Map of Terranova

Map

To: Natalia Meredine BCG

27 Winter TN 1920

N,

I'm sure you're aware we're all coming in tomorrow. I just had to explain what happened before I left,  as best I can anyway.

To be honest I'm not even sure what was going through my head at the time. I was just angry, and confused. What's worse is there was no reason for it. I let something awful consume me, until the unforgivable happened. I let you see me like that. The person I care most for in this world saw me as the ugliest thing imaginable. I can't possibly ask you to forgive me for what I did, but I am sorry.

Ever since I met you, you've been at my side for near all of my best memories. Any glory I ever received was only worth it because I had you on my arm. You're my girl Natty, you'll always be my girl, and even though I may not deserve it, I just want to be beside you again, for us both to be happy.

I'll understand if you can't handle it, but just remember your Gade loves you, and will until the day he dies.

Gade

Get Your Motor Running

"CASCADE BEER AND THE LANCE POINT OIL CONSORTIUM BRING YOU THE LANCE POINT GEAR RACING RALLY!" Gears raced across the desert sands as the loud thud of a bass drum and compelling electronic music tried to make the Lance Point Gear Racing Rally the coolest thing in the Badlands. Girls in tiny bikinis and boys in tight shorts frolicked in the foreground while behind them a couple of gears kicked up a huge trail of dust as they raced through the desert.

BZZZZZT!

The trideo image flickered as the Longrunner jostled a bit from the drive. Avatanya Brom grunted, beer in hand, remote control in the other. Her hair was up in curlers, her eyes half-open, half-interested, half-drunk. Avatanya had so little free time to enjoy, but she couldn't help herself. The trideo's siren call beckoned all too alluringly. She took a slug of beer and watched the advert for the racing rally that was going to prove quite lucrative for a savvy enough caravan trader.

"Anyone with a gear can enter!"

ZOOM! A tricked-out Hunter flew past the camera.

"All gear models valid!"

ZOOM! A Jager flashed by in the other direction.

"5000 Mark or Dinar entry fee!"

Trudge-Trudge-Trudge. A Groundhog work gear waddled past.

"Sorry! Only gears with Secondary Movement Systems allowed!" (waah waah waaaaaah)

ZOOM! The Hunter and Jager zipped by again, causing the Groundhog to spin and fall in a cartoonish heap.

"Entry Deadline is 33 Winter 1920!!

See LancePointRacing1920 on the Hermes 72 Network!"

Avatanya was already snoring loudly by the time the commercial break ended, and her favourite Emirate reality soap opera, "LOVESLAVES", was back on.

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

"Well, would you look at that!"

"That's one fine looker right there!"

"Hot damn!"

"Yeeeooww!"

The assembled little group in the Cave, the Longrunner truck devoted to vehicle repairs and maintenance walked around the newly revealed gear.

"Peter, I'm impressed!" nodded Josephina, as she inspected the Hunter.

"Yeah, well, Peter didn't do this all by himself, you know!" Trishaw Carmichael puffed on a cigar as he leaned into his cane, "damn machine took nearly a week of work!" he mumbled the last bit to himself.

"Thanks Jo, thanks Carmichael," the large gear pilot smiled shyly from atop the Hunter's shoulder. Peter clambered down slowly, and then sat down on the gear's foot armour piece.

"So, you like?"

Natty nodded vigourously, "I love the paint job!"

"Thanks. It's my old scheme from Innsbruck," Peter smiled. Peter had been a professional gear racer on the Innsbruck Death Track 1000 race before the war. His old gear, a Grizzly, was painted blue with red flash. This Hunter was done up in the same way.

"What's her name?" Kelly asked, as she inspected the Hunter's legs, "I like the reinforcements here," she pointed, "but you've taken off so much armour!"

"Yeah, well it's cuz of the race I'm entering. The 500km cross-country endurance. I figured I'd get Carmichael to reinforce the legs while I took off some armour for more speed. It's going to be friendly anyways," Peter looked as unconvinced as the rest of the caravan crew. "Well, I didn't take off too much armour!" He chuckled.

