[Vfw-times] Story: Logs Of A Wanderer Entry 0008

Wyldesyde wyldesyde at telus.net
Mon Dec 17 12:28:48 CST 2001

its been at least a month since I posted the last part. so much for my
attempts to set some sort of writing schedule. ah, well. for those who
haven't read the previous parts, it is strongly suggested that you do,
otherwise, this part doesn't make allot of sense. as always, all previous
parts are located on my website at http://wyldesyde.tripod.ca

hope you all enjoy, and I'd appreciate any
comments/suggestions/complaints/etc. that you might have


story begins here:


***** ***** ***** *****

Log Entry 0008

Begin Recording.

It's been about 3 months since my last entry, but life's been fairly quiet
until recently. Its not that I haven't done anything, its just that my life
was considered quite normal for a while. Yes, that's right, normal. But
things basically fell apart. There's nothing I'd like more than being able
to change things, but I can't. I'm not willing to risk it. The outcome was
the best of all the possibilities I've been able to think up.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I walked casually down the street, nodding to the various shop owners I
passed as they closed for the night. Ever since I moved into the area, crime
rates went way down. It might have had something to do with the fact that
crooks who try to operate in this area usually end up on a rooftop on the
other side of the continent, but, then again, maybe not.

I continued farther down the street, to a nightclub called "The Shack".
Waving to Jake, a badger who works the door, I walked inside, and ducked
through a door marked "Employees Only". That always surprises those who
happen to be around the door. You see, The Shack is a fairly upscale club,
with the bartenders and waitress's wearing a uniform; the classic black
pants, white shirt, and a black bow tie. The reason I shock those who see
me, is that I wear my street clothes: black t-shirt, black jeans, and my
trench coat. That trench coat was the only thing that survived my
dimensional shift, as all my other clothes were reduced to scraps by the
collapse of the dimension I left. Oh, and a set of black wrap around
sunglasses. I don't need really need them, as my cybernetics can either
reduce or intensify light as needed, but they make me look dangerous, or so
Sarah tells me. I probably owe that wolfess more than I'll ever know.

I stepped out into the crowd, and began wandering the club. Only the
regulars even notice me, and all they do is give me a small nod of
recognition. I'm one of the bouncers The Shack employs, but I'm the only one
who never gets noticed. It's the outfit. All the punks and toughs who come
in looking for trouble notice the muscle-bound bouncers in the clubs
uniform, but they overlook the skunk in a trench coat and sunglasses
mingling with the crowd, or sitting in a corner table. It must have
something to do with the fact that I act like nothing concerns me. Then
again, it might be the fact that they just ignore me because I don't look
threatening. Either way, when I grab them by the shoulder and "escort" them
out the door, the look of total shock on their faces more than makes up for
the fact that everyone pays no attention to me.

As I wandered towards the bar, several groups caught my eye. I've learned to
spot trouble quite well, but it still seems to freak others out when I point
out problem groups before anyone else begins to suspect anything. That
military training of mine seems to come in handy occasionally, I guess.

There was one group in particular, and they were sitting at a table near the
main bar. I made my way over, and sat down at the bar nearby. If there was
going to be any trouble, I wanted to be at the epicentre.

I ordered a Coke, and sat there, slowly sipping it. Trouble didn't wait long
to rear its ugly head. Over the din of the music from the dance floor, I
heard the sound of safeties being disengaged on at least three guns. Damn,
they were armed. This meant serious trouble.

As I stood up and started moving towards them, the leader of the group, a
Doberman, stood, and pointed his gun at the ceiling, firing off one round.

"Everybody down", he shouted, as the rest of the group raised pistols of
their own, and fanned out to cover the exits.

"All right, turn over the cash in the registers, and nobody gets hurt!"

As the Doberman and a rather surly looking rat moved up to the bar to
collect the money, I made my move.

Activating my shields, and pushing my cybernetics to the limit, I jumped off
of a table, clear across the room to the door, landing on the three goons
who were guarding it.

The centre one, a weasel, was knocked down by the force of my landing. The
other two, both tigers, were only stunned. I quickly grabbed the scruff of
their necks, and slammed them face first into the floor. Reaching down, I
picked up their weapons. They may have been scum, but they had good taste.
Both were carrying .454 calibre magnum pistols, with what appeared to be a
10 round clip. Standing, I could see looks of disbelief and fear creeping
onto the faces of everyone in the club. I've tossed a few thugs around
before, but even this pushed the limits of believability.

"You have ten seconds to drop your weapons, or you take the ultimate ride,"
I shouted at the Doberman and the rat, taking aim. "You can try something
stupid, but I can aim better stone drunk and dead tired than you could sober
and alert."

I could see the fear in their eyes, as they stared down the barrels of the
two pistols I held. The mirror behind them afforded me a view of myself that
I'll never forget.

There I was, standing over the bodies of three of their friends, holding two
pistols that must have looked as big as heavy artillery. My shades had slid
down my muzzle, exposing my eyes, which were glowing red. The shields gave
me a sort of ethereal look, a sort of blue-white shimmer surrounding me. If
you want to know the truth, I even scared myself.

