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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 4811335" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Dead Letter: Part 2 – Lost in the Wilderness</strong></p><p></p><p>After an uneventful night, ground transportation awaited them at Eastwood International. Hammer and Archive had reserved a gas guzzling black Ford Expedition truck, while Jim-Bean and Guppy were in a green Prius. Though it was early in the day, the air was warm and close, and there was a feeling of cool relief when the agents moved through the doors of the building's main entrance. </p><p></p><p>As they waited for an elevator, there was a slight stirring sound, and then the door shifted perceptibly. Overhead the lobby's grand chandelier swayed softly. </p><p></p><p>“Uh, what’s that?” asked Guppy.</p><p></p><p>There was silence for a moment, then door and chandelier stopped moving, and the sound died. Replacing the sound was nervous laughter and comments: </p><p></p><p>“That was a mild earthquake,” said Archive, “the sort that residents have long grown used to.”</p><p></p><p>Guppy clicked through on his cistron as the elevator arrived. </p><p></p><p>“The Daily Samson reported a Richter 3.1 magnitude earthquake centered 14 miles east of town.”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean and Guppy were dressed in tie-dye shirts, jeans, and no socks. Jim-Bean wore round glasses with green tints. </p><p></p><p>“This is where we split up,” said Hammer as they arrived at the vehicles. “Keep in touch and call us when you’re ready.”</p><p></p><p>They drove off in their respective vehicles. </p><p></p><p>Full Wilderness’ headquarters was located in the Bridgestone Building. The Bridgestone Building was packed with prosperous corporate and professional offices: it stood at the edge of Samson's financial district.</p><p></p><p>Beyond the humble pose of its non-profit corporation tax status, Full Wilderness occupied the whole of the thirteenth and fourteenth stories of the Bridgestone Building. Views, dramatic lighting, fine rugs, luminous wood inlays, photo landscapes (always without human form or participation), and excellent sculptures of whales, grizzly bears, porpoises, and other wilderness creatures decorated a long two-story high reception hall. </p><p></p><p>The lavish reception area was intended to impresses every visitor. The reception hall looked very much like a shared tribal space, where everyone sat around the camp fire. A stone fire ring actually existed, with stones of polished marble and quartz, and artfully asymmetric magnetite veins. The name at the center of the fire ring, FULL WILDERNESS, burned blue from bottled propane hidden in the base of the sculpture. Recorded bird calls and the sounds of water rippling over rocks occasionally came from hidden speakers.</p><p></p><p>“It’s like Disney-land meets PETA,” said Jim-Bean breathlessly, taking it all in. “This is great!”</p><p></p><p>The Full Wilderness staff, passing constantly across the tribal space, dressed well and stylishly in natural fibers and leather (though no furs). Gold watches, gold rings, gold bracelets, gold brooches, and fine-water diamonds flashed persistently. Favored jewelry designs were derived from Native American, Bengali, and Celtic originals. </p><p></p><p>“Looks like the article in Harper's was correct,” said Guppy. “Those connected with Full Wilderness are doing as well financially as Jatik's books would have them doing spiritually.”</p><p></p><p>The reception hall bisected the two floors of offices into four differing sections. Approaching the reception desk, the inner and outer executive offices and conference rooms, including Jatik’s, were found to the left. To the right from the reception desk were rooms filled with computers, phone solicitors, and supplies, a day-care center, gymnasium, and droves of scurrying support staff. </p><p></p><p>Upstairs right was the editorial, advertising, and design offices for Full Wilderness’ high-circulation magazine, the Ecotopian. That was their destination.</p><p></p><p>“This has to be the busiest workplace I’ve ever seen,” whispered Guppy. Not once do they pass anyone idly talking on the phone, playing a computer game, or staring out the window.</p><p></p><p>They made their way to the Ecotopian’s offices. </p><p></p><p>The cluttered interiors of the office were well-lit by large banks of windows and a skylight. The work area was one large open suite, its wall lined with filing cabinets and the floor filled by a half-dozen desks piled high with computers, bric-a-brac, and loose paperwork. The walls were plastered with Greenpeace and Earth First posters. Plants adorned the desks and filing cabinets.</p><p></p><p>The desk nearest the stairs acted as a kind of reception. A bespectacled and bearded young man greeted them. “How can I help you?”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean leaned forward. “I’m looking for Ms. Fiona Lin-Wei.”</p><p></p><p>The man arched an eyebrow. “About?”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Guppy. “I have a submission.”</p><p></p><p>“I’m afraid Ms. Lin-Wei doesn’t meet with people over submissions,” the young man sneered, whose nametag labeled him as Dwight Jenkins. “You can submit documents via our web site…”</p><p></p><p>“No!” said Jim-Bean urgently. “This is important. I can’t transmit any files over the Internet. The government is watching us!”