Bucket full of Crazy

Owl once told me of a belief the North American First People's had on Earth that Was. How they revere the Mad as Spirit Touched. Other cultures had similar beliefs. Unfortunately, or, maybe not so unfortunately, the Mad were rarely revered on the Rim colonies. Maybe Beaumonde, or one of the other high population worlds, could afford the luxury of coddling the Mad. Small time operations like our little slice of Heaven couldn't.

But that didn't stop us from getting our share of Crazy.

Sometimes by the bucket full.

Lily called him Stig. Or "The Stig," as the case was, based on some character from some Cortex feed out of Londinium that she liked. One of her "News" shows. Another offworlder, in my office, talking a bit crazy. In this case, some selective amnesia and a delusion about being married to me. At least that was how he started off. The married part vanished quickly, in part, I suppose, from not wanting to get shot for trying to push the issue.

While it may have been a while since I'd spent time with my wife, I wasn't too keen on someone, anyone, making the claim they were married to me when they weren't. I also wasn't too keen on folk coming into my office armed, and not being willing, or able, to take off the full coverage EVA helmet they were wearing. Just didn't sit right after the last stranger who walked into my office.

Thinking of which, neither Gallagher or any of the locals had any insight into who the man was or where he'd come from. Just another enigma in the series. A long, long, series. Which didn't seem to have any sort of end in sight.

Lily didn't know anything about either Stig or the guy in the freezer. But she did need a favor, something about recovering some information from an Alliance officer. She made me promise not to ask why she needed it. I made her promise not to ask how I was going to get it.

It seems that Major Siamendes had some images that Lily needed. While I could, probably, go directly and acquire them myself, I had other options. Considering how much additional pain the Intel position was causing me, it was time I exercised a minor abuse of power in order to benefit my kinfolk.

Using the secure link, I sent a message up my own food chain that would, very shortly, trickle back down Pepper's food chain, to her, with orders to turn over the information to someone up her chain of command, and to delete any copies of it. The data would get passed up a couple more layers, over a couple of silos, and then back down to me. All "above the boards." Where "above" translated into the deep realms where Intel liked to do what it did.

Getting the data back this way might interfere with Pepper's investigations into x0x0, which was something I ultimately didn't mind. Had never been entirely comfortable with that in any case. As for why Lily needed the information, I was curious, but I would also keep my promise.

My daughter needed it. In this case, that was enough.

Buckets of Crazy

The Mad play by their own rules

So we join their game

Prognosis

It might have been better if I'd simply killed him.

People have asked my why I carry the fifties. The large bore round means they don't have a lot of capacity and the charge means they kick like a mule when they fire. The weapon could break a big man's wrist, let alone that of a 41 kilogram woman. Of course, I'm stronger than I look and I don't miss often so I'm willing to trade ammunition capacity for stopping power. Plus, a lot pf practiced mated with a good recoil compensator makes up for my size.

Most times, when a man takes a .50 round to the chest, he winds up in the morgue. This time, he got to the infirmary before he bled out Problem was the half inch slug made a mess of his chest. Lungs, heart, liver, a bunch of other organs I'd remember if I had to play field medic again. The doc wasn't so sure she'd be able to save him given the resources we had available, which meant putting him on ice.

Stasis wouldn't cure what was ailing you, but it'd keep you from dieing of it whilst the medics figured out how to cure what ailed you. In this case, lead poisoning. The medlab on the Sun Tzu, or one of the bigger hospitals on a world that considered itself a Colony, rather than a glorified mining settlement, would be able to patch him back together. Except the Alliance wasn't willing to resurrect my attacker until we knew more about him, least not without my pulling strings I didn't want to pull. We could ship him off world to one of the big medical facilities, but then we'd have to deal with outsiders wanting to know why we were leaving a guard with him.

Which left stasis.

Wasn't the ideal solution, but it would have to do for now. So far, we hadn't turned up much on the man in the box. History and the like, yes. Motive? Nary a clue. Had a strong sense that the Sabine he'd talked about wasn't the Sabine I knew here on Hale's Moon. Which led to a number of other possibilities, all of which we'd have to pursue. Each one of which made less sense than the one before.

Who knows. Maybe it was something Niska tossed out there. A bit of attempted payback for sending a couple of his Orokana hito-gumi home in body bags. Didn't seem likely, but it would be easy enough to check.

For now though, it was back to business.

Thankless

You never quite get used to being shot at. As a soldier, and a field operative, I'd faced quite a few rounds directed my way. Since coming out the Rim and settling on Hale's Moon, I'd probably faced more gunfire per annum than I ever had when I was on active duty. Between Reavers, Raiders, Alliance Loyalists, and warbots, we'd seen more flying lead than in a rad-shielding foundry.

Usually, the flying lead isn't in my office. Not that I was entirely surprised to have a visitor come in, act peaceful, then draw a piece on me. Thing was, unlike the old office in Town Hall, there was only one door in or out of my new office and the side and back walls were made out of the same material they made spaceship viewports out of. Once I triggered the locks, the only way out was for someone on the outside who had the codes, that'd be Genni, Gallagher, Lily, and the captain of our Militia, to unlock it from outside, or for me to manually do it myself. Not something I was likely to do under duress.

While this wasn't the first time someone's waltzed in and pointed a gun at me, it was the first time someone's done it saying they were delivering a message. Odd thing about it is I only know one "Sabine" and don't recall there being any bad blood between us. Subject to interpretation, of course. Might be someone planning to shoot me as a message to her, but that made not a whit of sense either. The man had the air of someone who know their way around a firearm, but not that of a trained assassin. If he had been, he'd never have selected my office and certainly wouldn't have let himself get distracted enough to let me draw my sidearm.

Being curious about why Sabine would send someone to shoot me, I tried to get him to back down. Fact was, there was no way back out of the office through the locked door and I'd already tagged the silent alarm to Genni. She'd have either the Sheriff's department, or the Militia, or both, here shortly. If she didn't open the door herself and shoot the man in the back with a scattergun or that old .45 she was so fond of.

Guess he either didn't care about getting out alive, or thought he was somehow going to shoot me and still get out of a locked room. Either way, he hadn't counted on me being able to move as fast as I can, especially when someone's got a gun pointed at me. His round missed. Mine didn't. My cushion, though, would never be the same.

Neither would his chest.

We got him to the Infirmary as fast as we could, but the prognosis is dicey. Not sure whether he's going to wake up or not, or live if he does. Be a shame if he dies too, seeing as I'm at a loss to why he was really there. Officially, the Sheriff's office would investigate the incident. Gallagher had some strings he could pull to find out what was really going on, as could I through my other contacts.

Just another reminder how thankless this job can be sometimes. Any of them, really. Public, private, or otherwise.

Message at gunpoint

You underestimate me

Lesson learned but once