NationStates Jolt Archive

Alkaya Fre'qui stared down the sights of the ancient BR-10/120 and pulled the trigger. An 11.43mm soft point slammed into the flank of the enormous bear, then mushroomed out in its left lung before passing through and blowing a ragged hole out its other side. The animal didn't even so much as flinch. It just whirled around and charged, baring its 3 and a half inch long fangs. Its even longer claws would shortly eviscerate the unfortunately hunter, who had barely missed the animal's heart. Alkaya let the rifle hang loose on its sling and broke out the gigantic revolver she had strapped to the holster around her belt. She took a single step back as the bear leaped into the air, hurling its 450 kilogram bulk at her, then pulled the trigger. A single 12.7mm MP round slammed into the beast's skull between its eyes. The animal came to a halt centimeters before it would have made impact. Besides the ringing in her ears, it was eerily quiet in the snowy forest clearing. There was the smell of blood and cordite in the air and the dark chestnut fur of the Gadassarian brown bear no longer rose and fell with its breaths. Alkaya holstered her pistol and was about to draw the Akri from the scabbard on her waist when somebody called to her.

"MOM! I found another one!" The voice was young. Its bearer looked a lot like Alkaya. Same long black hair, same alabaster skin, same brilliant sapphire eyes, same slim figure. Merely younger with fewer crows feet. She had an S-10 pump action shotgun slung across her back.

"Another one? Nell, where is he?" Alkaya held off for a bit on trying to get the blood out of the bear.

"A couple hundred meters from here. He's been dead for about two weeks. Nell cocked her head to the right, pointing at where she had found yet another frozen cadaver. "This his camp?"

"Why else would the bear be rooting around in the snow in the dead of winter? It's got a nice warm hole in the ground." To emphasize Alkaya's point, the wind suddenly picked up and the cold dug hard into Nell's cheeks.

"Good point. Let's get the bear in the back of the truck first. The guy can wait until tomorrow." Nell just wanted

~*~*~
"Yet another one huh?" The look on the dead man's face was one of sheer exhaustion. He had cut open his sleeping bag to make an improvised jacket because the thin layers of Gore-Tex he was wearing beneath that probably offered no protection against the lethal cold. Alkaya brushed some more of the caked layers of ice off. "Let's see what he's got here... knife... probably paid too much for that. Boots... probably paid too much for those too. Not the kind you can buy around here. And what the?"

"Mom, that would be a .22. I believe I grew out of that by the time I was 5." Alkaya pulled the weapon free from the ice and brushed some of the snow off.

"Nell, I just want to thank God that you're a smart girl. This poor bastard's parents must have been disappointed. Did you find anything in his camp?"

"His diary, some food, few books, a lantern. He didn't starve to death. He probably just didn't have any idea of how cold it would be."

"They always miss something, don't they? And if he didn't freeze to death, the bear would have gotten to him." Alkaya pulled back the charging handle on the .22 rifle, chambering a round. "This peashooter wouldn't have been worth shit to him."

"How old do you think he was?" asked Nell as she brushed some snow out of the dead man's eyes.

"Early twenties at most. It's a shame really. He could have been nice and warm and home, wherever he came from. I don't even know why he came here. I don't know why the last 2 or 3 of them came here either."

"Beats me. All I can tell from his books is that he's from Questers. I found a copy of Wild Tales by Kenji Murasaki in his sleeping bag."

"If he'd followed all the advice in that book, he wouldn't be dead. I've read Murasaki before. Good advice on how not to die if stranded from the comforts civilization. Of course, all the metaphors got lost in the translation, but whatever."

"Mom look, he's underlined some parts. Some flowery metaphors I guess. I can't quite read this... Hold on. It's something about life and...dress...dress warmly?"

"Wait. Does it actually say that? Dress. Warmly."

Nell looked at the book more closely. Her English was about as good as it got for somebody that lived 1000km from the nearest city. Which meant that it was totally inadequate for deciphering the complex Questarian English brought by a pseudo-intellectual turned Popsicle stick.

"Yes. It says 'Dress' and then 'Warmly' right next to it. Although for some odd reason, that's not underlined. Everything around it is."