As I started counting, they dropped their pistols before I even reached
three. Then, surprisingly, they dropped to their knees and started pleading
for their lives. It was so pathetic, that I walked over and knocked them
both senseless. A scream brought my attention back to the trio by the door.

The weasel was standing up, and had grabbed hold of a vixen, pointing his
gun at her temple. He was looking at me, shaking slightly in fear. His
finger was twitching, resting against the trigger, although he had yet to
start to pull it.

"Drop 'em, or she gets it". His voice was trembling as he said that. As I
turned, he shouted, "I mean it!"

What I did next I will never forget. I twisted, rolling to one side, getting
a better angle. As the weasel tracked me, I raised both pistols, aiming at
him. His eyes showed his fear clearly, as I looked straight into them.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, as I pulled the triggers simultaneously. The
bullet from the left gun flew straight at his gun, severing his trigger
finger, and destroying the trigger in the process, rendering the gun
harmless. The bullet from the right gun flew straight at his throat,
punching right through, severing his jugular vein. His blood started pouring
out slowly, his life slowly flowing away, as he dropped to the floor. The
vixen stood there for a moment, and collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably, as
she realized what had happened.

I stood, and walked over to the weasel, who was lying on his back, gasping,
as he slowly faded into oblivion. I knelt down beside him, stuffing the
pistols into my trench coats pockets. He looked up into my eyes, and seemed
to cringe a bit.

"I'm sorry."

I practically sobbed that out, pressing my hand to his chest,
nanotech-constructed needles pumping painkillers into his body. A single
tear slid down the side of my muzzle, as I took his hand into mine, holding
it as his life slipped away. He smiled; closing his eyes, and whispered, "I
forgive you."

He exhaled once more, and then I felt his heart stop. I stood up, wiping my
hands off on a tablecloth. Slipping my shades back into place, I walked
towards the door, pushing them open, and stepped out onto the street.

Opening a rift, I stepped through into my apartment, and sat down at my
kitchen table to write out a note. Finishing, I took only those things that
I considered important: a few books, a couple of changes of clothes, and a
necklace that Sarah had gotten for me, a small eight-pointed silver star.
Packing all of this, and the guns, into a duffle bag, I opened a rift, and
made two jumps, one to drop off the note, and the other took me to a beach
overlooking the harbour.

I sat there for about half an hour, looking out over the water, wondering if
I was doing the right thing. Finally, I made my decision.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I wish I could make my decision otherwise, but I have to leave. Regardless
of the circumstances, I've killed someone. Yes, it had to be done, but that
still doesn't make it any easier for me to bear. I'm a soldier, no matter
how much I tried to change. As soon as I close this log, I'm rifting to
another dimension. I've left Sarah instructions on how to access the backups
of these logs I stashed on the Internet, and to send certain files to
various scientists and research facilities. Hopefully, the medical
documentation and various technical schematics will enable them to someday
venture forth to the stars, and to other dimensions, if they wish. Goodbye,
Sarah. I hope you can forgive me.

End Recording.

File Backup Initiated: Target: Local Net Archive.

Backup Complete.

Close Log Entry 0008.


Sarah Abrams woke up to the sound of birds singing, and the warm rays of the
sun playing across her arm. She got up, stretching, as the last dregs of
sleep scurried out of her system. Pulling on a terry cloth robe, she made
her way down the hallway of her apartment to her kitchen, turning on her
stereo to the local news station as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She
soon forgot the coffee, as the announcer started into a story about an
attempted hold-up at a local nightclub, leading to the death of one of the
thieves. Turning, she saw a folded piece of paper sitting on her kitchen
table. There was only one person she knew who could have left that note
there, without triggering her alarm system. Feeling weak, she sat down and
opened the note.

"Sarah," it started, "I probably should have given you this in person, but I
felt it might be too awkward. I'm leaving, and I don't think I'll ever be
back here again. I know I promised you I'd try to fit in, but I can't. Being
a soldier is too ingrained into me. To fit in, I'd have to change who I was,
and I can't. I'm sorry. By now, you've heard about what happened at The
Shack. Yes, I shot that weasel. There was no other way. If I could have
stopped him another way, I would have. I wish I dared to go back and change
things, but that would probably result in another disaster like the one that
brought me here. So, to keep things simple, I'm leaving before I can do any
more harm."

"On the second sheet are instructions on how to access a knowledge archive I
set up on the Internet. You'll find the logs I told you I've been keeping
there, along with various documents on medical technology, as well as
technical specs that will help your people reach the stars. I've set up a
program that will send the documents off to the right people, and I hope you
can somehow convince them to keep the military out of it at all costs. Also,
I've left a map so you can find a dimensional rift generator, and the plans
for it. Find it, and keep it safe until you feel that your people are ready
for it."

"I wish you the best of luck, and I hope that you remember me, and tell your
children about me. Wish me luck. Wyldesyde"

Sarah looked down at the bottom of the paper. There, taped to the note, was
a crystal star pendant, on a diamond-studded gold chain. A tear traveled
down the side of her muzzle, and dripped onto the paper.

"Good luck, dear friend," she whispered.

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