"Fine fine fine," Ari Mendelbaum nodded, "what's her name?"

"Bulldog" Peter replied.

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

"Sorry Peter, I couldn't help it!" Ari grinned his toothy grin. The tall, lanky pilot tugged off the canvas from his Warrior III. The fabric fell and revealed a grey and red painted gear.

"Ooooh!" Natty cooed, "sexy!"

Ari blushed a little, "er, thanks!"

"So what, the two of you are gonna race off? Sorry Mendelbaum, but I don't think you'll beat Peter," Kelly patted her caravan partner on the shoulder, reaching up slightly, "no offense."

"Hey whoah whoah!" Peter raised his hands up, caught off guard as he admired Mendelbaum's gear, "Ari's got a shot, Kelly!"

"Aww, thanks Pete," Ari grinned back, mussing Kelly's hair in a dangerous way, "but I'm not entering the endurance race."

"Oh?" Josephina frowned.

"Nah. Not my thing. Corsair here is running the urban obstacle race. It's only three laps, and really intense." Ari patted the gear's leg joint, "I have Corsair rigged up to give me a speed boost and some extra torque. Should come in handy in those tight corners," he winked at Josephina, who smirked in reply.

"Well Mendelbaum," Kelly looked at the gear, "you might just make something of yourself yet."

The laughter lit up the Cave and the pilots and techs decided to adjourn with a bottle of whiskey. Two pairs of eyes looked around the corner from where the two racing gears were now parked. Karin and Tessa looked at each other ominously.

"Do you think we should tell them?" Tessa asked quietly. She looked over her shoulder at the form hidden under a tarp, tucked discretely behind a pile of old crates.

"Nah, I think it should be a surprise," Karin followed her friend's gaze and smiled excitedly, "we're gonna blow their minds!" she whispered.

Power meeting

"Gentlemen," Kim Bistrotta sat back in her comfortable executive chair as Dr. Chambers and Gade Vonyran entered her office in Khayr-ad Din's Core Tower, "thank you for coming on such short notice," she motioned to the two comfortable chairs facing her desk.

"I am sorry to interrupt your busy schedules," she gave Dr. Chambers a pointed look, "but my employer insisted that I sit you down and have a little chat."

Both men shifted slightly in their seats. Kim Bistrotta did not make time for 'chats.' She made time for threats, of varying levels, naturally. Her icy gaze indicated that she was to be taken seriously, especially since she had mentioned her employer. The Spider ruled Khayr-ad Din. The Badlands Caravan Guild operated in the crime lord's territory due to his benevolence. Bistrotta's demeanour hardened.

"This came in on the Hermes 72 last night," she said coldly, her finger pressing a button on her desktop console. A trideo image popped up in the room. It was grainy, but clearly depicted two gears, locked in a close-range duel.

"Is that..." Gade spoke up suddenly.

"Yes Mr. Vonyran, that is Black-Eye," Kim nodded quietly. Black-Eye was a Razorback Heavy Gear, piloted by Arnold "Axe" Black, one of Gade's opponents in the first Khayr-ad Din Dueling League Tournament. Black-Eye was a monster of a machine, with a large vibro-axe, a fragmentation cannon, and a thick layer of armour. "Axe" was an aggressive and brutal opponent.

"Ok, but who's in the Spitting Cobra?" Gade looked at the other gear in the trideo image and frowned. He didn't recognize it, though it was clearly a duelist's machine.

"Just watch," was Bistrotta's reply. She hit the 'play' button.

The two massive machines were engaged in a brutal duel. Black-Eye got in some good hits, but the Spitting Cobra just took everything and dished it back out in spades. Both men watched as the Razorback was pounded into the ground, the footage shaky and harrowingly up-close and personal.

"Aww, c'mon Axe, don't let him..." Gade winced as the Spitting Cobra skidded behind the Razorback, and then gutted the gear with a well-placed vibroknife slash. Black-Eye toppled and fell sideways in a cloud of dust.

"Yikes," the Doc said as the disabled gear twitched noisily.