"Great. Take the diary and the books with you and help me get this waste of life into the back of the truck." Alkaya used the dead man's own knife to try and get some of the ice off of him. As he was now, he was probably frozen to the layer of snow beneath him.

~*~*~
The black MPMW HL400 pickup truck pulled into town and then parked. If you could call it a town, or even a village for that matter. It was a collection of crude shacks assembled from coarsely cut logs. Only the village's central lodge had electricity, so that's where everyone in town stayed.

The concept of a lodge was simple. A single building would be easier to keep warm vs. multiple buildings, and during the summer, when the forests turned to swamps, it meant that everyone could huddle in the same place to conserve mosquito repellent. Thus everyone stayed and slept in it. Privacy was non-existent, but the practice of communal living was common throughout MP. Even the Mazara far to the south called their glittering cities Great Lodges. Currently, all 350 something faces in Lodge #3311 (as it showed up on maps) were turned to one person, a certain red haired woman who was sitting cross legged near the roaring furnace in the middle of the big wooden dome.

"So...Ere'haia Rourke...I mean, Tiffany, how was Zanwesia?" asked a heavyset man in a thick black sweater.

"It was...let's just say it's good to be back home Ren'va (1) Johnson."

At this, a thin man with a balding head of red hair just chuckled. Ere'haia Thomas Rourke had always known his daughter would come back. She had repeatedly threatened to leave forever for distant lands far, far away. But deep down, he knew she'd come back.

"Tifa, come on, you need to go into more detail." The elder Ehr. Rourke passed a bottle of Wild Paradise blackcurrant Schnapps to his daughter. "Drink up."

Tiffany unscrewed the cap of the bottle and upended into her mouth until the burning sensation began to hurt too much and purple liquid poured from the corners of her mouth. "It's hard to talk about Dad. It's not a place where decency, or compassion, or sanity reigns."

"So, as you yourself said, Sanity is for the Weak." Alkaya entered the lodge, brushing the snow off her boots. "You can tell your story later, all of you are going to want to see this."

"Please don't tell you hauled in another dead body." The elder Rourke got to his feet.

"Wait...what are you all?"

"You might want to see this too Tifa, It's been one of those...happy things." Alkaya motioned both Tiffany and her father out of the door to the truck parked out in front. Nell was sitting in the bed of the truck, reading the dead man's diary.

"Holy crap, it's Tifa! How have you been!?" Nell leaped out of the truck's bed and hugged Tiffany.

"Let go...you're...suffocating...me...I've been fine, thank you. Oh dear God, I've heard about this sort of stuff on the news." Tiffany poked at the dead body in the truck bed. "This guy Jamu, top of the class in my medical school, he came up north too. His half eaten body was found six months later during the snowmelts. What's funny is that people idolize idiots like this."

"Why?" asked the Elder Rourke as he surveyed the corpse.

"Dad, it's complicated. I'm not sure I understand either. I'm going to say it's...stupidity, or at least ignorance."

"Why don't you and Alkaya get the body into my office, so that it can thaw out. I'll examine him later. Leave his personal effects for me too."

"So, what do I list as the cause of death? Mental retardation?"

"Just list it as 'Death by Misadventure'."

The late Wallace Fuji Kensington, of Kure, Questers, lay on a steel slab in Ere'haia Thomas Rourke's office in Lodge #3311, the top sawed off his skull, and his torso opened up from groin to throat. Although it had been pretty clear that he died of exposure, cutting him open was a pretty standard procedure. He had been found without a hat, proper gloves, proper boots and a proper jacket. The fact that he had survived more than a single night showed that he hadn't been entirely stupid. At least he didn't starve to death.

"From what I could tell about his camp, he knew what to eat, and what not to eat. Toxicology hasn't show any poisons in his bloodstream, although just to be safe, we need to deliver the samples to the labs down in Rei'ulwe."

"You read his diary yet?" asked the elder Rourke as he pulled a plastic sheet over Wallace.

