09 Post Script

        The Pokèdex whirred to life, found the nearest network, and transmitted its last instruction. It verified the file was on the net in all the correct download sites, then erased it from its internal memory.

To the last Texan, and any others brought here by our favorite mutual admiration society,

      I seriously hope this remains merely a mystery to those who find it, or at best a source for childish, grassy-knoll nuts. If it finds it's way to someone who can decipher it, then I hope you are enjoying your life and time here. I haven't, and maybe that's a mercy.

      If you can read this, it means that six months have elapsed, and I have been unable to return to prevent transmission. Considering that Urd's mom is my patron, I am likely dead or trapped elsewhere. I apologize for the roundabout patterns, but vigilance watches always and I am trying to avoid a shiny that will draw their eyes.

      I had initially decided against attempting to contact any of you, for reasons that if you are able to decipher this, should be glaringly obvious. As this mission will prevent the message from being tracked back to me, I think my security is no longer paramount, or mgm, 20th century fox, or even photomat.

      First, everyone's favorite mutual admiration society has been tricked, by everyone's second favorite mutual admiration society. It seems that our flight was to test the possibility of sending a team to the noncanon source. The non-aquatransexual's famous monolog has been judged insufficient, so they decided to retroactively cancel it, and proceed along a new path. This was to prevent us from picking up the torch and thus interfering with their plans. If you are able to read this, then they were prevented. I have the resources and the knowledge to do so, it should be fairly easy to accomplish. Goku versus Superman questions not withstanding. As their success would prevent my return home, I do not intent to stint myself on the levels of efficiency/practicality needed. To answer your question: yes, they were jumping across the same type of gap we were dragged across. As for using it to return home, I have not investigated that. Yet, that was to have been my next task. If I had succeeded, you would have heard from me in a completely different manner. The chips shall fall as they may, and apparently one fell on me.

      This information comes with a warning about the Help Office's kith and kin, maybe Celestine isn't their master, but he certainly is their inspiration. Anything for paradise, even if no one remains able to experience it. You should watch yourselves around anyone you even suspect is part of their mutual admiration society. I have not gotten close enough to see any cracks in the facade and fear that they are more wedded to their cause than our travel agents are. Another on my unfinished 'to-do' list. I have learned that there are ex-members who are not best pleased with their sistren, and would hope to prevent their authentic goal, while promoting their expounded goal.

      Likewise, the mutual admiration society that brought us here, ironically, some of them may be trustworthy. There are true believers, who want to make what is falsely claimed, to be true for all, not just the downtrodden. They have a dream, MLK would be proud. Then there are their rulers, who like Caesar, would rather be first man in a small village, than the second man in Rome. And men are their Gnaeus Pompey, although the true believers would rather we be Marc Antony and Cleopatra to their Julius (yes, he swung that way). The other mutual admiration society hopes to make this feeling into a Thermopylae, to prevent both from advancing.

      On a philosophical aside (and further proof I am who I claim to be). The real balance between the two pretenders, and the reigning champ, is the football over which they contend. All three sides assume possession of the ball constitutes victory, but only the champ vaguely realizes the ball itself has an opinion. It is the hope of better things tomorrow, that draws the ball to one side or the other. Both of the pretenders offer vistas of heaven and freedom when they win, and may achieve it, but the champ offers a pad for the yoke tomorrow. And that seems to have more appeal. Too many of the reformers never consider that. Never forget that they have chosen us, of their own free will. The pretenders must steal them, but they are ours to drive away.

      I have had deep discussions with theoretical scientists, and philosophers about the weight we apply to reality, and the effect of the distortion. I have found that my guesses are nearly always true, and that I have a sense of how the 'story' flows. This sense has been extremely useful in sensing those who don't like me, and were intent on doing something about it. The quantum mechanical explanation is that all things are possible, and the universe doesn't decide what's happening until someone actually looks at it. We can look harder and farther than most. The more metaphysical answer is that the mutual admiration society is correct, and all we would need is focus and training. Our subconscious already has the focus necessary and doesn't necessarily bow to the Id at all times, it just does to a distressing degree. And not just in an entirely prurient way. There being more to survival and well-being than attempts at replication.

      In my case, I've always had the ability to inspire trust in other, and determine if others were trustworthy. It's eerie, lost kid walks past 50 others to ask my help to 'find my mommy'. One reason I've never been a big believer in Bloodgifts, there have always been humans with unusual abilities. The appearance of Pokègirls didn't change that. Maybe it just made us pay attention to the instincts we've already had. Or maybe it made them stronger. My experience is that my abilities have increased coming here. It does cause some problems when someone realizes they trust me without a basis for it, and assume I can use the ability at will and offensively. Problems ensue. Likewise there are things which have fallen my way that are totally inexplicable, I suspect Urd's Mom read my private notes, but that doesn't explain everything. Some of you may experience similar inexplicable effects. Just wanted you to know you weren't the only one.

      On a more personal note, I hope you've been wiser than I have. I have been an awful vexation to my Harem, and I cannot undo what I have done. My reception was more brutal than anything I've ever read about, which should beggar the imagination, even mine. My schizotypal tendencies were exacerbated considerably, enhancing both my misanthropy and paranoia. I put my faith in returning home to normalcy as an anodyne, rather than opening up to those around me for a cure. Work replaced intimacy, and while it made me lethally effective against my foes, it is probably a major factor in why you are reading this. The heavy assault forces from both of the mutual admiration societies broke their teeth on my steel. Independent reports indicate I put the fear of God in both of them, and such tactics will not be replicated. In this, I hope I have been of service. As I said, I hope you avoid the trap I have left myself in until the walls became habit. They are warm and wonderful, if I could have gotten over my initial experiences, and the losses suffered throughout my campaign, I suspect that I would not be going into this mission feeling so fey. (Ask a Scot.) It gives a clarity of thought and a surfeit of emotions and tethers. Perhaps it makes me a good general and a better weapon, but a terrible Master.

      On a tactical note, I am aware of the problems in Capital, and in Blue. And I can guess the worthies involved. If you are planning a Robespierre solution, there is an additional wrinkle. I watched one of the chiefs of our travel agency, who had run afoul of another of us, possess a full-grown kit of herself. I sent that one on its way, but I suspect that all of the chiefs have a similar back up or several somewhere. So one chop of the axe may not be enough to cut down that particular tree, no matter how skillfully wielded.

      I cannot assure you a hero's welcome in the Sunshine League, but you may be able to trade for some aid if you contact the Expy of Pratchett's 'the other one', she is as I intended, the reasonable authority figure who has long since learned that the games so many others play are counterproductive in the long run. Use my name, she has had her eyes and ears close, and suspects more than she knows. You might chafe in her service, but the likelihood of getting screwed over is vanishingly small. The Sages would have resources you might need, and they will take 'no' for an answer. Although not forever, negotiation is their strong-suit after all.

      Another potential source of help is what we have made. Maybe it's my ability to pick and trust, but I have made the 'Gondor Calls For Aid' and gotten considerable help. But then I was always partial to people who weren't complete assholes all of the time. And one of them did belt me for messing up his life. If you can't trust them with your secrets, you at least know a few things that would entice them to help you. Again, negotiations.

      In closing, I wish you all well. After what I have done here, I suspect all I can really offer you is a comfortable spot by the fires when you lay down your burdens. I suspect my girls have been dispersed or gone to serve in other ways. My notes and records are in the hands of a man I trust, and you can trade information about Walt's Kingdom of the Mouse, or similar settings, to him for that information. He has a rather intense fascination about them.

I may be, but am not,
Celsius's Absolute Decision