(no subject)
Okay. Okay. So, the Advisor thing turned out to be for real. And, yeah, okay, Prohaska saw some stuff he shouldn’t have and started telling people about it, and, yeah, a bunch of the troops were probably looking his way when shit went down and the Americans took the thing out instead of him. Bad mojo. Yeah. Can’t deny that. But- hey. It could be worse. There’s still a chance. They’re out of the dead zone, the whole place is burning behind them, and they’ve still got to reach the base before anyone finds out the details. Not like the Marine (psychopath, whatever) has that helicopter any more to beat the main force back. And nobody’s gonna transmit while there’s still a chance of Combine reprisal. So it’s all down to who gets the first word in when they get back. This is still his territory. He can still pull this out. It’s probably going to cost him Prohaska, but there are prices you just have to pay.
Getting out of the stolen APC’s as priceless as photo ops come, he knows that, so he’s extra careful to look properly bedraggled but triumphant. And sure enough, everybody’s there when he touches down. They’re all watching. And they got the microphone set up, for his big victory speech. They’re all gonna hear it. His people. Americans. Some more people he doesn’t remember. A-
Wait. Okay, who the hell are the green- what the hell are the green things? With the three arms, and all the eyes?
“Dr. Freeman?” says one of the Americans- okay, no, he’s not an American, he’s just with the Americans. Big tall fellow. Sounds Dutch. He’s looking to the American in the orange suit, hopping out of the other stolen APC. “Are you all right?”
"Been better.” The other guy glances at the crowd. “We pulled it off.”
“Yes, we figured that out,” the Dutch guy says. “The gunships fleeing, and the other-“ He points to the sky, says something that’s not English. “All the Combine aircraft, different kinds. You can tell us the details when one little thing is settled.”
The other guy half-raises an eyebrow. Bah. Stupid trick. Any idiot can do that.
“Ms. Vance has been talking to our people, since the broadcast, and she sent us some more here.” Dutch nods at the strangers. “They have things to say. Most of the people here already heard but she wants to be certain everyone knows.”
Okayyyyy… not what he was expecting, but if the extra Americans are planning on making some kind of a surrender speech after all, maybe he doesn’t have to throw his reputation around as much. He’s not gonna complain. The guy in the suit doesn’t look too happy to see some of these people anyway. Maybe this’ll be better than it looks. Give ‘em a shovel, they’ll dig their own hole, right?
“She sent Magnusson? Seriously?” says suit guy, and Dutch nods. “Huh. I thought she was joking about that… all right.” Suit guy looks his way. “Do you mind letting some of my people talk?”
“I don’t see why not.” Not like they’re not outnumbered dozens to one. And the green things don’t count, they’re not people.
Suit guy nods, and Dutch waves to the newcomers. The first one’s an old guy in a white coat. Gray hair. Blue eyes. Looks like he’s been chewing on tinfoil. Some kind of old plastic ID card clipped to his pocket. Doesn’t look like he could hold anything bigger than a pistol. Probably why he didn’t come along for the fight. He steps up to the mike, taps it, clears his throat.
“My name,” he announces, and it echoes, “is Dr. Arne Magnusson. I’m a physicist. A damned good one. I was a research associate- a senior research associate- at Black Mesa.”
This is not an endorsement speech yet. Why is this not an endorsement speech yet? At least Anna’s translating sounds like she’s making it sound good.
“I worked at Black Mesa for years. My research output- well, it probably doesn’t concern you here and now, but rest assured that my research and my work then laid the foundation for the satellite that protects us, even now, from the Combine returning from their Overworld in force.”
The crowd's starting to murmur. They're paying attention. The old guy turns and gestures to him and suit guy.
“And I can say this: I worked with Gordon Freeman. Not willingly, I’ll admit. At the time I wouldn’t have trusted the man to do more than wash bottles and push buttons.”
Hey! ... why are the people laughing?