"Yea, it's depressing. You think a guy like him would be smart enough to dress properly when coming up to these parts. It's not like he could go anywhere to buy more clothes. The nearest town's three hours away." Tiffany stared up the overhead examination light, then continued. "Anybody that can even read Murasaki, much less understand him, has to be somewhat intelligent. His diary said he had a PhD in Philosophy and Questarian Literature. I just don't understand why someone so well educated and well spoken would do this to himself."

"The pathfinders are coming to pick up his body in the morning. Why don't we head in for dinner?"

"Sure."

On the short walk over the lodge, Ehr. Rourke answered Tiffany's question: "My child, how many institutions offer a PhD in Common Sense?"

"I still don't get it. And for post dinner entertainment, I should read this guy's diary. That'll get a laugh out of everyone."

"A bit morbid, don't you think?"

"I've seen worse things than some kid from Questers who thinks he's too good for Mother Nature Dad."

The two entered the lodge. An entire Gadassari Brown Bear was on a spit in the middle of the lodge. A new bearskin rug graced the floorboards in front of the bunks that housed the Fre'qui family. Ru'wel Fre'qui, #3311's bartender, was pouring out drinks for everyone, holding six bottles of liquor in each hand. Alkaya smiled at her mate and Nell smiled at her father. Ru'wel's skills at pouring and mixing were unmatched. Nobody in the surrounding Lodges came close to his ability. He garnished some of the shot glasses with wild berries or herbs before passing them off to 3311's residents. He turned to Tiffany.

"Hey! If it isn't little Tifa Rourke, I haven't seen you in what...10 years?"

"Medical school got in the way. Then I spent 6 years with Blue Raven Military Industries as a field surgeon. I just got out a week ago. Just give me a Wild Paradise with mint." Tiffany sat cross legged on the floor. She sighed deeply. 6 years performing amputations and removing shrapnel in the boiling heat of Karain before she was allowed to collect her salary.

"Coming right up."

Alkaya stood up, holding a gigantic carving knife in her hands.

"Alright, before we begin, I'd like to give a toast. I think you all know who its to. Tiffany, drink up."

"Will do." Ere'haia Tiffany Anna Rourke downed her shot glass full of Wild Paradise with mint in a single gulp.

The bear was delicious.

April 15th.

Mood: Optimistic.
Weather: Sunny, windy. -5 degrees C.
Quote for the Day: "Live for the moment, as life floats by like a butterfly."-K. Murasaki
Health: Excellent.

Notes For the Day: Plenty of food, avoiding wild potatoes just like guide says. Shot monkey for food. Expended twenty rounds of ammunition. Monkey is being sliced and air dried. I feel good. I am away from civilization. I don't need anybody, especially not the wogs around here. All I need is myself, fuck the world, fuck the King, fuck Parliament. Only mother nature understands me. Everyone else back home cares solely about being materialistic and about new things. That's all they think about. Everyone here thinks the same way. Everyone with their new cars, designer clothes and flashy jewelry. All they live for are things. I want to live in harmony with nature. Like Thomas Hamlinson, I want only the peace of myself. I have finally found acceptance here.

April 18th

Mood: Ecstatic
Weather: Light snow, -8 degrees C
Quote For the Day: "People are like snowflakes. All different."-T.Hamlinson
Health: Excellent

Monkey will last me a while. Food is in good order, a bit cold, but it should get warmer. And there's snow! I haven't ever seen snow that wasn't grey, except in the movies. It's such a lie, the media. What a fucking sham. I don't need any of that bullshit. I'm alone, away from the human world. I think I'll make a snow angel. So beautiful, the ice. It makes me feel better. What a great way to celebrate the liberation of self from the oppression of others.

Snowshoes. Wonderful things, especially with a lightweight aluminum frame. Ivan Nikolayevich Vorobiev walked towards the lodge. On the guide he'd been given by a sympathetic local, it was marked as #3311. Knocking the snow off the shoes, he slung them over his shoulder opposite his aging SVT-53 rifle and made his way through the entrance.

The appearance of these people had first startled him, this summer when he'd first arrived. They were tattooed, intricately and with great skill. Since then he'd picked up a few himself, along with their taste in liquor, women, and cuisine. The mid-height Slav had, to use a North American expression, "Gone Native" after he'd decided to challenge the rugged wilderness here, having survived the Russkyan primeval forest for a year. Unwilling to intrude on the festivities, he sat quietly by a wall on his pack, rifle leaning beside him, and drank deeply from a silver flask engraved with a logo belonging to an old private security firm with global experience. Including Karain.