</p><p></p><p>Dwight blinked. “Uh, oookaaaay,” he said slowly. “Listen, perhaps if you drop the document off with me—“</p><p></p><p>“I knew this would happen!” shouted Guppy, at the top of his lungs. The buzz of the office stopped as everyone turned to look at him. “This is just another corporate arm of the Man! Our article is too radical for this place! Let’s go!” He began tugging on Jim-Bean.</p><p></p><p>“Wait,” said a female voice with a Scottish brogue. “I’ll meet with them.”</p><p></p><p>Dwight shrugged. “You can speak with Fiona at her desk,” he said, as if willing them to leave him alone. </p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean and Guppy hustled over to her. “My name is Jimmy,” he said, pumping the petite Asian woman’s hand. “This is Guppy.” She had a feral, exotic look to her; like a coiled wildcat, all stringy muscle on her compact frame with large, intelligent eyes. Jim-Bean liked her immediately.</p><p></p><p>“Please, have a seat,” said Fiona. “What’s this all about?”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean smiled. “I’ve read your work in the Ecotopian. I really admire what you’ve done so far, and,” he leaned forward, “what you did. It’s why I’m here. You’re a true believer.”</p><p></p><p>“I don’t know, Jimmy,” said Guppy suspiciously. “Just because she believes in Mother Gaia doesn’t mean—“</p><p></p><p>“So you’re familiar with the Gaia Hypothesis,” said Fiona. “Good. What is this article you were ranting about?”</p><p></p><p>“Human civilization is a cancer upon the Earth,” began Jim-Bean. “Humanity has overforaged and ruined its natural ranges.”</p><p></p><p>“The tribes of man are one with the beasts of the forests,” babbled Guppy, “all must be culled when their numbers grow too great! Mother Gaia has yet to cull humankind, for they have grown clever, but she will. Oh yes,” his eyes rolled madly, “she will!”</p><p></p><p>“What my colleague and I are proposing is that for nature to rebound, humanity must be in parity with the rest of nature. Left to its own base nature, humanity will continue to punish us. What we propose is to save the Earth before Mother Gaia punishes us once and for all.”</p><p></p><p>“And that is?” asked Fiona. </p><p></p><p>“The solution is simple,” gasped Guppy, “a few insightful humans of great determination must sponsor or precipitate a limited disaster in order to prevent the apocalypse.”</p><p></p><p>“We call these people Gardeners,” said Jim-Bean. They were rehearsing the script of a book titled <em>Ending History</em>, by Robert Jatik. Jim-Bean knew that Fiona hadn’t read it, but that she largely subscribed its ethos, at least in a spiritual sense. “They will then linger on as guardians to prevent man from regaining his Bad Old Ways…”</p><p></p><p>Fiona was about to say something when the phone rang. </p><p></p><p>“Excuse me,” said Fiona. She picked up the receiver and listened. “Yes.”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean and Guppy exchanged looks. </p><p></p><p>“Yes. Yes. No, I can handle it. Yes. Okay. I will.” She hung up the phone.</p><p></p><p>“What was that about?”</p><p></p><p>“Nothing,” said Fiona. “Listen, it isn’t safe to discuss this here. We should go off premises.” She stood up. “Follow me please.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4811335, member: 3285"] [b]Dead Letter: Part 2 – Lost in the Wilderness[/b] After an uneventful night, ground transportation awaited them at Eastwood International. Hammer and Archive had reserved a gas guzzling black Ford Expedition truck, while Jim-Bean and Guppy were in a green Prius. Though it was early in the day, the air was warm and close, and there was a feeling of cool relief when the agents moved through the doors of the building's main entrance. As they waited for an elevator, there was a slight stirring sound, and then the door shifted perceptibly. Overhead the lobby's grand chandelier swayed softly. “Uh, what’s that?” asked Guppy. There was silence for a moment, then door and chandelier stopped moving, and the sound died. Replacing the sound was nervous laughter and comments: “That was a mild earthquake,” said Archive, “the sort that residents have long grown used to.” Guppy clicked through on his cistron as the elevator arrived. “The Daily Samson reported a Richter 3.1 magnitude earthquake centered 14 miles east of town.” Jim-Bean and Guppy were dressed in tie-dye shirts, jeans, and no socks. Jim-Bean wore round glasses with green tints. “This is where we split up,” said Hammer as they arrived at the vehicles. “Keep in touch and call us when you’re ready.” They drove off in their respective vehicles. Full Wilderness’ headquarters was located in the Bridgestone Building. The Bridgestone Building was packed with prosperous corporate and professional offices: it stood at the edge of Samson's financial district. Beyond the humble pose of its non-profit corporation tax status, Full Wilderness occupied the whole of the thirteenth and fourteenth stories of the Bridgestone Building. Views, dramatic lighting, fine rugs, luminous wood inlays, photo landscapes (always without human form or participation), and excellent sculptures of whales, grizzly bears, porpoises, and other wilderness creatures decorated a long two-story high reception hall. The lavish reception area was intended to impresses every visitor. The reception hall looked very much like a shared tribal space, where everyone sat around the camp fire. A stone fire ring actually existed, with stones of polished marble and quartz, and artfully asymmetric magnetite veins. The name at the center of the fire