Kim Bistrotta said nothing. The Spitting Cobra wasn't done yet. Instead of backing off, the massive machine straddled Black-Eye and began pounding the gear with its metal fists. The office was filled with the sounds of wrenching and tearing metal, over which the cheers of the camera man could be heard.

"Sweet merciful Prophet," Gade intoned quietly. Arnold Black was a tough man, but when the Spitting Cobra ripped open the crew compartment in a horrifying shriek of metal, he knew that Black would be lucky to be alive. The cameraman ran over, as the Spitting Cobra stood. The camera focused in on the Razorback's cockpit, completely gutted. Arnold Black sat there, bleeding and broken in a gratuitous display of gore. His dueling career was over.

Kim Bistrotta turned off the trideo.

"They're called the Indy Gear League. They've been finding Khayr-ad Din League duelists and fighting them. It's not so bad when our guys win, but when they lose, they're usually maimed or killed. We've lost six promising duelists so far. What's worse, they're uploading the footage to the Hermes network," she swallowed hard, clearly upset. Though it would have been difficult to discern if Kim Bistrotta cared about the loss of pilots, or threat of competition, "and they're popular. We've already had two sponsors pull out of next cycle's tournament."

"Well, I can offer my personal assurance that the Guild will stand by the Khayr-ad Din League, Miss Bistrotta," the Doc declared.

"That is most kind, Doctor," Kim nodded, smiling coldly, "but that is not my major concern right now. I'm letting you know about this organization because they've been careful to only brutalize our duelists, and I expect that they'll be talking to you soon, Mr. Vonyran."

"Well, I'll just have to beat them," Gade smiled.

Kim paused, her eyes narrowing, "No Mr. Vonyran. Don't just beat them. Do anything within your power to shut these punks down. Agree to the terms of their challenge, face them down, and destroy them. The sooner, the better. Understood?"

"Yes'm," Gade shrugged.

A normal life

She awoke feeling at ease, for the first time in a long while, things felt like they were regaining a semblance of normalcy.

She walked Lita to class, they joked about the guard who always blushed when she waved. In her morning meetings with the architect and foreman of the construction site she was gratified when her opinion on the main floor layout was not only heard, but genuinely appreciated. After weeks of cramming dozens of data-books and journal articles on security, engineering and design she was finally involved in the meetings rather than just attending them.

At midday she and Lita spoke excitedly about their mornings, Lita had made a friend and her tutor sent a note complementing her on her adjustment, expressed how Lita was exceeding his expectations. Julie napped peacefully; the apartment in the TNTR tower had become familiar. In the last month, she had crossed the gamut of feelings from trepidation and apprehension to excitement and exhilaration. She knew she would survive the change, she always survived, but successes and fulfilment were things she had not dreamt of since before the war.

To say she had forgotten about Tom would be incorrect. She knew he would show up, it was inevitable. But as time passed and the chores of resettling in Kayr Ad-Din and integrating her and her daughter into a new life gave way to routine and comfort, the expectation of his arrival waned until it no longer weighed on her.

So when she found him waiting in the lobby of her office, his office actually, she was nonplussed, even indifferent. She had determined this was a professional arrangement, he had entrusted her with this project but her zeal, her passion was focused on succeeding for her not to please nor gratify him. He had hurt her, when he left New Baja and she had hurt him, when he came back.

She took him into the office and sat behind the desk, he made no territorial challenge to this. As she provided a progress update on the construction project he said nothing, when his silence became uncomfortable she stopped. He was always melodramatic, she reflected, that’s why her never announced himself and liked showing up out of the blue.

Then Tom apologised, in the silence, he said three words. Julie didn’t feign innocence; she wasn’t one for playing games. She just let the words hang in the air and sought the rest in his eyes. He let out three more words and still she didn’t react. He wasn’t here to see how the project was going, to survey his investment, he was here for her. And, she realised, she was here for him. Though she knew she was up to the task of running the Casino she also knew she was here because he wanted her close. His intentions, his feelings were clear, hers were less so. He made no demands, asked nothing in return. He was just passing through; he was off to Lance Point in the next hour. He smiled softly and left and still Julie said nothing.