He kept no diary. He remembered meeting one fellow who did - the gangly guy had insisted that much of the local flora and fauna was safe to eat, once memorably exclaiming: "Just watch what the animals eat! Then you know it's safe!" Vorobiev was unable to keep himself from laughing. He took another dram from the flask and watched the bear turn on its spit. Then a woman holding a rather large knife stood, made a toast, and Ivan Nikolayevich raised his flask, draining it. Honour where honour was due, even if one sat against a wall being unobtrusive.

PRELIKAZ. PRELIKAZ. PRELIKAZ

The fire's light glinted off the engraved logo on the Russkyan's flask. Tiffany blinked once. There was a brief flash. The hot Zanwesian sun flashing off the same logo. What was his name? All the names sounded alike, didn't they? Those fucking Slavs. They fought like cornered animals. The Covies and JLs had the decency to flee or at least die when injured. The Slavs fought even after sustaining multiple gunshot wounds, they fought until they collapsed from loss of blood. And they still had a look of defiance on their faces, even as they were zipped up into body bags. The Russkyan...same look on his face. The very same in fact. That look of relaxed disregard. Tifa found herself standing knee deep in the mud of a rain soaked Covie trench. She found herself dusting a still flaming piece of intestine off her shoulders. Too many wounded. Too many wounded and they couldn't be moved...Lady Me'okei had ordered her to the front. They had to stabilize there.

A single Russkyan, surrounded by a dozen dead Taheisans, stared up at the sky, eyes open in death. It wasn't a tense look, merely grim, defiant and brutally determined. The machete lodged in his skull would keep him dead, although the Taheisan that had put it there was dead too. Medics moved past their leader, counting the dead and trying to stabilize the wounded. The leader just stood there in the blood soaked mud. One of the Blue Raven Ai'lia lying in the fire trench groaned softly in pain. Tifa took one good look at her... nothing a miracle of modern medicine couldn't keep alive on a ventilator. Except the medicine in Karain was anything but modern, only dirty scalpels and enough mud that would suck your boots off. Only one thing to do now. The good shaman snatched her service weapon from the holster on her chest and quietly whispered the death words.

"There is no peace but death and with it comes release. With it comes serenity. With it comes clarity. They will hallow your name for your sacrifice."

Tiffany recited the words over and over again in her head as she stepped through the mud. She cleared the mud out of the dying Ai'lia's eyes and put the big, slab sided pistol against a blood splattered forehead.

The logo on the flask flashed again in the firelight. Back to reality. Tifa had wrestled the Russkyan to the ground and had her weapon shoved into his face. The same big L-23 with a cross carved into its side. Naturally, the Russkyan had the same defiant look on his face. Stupid fucking Slavs...

She made to pull the trigger.

"What am I doing...?" Tiffany got up off Ivan and put her weapon on safe before unloading it. The pistol's magazine dropped to the floor with a clunk. "I'm sorry. I really am. I just got back from Karain a week ago. I'm still a bit twitchy I guess. Just... a bit... twitchy." With that, she just curled up into a ball on the floor and sobbed. Like a baby? No. Like somebody who saw things nobody should ever see.

Ivan hadn't had time to react to the catlike reflex of the Azazian with the L-23. His own reflex action had the blade of his puukko clear of its scabbard and resting firmly against the torso, blade pointed up and ready to rip into the ribcage, birchwood handle in a professional grip.

There was no flashing of his life before his eyes, just the distant look on the Azazian's face behind the huge grey shape of the pistol. Ivan Nikolayevich, all of twenty-six years, did not care. He was old enough to die, in his mind, aged unnaturally by long months in Karain. All that said, he was still human, and felt relief when she rolled off him. The puukko went back in its scabbard. He made no move to retrieve the flask, just sat up and stayed sitting cross legged beside Tiffany.

