary, but it was too late by then.1
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The new water rights had been set up regionally, directed by the Global Council of Water Commissioners and their network of contractors. Officially the Global United National Council of Water Commissioners, or the GUNCWC, or more commonly just the "gunkwick" moved in like an invasive vine, integrating with the municipal departments and their infrastructure. It wasn’t so much an extortion plan, more of a ‘dominate & confiscate’ operation. Their internal documents showed as much.
…
The Moon Fire had started near the baseball fields and to the west of Kinlani Road, on the eastern slope of Mars Mountain. The wind had sent the flames north, and then farther east. Much of the western side was actually spared. But not the historic campus of astronomy buildings and research facilities on that northeastern side. The whole compound was destroyed the first day.
Later in the year, the contractors started camping up there—having what sounded like parties at nigh—mostly on weekends.
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Was it wrong for the local council to sanction the attacks on those drunk soldiers, partying at night up on our hill? After they let the fires rage for five days? It destroyed not just the observatories, but over a third of the city and more! This is something I could never reconcile. It contradicts our new principles. But I wouldn’t be here today teaching you, telling my part if they hadn’t.
…
He found plenty of cover to navigate carefully up on Mars Mountain. Continuing on he tried to maintain his clarity.
Remember lesson one.
“Keep moving or die. Only hide if you’re impossible to find. Prepare to run at any time.” Trevor’s voice sounded off in his head. The training hadn’t begun until he was 47. Those sessions feel like a previous life at this point. More like two separate lifetimes, but also like nearly yesterday.
Lesson two; stay low. Choose a strategic path.
To the northeast, nothing but empty forest. He could maybe last one night if the temps didn’t swing too low. But the gunkwicks were known to let their dogs hunt at night. Without a WRD map it would’ve been impossible to find a water resource deposit tank out there. His mind started drifting again. He caught himself.
Stick to the plan. Get down to the tunnels. That’s your only chance.
After he gets his packs from the tunnels, the only practical way to leave town would be the cargo rail transport. It would arrive and leave in three days, on D3.X5.P2. (This would be around March 18th on the old calends.) He could pull this off, no problem.
Getting on that train will be a challenge. A big risk, but once again no other options. Then he remembered—rather—he recalls that he couldn’t remember if that week was the eastbound or westbound freighter.
Damn it! That’s my plan?! Another coin toss?
The train would need to be headed east. If it was the westward line he’d be dead within two days of departure. The Western Regional Trident security forces would catch him at the distribution warehouses, or the drones would find him during the unloading process.
However, the eastward line he would give him two options. After going through the regional border he could head south to the Alamex. Or, he could catch one of the older TSLA series autonomous road semi trucks headed north instead. Those were driverless, fast, and pretty easy to hack at charging stations. This route was busy, heading up through Santa Fe and east around the Rockies, through Pueblo and up into Denver. That would eventually take him to the fortified border of Idatopia2, surprisingly (or not) this is actually what they called it after the state secessions of ‘041.
Could he get in? Getting caught would be slightly worse than being extorted and interrogated by the Wyo militia gangs. Unless they had a newer MWC device3 and would be willing to check out his data trail. Either way, that’s another coin toss.
But none of this mattered if he couldn’t get down from up there on the hill, without being shot and scanned.
It’s time to act.
He came out from behind a large pine tree and onto the small campus of astronomy buildings. Keeping to the edge of the central quad area for cover, he never knew three telescope houses were still standing, somewhat standing anyway.
His ketosis was coming on strong. Walking with intention and awareness he knows the pang inside will pass in a few minutes. It’s wave three of a nineteen hour fasting ration. Everyone had to do the daily fasts all but one day a week4.
Keep moving. Keep watching.
Intent and aware, he stopped again. Looking for footsteps with his enhanced cochlea, the drizzle now felt soft and content. He’s creeping around old concrete and basalt walls, broken skeletons of the old structures, small caves and rubble from the torched buildings. An ominous colorful sky was clearing above.
As the sky cleared out to the west, the drizzle continued. He was crossing through a clearing between two buildings. The magical moment came right then. Have you ever seen it? When late afternoon sun shines golden amber all over you, but it’s still raining. The tiny droplets hit your skin and spark, like bursting little stars.
Phases of mind come in waves. His nootropic supplements enabled intense moments of perception and time dilation. With certain concoctions you could actually control it sometimes. In the best of experiences, these moments would feel like time manipulation.
Lesson three; shield with structures. Hide with shadows.
He jogged to his next position on light feet, eyes wide head swiveling, looking out for his hunters. These contractors looked like professionals, so they wouldn’t have been talking to communicate. Obviously hand signals only, or if they’re implanted with NueroLink.
Suddenly, he felt a digitized lowness, a slow sound-i-n-g w.h.o.o.mvfv-v-v-v-
A tiny stop-motion explosion on the rock wall beside him grew large with his awareness. It happened only centimeters from his elbow. He felt it more than anything—he saw the feeling. It was a synesthetic reaction. Visceral.
Then he heard the pop of a rifle. He ducked and squat-walked around the closest corner.
They found me. This is it.
The old man thought about sitting down. Right here. This was it. Something inside took over. He ran. Over the rubble and crumbled bricks, he dodged. But he’d been seen. No hiding now.
Stumbling and tripping under suspended walls and over mounds of debris, the old man turned another corner. And there it was, barely making a sound, it just snarled with enraged eyes. That mean dog was hungry, ready to attack, but without a command.
Two seconds of stillness. He thought about slowly reaching, then remembered his old 9mm was buried with his pack down in the tunnel. Hopefully.