She cursed him that night as she lay in bed, Lita had sensed her mother’s mood and hid away in her room after dinner. Julie surveyed her ceiling, her rational mind and her emotions churning inside her, making her sick to the stomach. She was proud of herself, she was enthralled by this project and she felt for the first time since the war that she could explore what it meant to be Julie Pajhola on her own terms. She and Lita could survive on their own, no, not survive, thrive. And yet there was that pang, those eyes and that smile. He was a romantic and an idiot and she loved and resented him.

Her vision blurred and she sobbed, wrought and confused. She cried herself to sleep; her last ironic thought was that that morning things had started to feel normal.

Mining for Answers

Obscurity engulfed him, his universe refined to the fine point: this moment. Life and death lay in the balance and the options had to be weighed.

In the caverns of his mind he sought illumination. Chipping away at the veins of wisdom, he sought wealth. The brittle walls sparked and burnt at the toil. In the dark he labored, wrought and hunched under the weight of his uncertainty.

His dilemma was one of justice. For ten thousand years men framed laws to support justice, but laws gave him no comfort; his was a struggle to claw for what was right not what was legislated.

One question rang in the chambers of his mind: was death the just retribution for a man’s crimes?

“You can’t make up for your past sins” echoed a voice from under the hill.

Isaac Nesson was a traitor, a murderer, a liar and a collaborator. For that he deserved punishment, but what would satisfy justice? To kill him seemed draconic for there was hope in the man: this sheriff now displayed a genuine desire to protect the innocent and serve good.

On bended knee he sought what lied beneath, what lies within; sifting through the dirt to find a nugget of truth sparkle through the obfuscating matter.

He thought of Vonyran and his past affiliations with Green and had to believe in rehabilitation. More pointedly, he remembered that Delacroix committed heinous acts and now sought to make reparations for those evils. Hill died believing one could not, maybe because he died too soon?

The rhadamanthine answer is not set in stone, it is not found in the inscriptions of law nor in the simplicity of vengeance. Justice must be mined from Hope. If there is hope in a man, the possibility of redemption, than Justice demands he toil to make amends.

But not every man has claim to hope, not every man will deliver the promise of recovery.

An inelegant solution, full of uncertainty and bound to demand sweat and blood, but to extract justice one must slog under hope.

‘Isaac Neeson you stand accused of capital crimes, you are hereby sentenced to life as a just man, striving to redeem yourself by helping others without possibility of reprieve or parole, ‘til death takes you and you are judge again in the hereafter.’

When you execute a man, the only thing that dies is the hope of his redemption.

Hope is the shaft of light and channel of air that sustains the man who claws at the answers that reside in the darkest depths. He does not seek the surface nor escape; that path lay clearly lit, it is behind him. He seeks to reach those who are buried beneath.

Terra Nova Dictionary

PONTIFICIOUS pän-‘ti-fi-shəs\
Adjective, date 2009 (earth calendar)
From the English Pontificate (Lat. Pontificatus) and Fictitious ( Lat. Ficticius).

1. Sermonizing artificially. Delivering an untrue opinion in a pompous or dogmatic manor.
2. A highly pleasing sermon; moralizing pleasantly: That Inquisitor was pontificious.
From Pontificate and Delicious.

Trust

18 Winter 1906

Suarenzi boy wins local
robotic design competition.

Suarenzi Sebastien (at right) finished first place in the cyclical Fort James YouthRobotics Design Competition. The Suarenzi are well-known for their place among the Hernandez clan, with one member serving as head of the Western Rail board of directors
Event organizers and judges alike were impressed with the young lad's show of innovation and creativity. "Clearly, we are in the presence of a future engineer" one judge commented, "we haven't seen an entry like this in several cycles."
When asked about his future, Sebastien replied "to design my own gear and become a great duelist."
The boy's father, Suarenzi Guillaum, a Fort James rail engineer, replied jovially, "He'll be an engineer. But I doubt he's got dueling in his future."