"I was in Zanwesia. Some of my mates told me about a white doctor who saved many lives, and could handle a rifle. Are you the same one that shot those Covingslanders outside the aid station? Them and their stupid, childlike beliefs on sodo? Or did you have the fortune not to be in Zanwesia?"

He didn't touch her while she sobbed. Just sat nearby and waited. His SVT-53 lay where it had fallen, the frame of his rucksack left a mark in the floor as he'd been tackled off it, but the equipment was rugged and could handle that kind of roughing up.
He just sat nearby and waited.

"72 months. I spent 72 months in that malarial hellhole with scalpel and a bone saw. That's 6 years of dispensing HIV, 6 years of disinfecting exit wounds. Not a day of leave. And when you're dealing with a 5 year old kid who just lost both his legs to a land mine right after you've run out of anesthetic, you really, really want a fucking break. But I didn't get one. You probably got one of those bullshit complimentary 12 month tours with 4 weeks of leave. You probably got paid twice as much as I did. And you... you probably weren't screwed out of your fucking benefits package like I was. Yea, I shot those Covies at that aid station. If you have a shallow cut on your finger, you either move to the back of the fucking line or you get out of it altogether. None of this shit about getting sodo from touching black people." Tiffany choked out all that in a single long breath, slowly trying to pull herself up off the floor.

She rubbed the stylized black silhouette of a jackal howling at the moon tattooed to the back of her left hand. Blue Raven's own Zanwesia campaign medal. Her jackal held a 9 pointed Lotus Star in its front paws, the shamanic symbol. The intricately detailed sunburst halo rendered in metallic gold ink around the jackal's head signified an especially virtuous warrior, one who had gone far above and beyond the call of duty. She kept rambling, partially because everyone in 3311 was staring at her, and partially because it was something she needed to get off her chest.

"They sent me into Taheisa first as part of a relief effort. My crew of medics and I were tasked with building up the Taheisan's skills in combat medicine, but I ended up as a regular sawbones when M'tuku decided to import civilian contractors from elsewhere. Half-assed rejects from Commie medical systems that charged maybe 10% of what Blue Raven's price was. And you know, the higher ups at Blue Raven, they begged me to go, offered me a nice salary package, benefits, the works. I just got out of medical school. They said my experiences growing up were enough for me to understand how to deliver medical services to poor Karainis. But it's different here, nobody shoots back at you, nobody tries to plant 155mm shells on your operating theater."

She stopped again, in order to pour herself another shot of Wild Paradise, but instead, just took a large gulp from the bottom.

"And then, and then, Blue Raven screwed me. Voided my contract in some fucked up, ironclad way. Some prick lawyer in a fucking suit told me I wasn't entitled to my benefits package. All I got was a ticket back to the nearest town. It was a 4 day walk back to here. Now, does anybody have any questions, or could you all just leave me alone for a while?"

For his part, Vorobiev sat quietly. Until she'd explained how her employer had hung her out to dry. Then, just low enough for only her to hear, he growled. It wasn't voluntary. It came from the famed loyalty of the Russkyan people; to their homeland, their Regiment - if applicable - to their mates, to their women. To a former military man such as Vorobiev, it was inconcievable that what was effectively "the Regiment" would not take care of one of its own.

But then again, not everyone had the fortune to be employed by PRELIKAZ, the one "private security firm" that held itself to the standards of the Russkyan Military. Once she was done, he held up his right arm and pulled back the sleeve to his elbow. She stopped, and before any of the surprised faces could voice a question, he started.

"Fifteen months in Zanwesia. Then a Taheisan gave me this."

He turned his forearm over to reveal a stark scar running from wrist to elbow under which muscle had only haphazardly regrown.

"Months of physio. Indescribable pain. Despite the antibiotics and excellent aid, I still came down with a malarial fever. It turns out that the Covingslander doctor we had studying in our field hospital was pilfering supplies and selling them on the side, probably to the enemy - but when you fight for money, you can't really bitch at someone who's just making money. Granted, at your expense. He died anyways, for that. In Zanwesia, there's not a lot of room for forgiveness."

Aware of Lodge 3311's scrutiny, but seemingly uncaring, he took a risk. He laid his hand on her shoulder and leaned in close. "Kill the lawyer."