ring, FULL WILDERNESS, burned blue from bottled propane hidden in the base of the sculpture. Recorded bird calls and the sounds of water rippling over rocks occasionally came from hidden speakers. “It’s like Disney-land meets PETA,” said Jim-Bean breathlessly, taking it all in. “This is great!” The Full Wilderness staff, passing constantly across the tribal space, dressed well and stylishly in natural fibers and leather (though no furs). Gold watches, gold rings, gold bracelets, gold brooches, and fine-water diamonds flashed persistently. Favored jewelry designs were derived from Native American, Bengali, and Celtic originals. “Looks like the article in Harper's was correct,” said Guppy. “Those connected with Full Wilderness are doing as well financially as Jatik's books would have them doing spiritually.” The reception hall bisected the two floors of offices into four differing sections. Approaching the reception desk, the inner and outer executive offices and conference rooms, including Jatik’s, were found to the left. To the right from the reception desk were rooms filled with computers, phone solicitors, and supplies, a day-care center, gymnasium, and droves of scurrying support staff. Upstairs right was the editorial, advertising, and design offices for Full Wilderness’ high-circulation magazine, the Ecotopian. That was their destination. “This has to be the busiest workplace I’ve ever seen,” whispered Guppy. Not once do they pass anyone idly talking on the phone, playing a computer game, or staring out the window. They made their way to the Ecotopian’s offices. The cluttered interiors of the office were well-lit by large banks of windows and a skylight. The work area was one large open suite, its wall lined with filing cabinets and the floor filled by a half-dozen desks piled high with computers, bric-a-brac, and loose paperwork. The walls were plastered with Greenpeace and Earth First posters. Plants adorned the desks and filing cabinets. The desk nearest the stairs acted as a kind of reception. A bespectacled and bearded young man greeted them. “How can I help you?” Jim-Bean leaned forward. “I’m looking for Ms. Fiona Lin-Wei.” The man arched an eyebrow. “About?” Jim-Bean exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Guppy. “I have a submission.” “I’m afraid Ms. Lin-Wei doesn’t meet with people over submissions,” the young man sneered, whose nametag labeled him as Dwight Jenkins. “You can submit documents via our web site…” “No!” said Jim-Bean urgently. “This is important. I can’t transmit any files over the Internet. The government is watching us!” Dwight blinked. “Uh, oookaaaay,” he said slowly. “Listen, perhaps if you drop the document off with me—“ “I knew this would happen!” shouted Guppy, at the top of his lungs. The buzz of the office stopped as everyone turned to look at him. “This is just another corporate arm of the Man! Our article is too radical for this place! Let’s go!” He began tugging on Jim-Bean. “Wait,” said a female voice with a Scottish brogue. “I’ll meet with them.” Dwight shrugged. “You can speak with Fiona at her desk,” he said, as if willing them to leave him alone. Jim-Bean and Guppy hustled over to her. “My name is Jimmy,” he said, pumping the petite Asian woman’s hand. “This is Guppy.” She had a feral, exotic look to her; like a coiled wildcat, all stringy muscle on her compact frame with large, intelligent eyes. Jim-Bean liked her immediately. “Please, have a seat,” said Fiona. “What’s this all about?” Jim-Bean smiled. “I’ve read your work in the Ecotopian. I really admire what you’ve done so far, and,” he leaned forward, “what you did. It’s why I’m here. You’re a true believer.” “I don’t know, Jimmy,” said Guppy suspiciously. “Just because she believes in Mother Gaia doesn’t mean—“ “So you’re familiar with the Gaia Hypothesis,” said Fiona. “Good. What is this article you were ranting about?” “Human civilization is a cancer upon the Earth,” began Jim-Bean. “Humanity has overforaged and ruined its natural ranges.” “The tribes of man are one with the beasts of the forests,” babbled Guppy, “all must be culled when their numbers grow too great! Mother Gaia has yet to cull humankind, for they have grown clever, but she will. Oh yes,” his eyes rolled madly, “she will!” “What my colleague and I are proposing is that for nature to rebound, humanity must be in parity with the rest of nature. Left to its own base nature, humanity will continue to punish us. What we propose is to save the Earth before Mother Gaia punishes us once and for all.” “And that is?” asked Fiona. “The solution is simple,” gasped Guppy, “a few insightful humans of great determination must sponsor or precipitate a limited disaster in order to prevent the apocalypse.” “We call these people Gardeners,” said Jim-Bean. They were rehearsing the script of a book titled [I]Ending History[/I], by Robert Jatik. Jim-Bean knew that Fiona hadn’t read it, but that she largely subscribed its ethos, at least in a spiritual sense. “They will then linger on as guardians to prevent man from regaining his Bad Old Ways…” Fiona was about to say something when the phone rang. “Excuse me,” said Fiona. She picked up the receiver and listened. “Yes.” Jim-Bean and Guppy exchanged looks. “Yes. Yes. No, I can handle it. Yes. Okay. I will.” She hung up the phone. “What was that about?” “Nothing,” said Fiona. “Listen, it isn’t safe to discuss this here. We should go off premises.” She stood up. “Follow me please.” [/QUOTE]
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