“But I worked with Gordon Freeman. Gordon Freeman was a barely tolerated colleague of mine. I knew Gordon Freeman.” The old guy snorts. “You, sir- yes, you in the yellow suit- you are no Gordon Freeman.”
That…. Was not what he expected to hear. Neither is the muttering from everybody listening. (And whatever Anna said, it included the phrase 'Herr Doktor Gordon Freeman' which is not how people are supposed to refer to him. Not good.) Okay. Better grab the microphone before- whoa, whoa, one of the green things just walked past him-
How the hell does something that weird know how to use a microphone, anyway?
“Greetings to the Resistance,” it says. Deep voice. Sounds like he’s trying out for Darth Vader. Looks like he’s going to rip someone’s head off if they get too close. “My people are known to many of you. To others, we are strangers. Our name, in your language, is the Vortigaunts. We have shared this planet with you since the day of Black Mesa.”
Dammit, did everybody on that boat work at that stupid place?
At least nobody's screaming. Just sounding surprised.
“On that day, we came among you in shackles, enslaved to the will of another. We fought your people, there and elsewhere. Many no longer walk among you, because of us.”
Then why the hell are they here now and not being lynched?
“The Freeman fought us with great ferocity on that day, and ended many of us.” It blinks, which is weird to watch, since it’s got like five eyes. “We remember the Freeman. We remember also that it was he who struck down the Nihilanth, and shattered our chains forever.”
It blinks again. It looks at him. “You are not he,” it says.
And to the suit guy: “We have never doubted you.”
Okay. Okay. That… that was bad. That was really bad. The crowd’s getting cranky. And loud. This isn’t looking good.
And now Prohaska’s getting Crazy the Marine up to the microphone. Jesus. What a traitor. Can Prohaska even do that?
“I ain’t gonna take up a whole lot of your time, since I’m in a fair little piece of pain at the moment,” Crazy says to the crowd. “But I am gonna tell you this. Shephard, Adrian, United States Marine Corps. Hazardous Environment Combat Unit. Corporal, at the time of the Black Mesa Incident. Sergeant Major, now. I got my dog tags and I got my military photo ID, so all y’all can check my story if you want to. You want to know what I did today, you go'n ask Prohaska here 'bout how I took down a Combine Advisor. That's one of the actual Combine, the chief maggots in charge. Fact is, my unit got sent in to Black Mesa to do somethin’ I’m damned ashamed of, and Dr. Freeman was the only scientist I know of who fought back when we came for him. Man killed an awful lot of Marines, tryin’ to stay alive and protect his fellow scientists. That ain’t the kind of thing you forget. Ain’t the kind of face you forget, either.”
Crazy starts to turn and point to orange suit guy. Doesn’t work real well. He’s leaning on Prohaska real hard as he says, “Okay. That ain’t gonna happen… My point is, your leader, here, he ain’t the man who fought back. Not then, and not today. It’s him-“
Okay, he is not gonna sit here and put up with that kind of bullshit from a man who threatened his life last night. He steps up, raises a hand-
The crowd's snarling. And it doesn't sound like they're snarling at Crazy, either. Crazy looks at him, still all burnt and bloody. And- is he smiling?- turns away.
“I don’t know that I’d do that if I were you,” says another American voice. He looks over his shoulder. The man there’s in his forties, black hair going gray, lot of lines in the face. Civil Protection armor. “You’re really not in a good position right now, mister.”
“But this guy-“
The American shakes his head. “Don’t take that microphone if you know what’s good for you,” he says seriously. He's talking pretty quietly- the crowd's making it tough to listen. “I can promise you, right now, that anything you can say about the Sergeant-Major isn’t going to help you. Whether it’s true or not. That man saved your bacon, whatever else he might’ve done, and so did Dr. Freeman over there. If you want to get out of this thing with any kind of dignity left I’d suggest you just sit down and start thinking about how you’re going to apologize to your people. Who knows? You kept them alive this far. Play your cards right and they might even forgive you for some of the lies.”