"Malaria's a protist. Your Covie doctor was stealing your chloroquine doses and administering cheaper doses of tetracycline, that's why you ended up getting malaria." Tiffany's diagnostic instinct took over almost immediately. "Also, that doctor injected you with salt water. Analgesic compounds of any sort fetch a whole lot of money on the black market, and nobody cares about few screams in a bloodstained military hospital. Remember how the morphine wasn't doing anything? That was because it wasn't morphine. 50ccs of 5% saline solution won't do much for your pain, especially if the surgeon has the IV drip running into his own veins when he's working on you."

Tifa took another gulp from the bottle of Wild Paradise. "You know, I'd kill the lawyer, but shooting the messenger doesn't achieve anything. As greasy as the lawyer was, I'm pretty sure somebody in some boardroom somewhere threatened to cut his dick off with a pair of dull scissors if he didn't do as he was told. Let me see your forearm again." She grabbed Ivan's forearm and prodded the scar with her thumb.

"Your wound didn't heal correctly, so there's probably a lot of excess scar tissue and fluid buildup under there. I know it still hurts. They always do. I can make the pain go away, just stick around here and meet me in my office tomorrow morning before breakfast. Also, if you have to go out and take a piss, carry a gun with you, preferably something that can stop an enraged monkey that just got high off of death cap mushrooms. I'll be back later."

Tifa left the lodge to go back to her office. She had spent the bulk of her salary on new equipment and instruments, which had been delivered mere days before her return. She prepared the endoscope she was going to use the following morning, and some vials of local anesthetic. The rest could be done after the haze of Wild Paradise had cleared from her head.

In response to the requirement for a weapon that could stop a high monkey, Ivan patted his SVT-53's forestock. He rotated his wrist as she left, watching the muscle move under and around the scar tissue and feeling the twinge.

He watched the junior Rourke leave, L-23 seemingly forgotten in one hand. Then he sat quietly, settling himself back down on his ruck and stretching his back. His mind drifted back to Zanwesia for a few moments, the sight of a shit-stained white labcoat thrashing in the dust as jackals prowled closer and panicked screams as the doctor's high faded and the stark reality of a hot sun and long iron nails hammered through wrists and ankles into the ground asserted itself. Not much room for forgiveness in Zanwesia.

<<Что зто?>> (1)

Ivan kicked the snow-covered form, rolling it over with his boot. Frozen, it moved stiffly until it rolled onto its back, the arms and legs obstinately staying held as they were on the ground, pointing into the air. Something odd protruded from the mouth. He looked about him carefully before he knelt beside the corpse and flexed his hand inside its glove.

Brushing snow away from the face, he jerked his hand back as if scalded. Keeping his right on the grip of his SVT-53 rifle, and ears open for the noises of any wildlife - too much in Gadassari would be all too happy to kill and eat him, no matter how cute it may be when it wasn't trying to kill you - he patted the corpse down, looking for angular protrusions.

He found one. Building a fire, he pulled the corpse up beside it and let the heat melt the snow and ice from the front of the body. Thawing, the arms slumped slowly towards the ground. While this happened, Ivan patrolled around the macabre scene, checking for recent tracks and evidence of the corpse's activities. He found a lean-to against the base of a tree. With the muzzle of his rifle, he prised the door open until it thumped into the snow at his feet, peering inside cautiously. Finding nothing but a rolled sleeping bag and some assorted pots and pans, he left the lean-to, returning to the body.

"You stupid bastard. Cookware. High end sleeping bag. And," he paused, looking for a knife belted to the waist and finding none, but locating a near-useless folding blade pocketknife in the denim jeans' pocket, "no useful knife. What the fuck were you thinking, dipshit?"

With the snow and ice melted away, the colouration of the week-dead animal confirmed what he'd thought when he first brushed snow away from the face. He'd picked up one of the amazingly poisonous psychotropic toads and eaten it. Unlike most creatures who tried that, he had managed to at least get it to his mouth before dying, thanks entirely to his gloves. He swore at the body again, more quietly than before.