No. That didn’t matter now.
A crack rang out again. Another round echoed with a “pop!”
Only the sound this time. Shit marksmanship like usual from those assholes.
Then he saw a crunching sound wave bouncing off the wall across from him. Three steps coming from behind.
Just as he completed the observation, in his peripheral came a black sleeve grabbing around his right arm. The other arm wrapped his neck in a choke hold. They stumbled back and away from the beastly K9. A violent struggle ensued.
Where’s the other one?
The dog started barking with frantic anger. It nipped hard at the two tangled men, rolling along the base of a crumbling half wall.
Why didn’t this one shoot him from behind? This will always be impossible to determine. Perhaps he wasn’t warranted?
The second hunter came up within nine seconds. Pistol drawn, rifle strapped around her back. She shot twice.
How did she miss?
“Don’t shoot me!” The one struggling on the ground with the old man screamed in anger. “Wo jinliang bu. I’m trying not to!” the other yelled back, adjusting and shuffling for better aim.
Another shot rang out. Nothing? Was it even a second later? A blunt yet sharp and slicing sensation. It wasn’t pain, though. Warmth.
Then it was.
Pain.
“Ahhhh. No! Fuck you gunkwicks!” He belted out and felt the blood pour inside his shirt. It was like the discomfort of wet bathing trunks, but repulsive like soiled garments between your legs.
Imminent demise can give a human superpower strength. He punched up and kicked with two legs, pushing himself away. Smothered in chaos, he pulled himself up fast. They didn’t attack or rebound as he’d expected.
The one with the knife was ready to pounce. But his eyes flashed over to his distracted comrade with the rifle. Her head cocked over, back and up toward the sky.
“HEY! LOOK!” She yelled with disgusting projection, pistol at her side, shoulders slumped with sudden hopelessness. This incongruity startled the old man. It cut straight through the intensity of the scene.
The loudest thing I’ve ever heard from human lungs.
Everything stopped and time paused. The other soldier then turned and stood tall. He looked up, defying the frozen moment. Calmness overridden by fear. The dog whimpered an inaudible phrase. The old man could taste the sad sound.
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Steven E. Robertson’s account of the Great Event is retold to this day. His description of our ungodly experience is renowned.
I looked back and up in that moment. The same direction as the two men attempting my murder. Up and over to the west. They were paralyzed. Entranced. The one who stabbed me dropped his gaze, and we made eye contact. Despair and disgust were sculpting his face. It was horrifically beautiful, the most incomprehensible thing I’d ever seen. An awe-inspired view, hideous and terrifying. The most incredible kaleidoscopic painting of intense radiating waves and animated colors. Oranges, yellows and purples, mixing with a pulsing redness that spiraled inward, but also outward. It compressed, and then expanded in a rush. A severe intestinal crushing and stringy feeling of disembowelment followed. The atmosphere shook and squeezed the earth with violence, a jolting sensation. Like the deepest vibration you could imagine. It was the initial radial wave hitting. My insides were melting from the pressure.
This was the ninth day of the fourth week in the second period of year 2063. The ides of March according to the ancient calends.
The day our sun explodes.
…
[END TRANSMISSION OF NFT FILE no. <1.1:1.3/03.15.063/D9.X4.P2>]
⤗ ؏⤟ ক ⥈ ঔ ☙ অ ⥉ ᐍ ড ზ ᐂ ଓ ⇺
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Section Footnotes:
The brigade commander and a lieutenant from Unit 4 were threatened with arrest and even brought up on charges that were dismissed by the county magistrate. The Global Water Commission filed the charges, not the regional prosecutor. This resulted in a huge coordinated protest. The Commission and contractors backed down, and the judge was able to dismiss the case without fearing their retribution.
Idatopia includes roughly all of former Idaho, Montana, and about half of Wyoming. Take the old map of WY and draw a diagonal line from the southwest corner to the northeast. That area is disputed by the Wyo militia. The last secession was that of Texas–which eventually became called ‘The Alamex’—which occurred the following month in September, 2041. The Alamex is roughly the bottom two thirds of Texas below Interstate Route 20, plus a good chunk of Coahuila Mexico.
MetaWeb Capture Device. Technically a MWCDX-3.0 This machine is the only way to “see what is online” (an outdated term) anonymously without being tracked or located. It captures an instantaneous “image” of the interweb and metaverse by using quantum mirroring compression technology to give you static access to a momentary version (vision) of the heavily monitored and controlled infoweb.
That one day wasn’t really a ‘feast day,’ but everyone got two full meals and that’s what it was called. You naturally became close friends with those who had the same weekly feast day as you. For his schedule this was only ‘day two’ on the new weekly cycles. The weekly fasting is difficult sometimes. It’s still hard for him to get used to with the new dating system, although it’s been years now. His feast day was just two days prior, D8 of the new weekly calendar. And by the end of the nine-day rotation you didn’t even feel these nineteen-hour fasts. They adopted the new solar calendar system with 9-day weeks in 2057. Six years ago as of the Great Event. It was mostly to throw off their gunkwick enemies. It screwed up the gunkwick intel if they retrieved a faulty encryption on a recycled comm token. The diet rations are such: wake at 6am, allow for 7 nuts anytime after 7am with a teaspoon of olive oil, 8 oz of water, and the multiV plus 9mL of Solidrosol solution to dissolve the nootropic powder cocktail. 1.5L of water for the day and this will last you until 6pm when you get to eat a fair-portioned dinner. Some people save their morning nuts for mid-day snacking. A piece of chocolate no later than 10pm. Thus repeats the 19 hour fasting cycle prior to sleep.