He stares. He says, “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
The man holds up an ancient, battered Black Mesa employee ID card with his photograph on it and the name CALHOUN, B. And he smiles, just one side of his mouth sliding upward, and he says, “I’ve been here since all of this started. I intend to see it played out to the end. Try to do the right thing, okay? Just this once?”
He glances out over the crowd. It's been a long time since he's seen that many people that angry. He swallows.
Getting out of the stolen APC’s as priceless as photo ops come, he knows that, so he’s extra careful to look properly bedraggled but triumphant. And sure enough, everybody’s there when he touches down. They’re all watching. And they got the microphone set up, for his big victory speech. They’re all gonna hear it. His people. Americans. Some more people he doesn’t remember. A-
Wait. Okay, who the hell are the green- what the hell are the green things? With the three arms, and all the eyes?
“Dr. Freeman?” says one of the Americans- okay, no, he’s not an American, he’s just with the Americans. Big tall fellow. Sounds Dutch. He’s looking to the American in the orange suit, hopping out of the other stolen APC. “Are you all right?”
"Been better.” The other guy glances at the crowd. “We pulled it off.”
“Yes, we figured that out,” the Dutch guy says. “The gunships fleeing, and the other-“ He points to the sky, says something that’s not English. “All the Combine aircraft, different kinds. You can tell us the details when one little thing is settled.”
The other guy half-raises an eyebrow. Bah. Stupid trick. Any idiot can do that.
“Ms. Vance has been talking to our people, since the broadcast, and she sent us some more here.” Dutch nods at the strangers. “They have things to say. Most of the people here already heard but she wants to be certain everyone knows.”
Okayyyyy… not what he was expecting, but if the extra Americans are planning on making some kind of a surrender speech after all, maybe he doesn’t have to throw his reputation around as much. He’s not gonna complain. The guy in the suit doesn’t look too happy to see some of these people anyway. Maybe this’ll be better than it looks. Give ‘em a shovel, they’ll dig their own hole, right?
“She sent Magnusson? Seriously?” says suit guy, and Dutch nods. “Huh. I thought she was joking about that… all right.” Suit guy looks his way. “Do you mind letting some of my people talk?”
“I don’t see why not.” Not like they’re not outnumbered dozens to one. And the green things don’t count, they’re not people.
Suit guy nods, and Dutch waves to the newcomers. The first one’s an old guy in a white coat. Gray hair. Blue eyes. Looks like he’s been chewing on tinfoil. Some kind of old plastic ID card clipped to his pocket. Doesn’t look like he could hold anything bigger than a pistol. Probably why he didn’t come along for the fight. He steps up to the mike, taps it, clears his throat.
“My name,” he announces, and it echoes, “is Dr. Arne Magnusson. I’m a physicist. A damned good one. I was a research associate- a senior research associate- at Black Mesa.”
This is not an endorsement speech yet. Why is this not an endorsement speech yet? At least Anna’s translating sounds like she’s making it sound good.
“I worked at Black Mesa for years. My research output- well, it probably doesn’t concern you here and now, but rest assured that my research and my work then laid the foundation for the satellite that protects us, even now, from the Combine returning from their Overworld in force.”
The crowd's starting to murmur. They're paying attention. The old guy turns and gestures to him and suit guy.
“And I can say this: I worked with Gordon Freeman. Not willingly, I’ll admit. At the time I wouldn’t have trusted the man to do more than wash bottles and push buttons.”
Hey! ... why are the people laughing?
“But I worked with Gordon Freeman. Gordon Freeman was a barely tolerated colleague of mine. I knew Gordon Freeman.” The old guy snorts. “You, sir- yes, you in the yellow suit- you are no Gordon Freeman.”
That…. Was not what he expected to hear. Neither is the muttering from everybody listening. (And whatever Anna said, it included the phrase 'Herr Doktor Gordon Freeman' which is not how people are supposed to refer to him. Not good.) Okay. Better grab the microphone before- whoa, whoa, one of the green things just walked past him-
How the hell does something that weird know how to use a microphone, anyway?