Long in torso and limb, the corpse belonged to a lanky male, late teens or early twenties. Vorobiev pulled the bright orange "Fair Trade" knit cap off the half-thawed skull and saw bright purple hair. Tempted to jam the hat back on the body's head, he suppressed a sigh and pulled the pea-green coat open, rifling through inner pockets. Then he found what caused the angular protrusion he'd discovered during his pat-down. Holding his rifle close, he stood and looked down at the body, then thumbed to the latest entry in the diary.

Date: January 22nd
Weather: -17, clear
Mood: Celebratory

Been watching the local predators to see what's safe to eat. I found a heron, such a beautiful bird, eating some of these toads I thought were poisonous. They're not very fast, so I think I just found something else to round out my palette. Great timing! I'm out of the freeze-dried stuff I bought back in Cherry Hill.

It's so great to be away from it all.

"You stupid bastard."

--

1: Что зто? - Literally, "What's this?" or "What is this?

"Well, congratulations dickweed, we're fucking lost. Why didn't you bring a map along?" As the sun was setting, there was a rare human voice in the endless Gadassari forest. It was female, and full of anger, disbelief, and more than a little bit of resignation.

"Well, excuse me Little Miss Sunshine, I said I wanted to fucking go it alone, but you insisted on following me. This is my spiritual journey." This voice was male. High-pitched and reedy, but definitely male.

"But David, I love you. I can't let you wander out here alone. It might be your spiritual journey, but I can't let you freeze to death out here!" In fact, the female's voice was maybe an octave deeper than David's voice, thus conclusively proving David's utter lack of masculinity.

"Kyra, if you're so good at this, why didn't you think of anything? You haven't contributed anything! I've been doing all the work. All of it!"

"You've been making a mess of things the whole way! We're both going to be dead by tomorrow morning. It's almost dark, we're out of food, and I think the monkeys are getting hungry."

"Look, the guy in the last town said if we kept on this trail, we'll be at 3311 soon enough." The two figures almost crawled along the glistening, hard packed ice in the forest. There wasn't much snow in the northern areas of Mazara Palani; there was however, a whole lot of ice. The low clouds over the area made the night sky white and foreboding. Another storm was about to come on.

"There isn't a trail. We've been trudging through nothing but ice for hours. We're going to freeze to death. We're going to freeze to death, and in the springtime, when the ice melts, our thawed corpses will be picked at by wild animals."

"That is dark Kyra. Wow, that is so fucking dark." exclaimed David in a hushed tone of reverence.

"No, no, no! Just...look, at least try to think about how we're going to survive! Please!"

"If we die, so be it. At least I tried."

"Trying's not good enough! You have to find that lodge!"

"It's either where I'm going, or it's not. You can follow me, or not. The guy said that 3311 was just down this trail, north northwest."

"Again, there isn't a trail!"

"Even if there isn't, we have to keep walking. We can't just stop."

Hours later, the ice storm was raging with all its fury, and David and Kyra had both collapsed from exhaustion. The north winds howled their demonic howl, and sent razor sharp pieces of ice, some of them more than 8 centimeters long, flying along at more than 160 kilometers and hour. Surely, our two intrepid travelers would have died as it was getting close to -65 below 0. All the creatures of the forest knew enough to just sit on their haunches in this weather. Unfortunately, David and Kyra were not creatures of the forest.

One of them came to sometime later. The hunting lodge was quite warm, a little bit dark because there was only a single fire in the center, but quite warm.

"Ah, Kyra, you are awake. My name is Nel'aixwekiieq Fre'qui. You can call me Nell." Nell sat in front of the fire, totally naked, warming herself up. Her pale sapphire eyes glowed in the eerie light of the fire. There was a bloodstained bandage on her left arm. Her hair trailed down to the floor in a liquid black mass. "And before you ask, all your personal effects, or at least all the personal effects I could carry with me, are in this hunting shelter."

"Err...Nell, where are we?" asked Kyra. Both she and David were wrapped up in warm sleeping bags. David was snoring gently.

"My hunting shelter. It's basically a reinforced hole I dug into the permafrost, but at least it's warmer than outside."

"What happened to us?" asked Kyra as she tried to sit up.

"Well, the two of you were tramping merrily along when an ice storm hit you. I carried the two of you inside, got you bundled up and made sure that you didn't have frostbite. Now it's my turn to ask a question, where did you learn Mazara, for somebody that's not from here, it's excellent."

"In college, I was a Mazara language major, specializing in Keiti dialects. I spent two years in Keit'ulowe(1) studying at the University of Cherry Hill."

"UCH..." Nell nodded. The University of Cherry Hill was one of the world's finest institutions of higher learning. Only the wealthiest and most accomplished students in MP could study there. "You know, I want to go there when I'm older, but what do I tell them? I don't have any money, and my greatest achievement in my life so far is strangling a bear to death with my bare hands. Oh yea, those crusty old academics there would just love that. Were your parents obscenely wealthy?"

"We were...well off. I don't know about obscenely wealthy. And you know, strangling a bear to death with your bare hands is... impressive."

"Where are you from then? Both you and your companions have your diaries in a Western English dialect."

"Sarzonia. And your English, from what I can tell is Mazara English, which is a subset of the Draka dialect. You use the Keiti variant of Mazara English though, not the standard Mazara English dialect."

"Your knowledge of languages is impressive. If you showed the same aptitude in field craft as you do languages, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I get this feeling they don't teach survival skills in Keit'ulowe."

"No, no they didn't." Nell sighed and continued. "We were supposed to get to this place, 3311. How far is it from here?"

"It's a 4 day walk from here. And if you're so good at Keiti dialects, why couldn't you read my Kaliae(2)? My address is marked right on my face."

"Hold on, I can't see you clearly. If you could just--"

"Oh yes, yes, I remember. Wait right here." Nell got back up and produced a pair of black plastic rimmed glasses, which Kyra gently pushed onto her nose. "Better now?"

"Yes. Much better. You're 16, you live in 3311, you have not mated yet, nor are you particularly distinguished in your career, although I suppose you're not old enough to start one."

"I also found this on you. Advair HFA..."

"That's my umm... inhaler."

Nell just stared at Kyra. "Umm... what's it do?"

"Well, it helps me breathe sometimes and..."

Nell's brow furrowed. "Umm... do you have any problems breathing? I mean... if you do, I really can't do much for you. I can get you to the nearest airport if you want me to."

"And then what? Let...him, let David die? He needs me. He doesn't even speak the language. He's just going to wander out into the cold and die."

"Then you cut your losses."

"What? You're asking me to..."

"I'm asking you to cut your losses and leave him. You're obviously not fit enough to survive in this environment and neither is he." Nell's eyes looked like they were about to drill holes through Kyra. "I don't know if I can get the two of you anywhere. I came about a centimeter from getting impaled on a tree branch out there. I can help one of you back to 3311, but that's it."

"What happened to your arm?" asked Kyra.

"The tree branch."

There was a long silence in the hunting shelter. Then Nell spoke again. "Ok, I'll wait until he wakes up. The ice storm won't last long. There are plenty of supplies here, but if the two of you want to go 3311, I will simply walk back towards it, I won't be able to help you if you can't keep up with me. You can't just stay here."

"Oh...oh...of course we can stay here...plenty of supplies, warm fire." David slowly stirred.

"And the monkeys will smell you. I'm not sure whether they'll bury you alive by sealing the entrance, or simply drag you out and eat you. And they'll eat you while you're still alive. They start with your limbs and leave your torso to bleed to death in the snow."

"You...you mean?"

"You stay here, you die." Nell spoke that last phrase in English, so that David would understand.

"Wha? Whoa... we mean no harm."

"I know. You mean no harm. The monkeys will eat you. They'll eat you alive."

"Look umm..."

"Nell."

"Yes, Nell. Look, I want to live. I mean, you can live without these supplies right? There seems to be a lot of stuff here. Can't you share?"

"I'm willing to let you use my supplies. I'm just worried you can't protect yourself in the forest. I went through your things, you don't have any guns, your knives aren't good enough, you don't have anything that can deal with the monkeys, or the bears. Do you know what you are doing? You don't, do you?"

"Hey, I was going to figure it out."

"Sure, sure you were..."

(To be continued)