“Greetings to the Resistance,” it says. Deep voice. Sounds like he’s trying out for Darth Vader. Looks like he’s going to rip someone’s head off if they get too close. “My people are known to many of you. To others, we are strangers. Our name, in your language, is the Vortigaunts. We have shared this planet with you since the day of Black Mesa.”
Dammit, did everybody on that boat work at that stupid place?
At least nobody's screaming. Just sounding surprised.
“On that day, we came among you in shackles, enslaved to the will of another. We fought your people, there and elsewhere. Many no longer walk among you, because of us.”
Then why the hell are they here now and not being lynched?
“The Freeman fought us with great ferocity on that day, and ended many of us.” It blinks, which is weird to watch, since it’s got like five eyes. “We remember the Freeman. We remember also that it was he who struck down the Nihilanth, and shattered our chains forever.”
It blinks again. It looks at him. “You are not he,” it says.
And to the suit guy: “We have never doubted you.”
Okay. Okay. That… that was bad. That was really bad. The crowd’s getting cranky. And loud. This isn’t looking good.
And now Prohaska’s getting Crazy the Marine up to the microphone. Jesus. What a traitor. Can Prohaska even do that?
“I ain’t gonna take up a whole lot of your time, since I’m in a fair little piece of pain at the moment,” Crazy says to the crowd. “But I am gonna tell you this. Shephard, Adrian, United States Marine Corps. Hazardous Environment Combat Unit. Corporal, at the time of the Black Mesa Incident. Sergeant Major, now. I got my dog tags and I got my military photo ID, so all y’all can check my story if you want to. You want to know what I did today, you go'n ask Prohaska here 'bout how I took down a Combine Advisor. That's one of the actual Combine, the chief maggots in charge. Fact is, my unit got sent in to Black Mesa to do somethin’ I’m damned ashamed of, and Dr. Freeman was the only scientist I know of who fought back when we came for him. Man killed an awful lot of Marines, tryin’ to stay alive and protect his fellow scientists. That ain’t the kind of thing you forget. Ain’t the kind of face you forget, either.”
Crazy starts to turn and point to orange suit guy. Doesn’t work real well. He’s leaning on Prohaska real hard as he says, “Okay. That ain’t gonna happen… My point is, your leader, here, he ain’t the man who fought back. Not then, and not today. It’s him-“
Okay, he is not gonna sit here and put up with that kind of bullshit from a man who threatened his life last night. He steps up, raises a hand-
The crowd's snarling. And it doesn't sound like they're snarling at Crazy, either. Crazy looks at him, still all burnt and bloody. And- is he smiling?- turns away.
“I don’t know that I’d do that if I were you,” says another American voice. He looks over his shoulder. The man there’s in his forties, black hair going gray, lot of lines in the face. Civil Protection armor. “You’re really not in a good position right now, mister.”
“But this guy-“
The American shakes his head. “Don’t take that microphone if you know what’s good for you,” he says seriously. He's talking pretty quietly- the crowd's making it tough to listen. “I can promise you, right now, that anything you can say about the Sergeant-Major isn’t going to help you. Whether it’s true or not. That man saved your bacon, whatever else he might’ve done, and so did Dr. Freeman over there. If you want to get out of this thing with any kind of dignity left I’d suggest you just sit down and start thinking about how you’re going to apologize to your people. Who knows? You kept them alive this far. Play your cards right and they might even forgive you for some of the lies.”
He stares. He says, “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
The man holds up an ancient, battered Black Mesa employee ID card with his photograph on it and the name CALHOUN, B. And he smiles, just one side of his mouth sliding upward, and he says, “I’ve been here since all of this started. I intend to see it played out to the end. Try to do the right thing, okay? Just this once?”
He glances out over the crowd. It's been a long time since he's seen that many people that angry. He swallows.