...And about the bloodlust the power hungry had and the amount of bloodshed they had created because of it…
However, in certain circles, this cartridge was gold. It could (forgive the archaism), fetch a king’s ransom but I didn’t really have any interest in money because I was fortunate enough to have a father who left an almost substantial sum of money to me in his Will and a mother who had enough financial sense to invest it wisely enough so that I’d never have to worry about anything financial. In fact, just the interest I earn in a week, even in these dismal economic times, is more than most workers earn in a year. And, fortunately for me, I didn’t suffer from that paranoid delusion that most people with money suffered from, which was the need to keep every cent accrued and to stockpile more; a kind of means to its own ends. Thanks be to goodness I was educated enough to realize there are many means to the same ends and that sometimes money isn’t necessarily a means to anything and in certain circles might even be met with more staunch resistance than the great ‘Divider’ and at the same time the great ‘equalizer’. Of course, the super-rich like to perpetuate this myth to keep those less fortunate fighting amongst themselves. These myths about money were just that and overall inherently empty.
It was pretty obvious that all these groups were clamoring to get their hands on the cartridge because they all saw it as a weapon. Some for oppression and some for liberation. Maybe I should just destroy it and be done with the whole thing but what in the grand scheme would that accomplish? It might stem the tide but for no more than a moment and with the ease that I made a picture-perfect copy capable of playing on a teleplayer of any format and even copied it to the quantum format that’s currently getting ready to be all the rage in the tech world. And as mostly it will be taken up and used for things both nefarious and good and rarely understood. So fundamentally simple, yet so esoteric that most, if pressed, consider it akin to magic. And it borders on the edge of tragic, that people frequently use things and become habituated with them but have little, if any, understanding of the inner workings of these new fangled devices and are even less cognizant of the consequences of that use. Unfortunately, there will always be simple minds that don’t understand the transient nature of all things and need to believe in firm foundations for a pillar and justification for their existence. It’s all really rather foreign and incomprehensible to me and therefore a definite topic for future study.
But for now, what to do with the tape? I can’t keep it here gathering dust. Eventually, someone will come looking. They might anyway, if someone is clever enough to figure out what I had really been researching these past few months. It would be hard indeed to convince them that I had no clue what they were talking about if the tape was sitting on my shelf, even if it was there in disguise and not recognizable as what it really was. I don’t have the heart to destroy it and realize the futility of doing so anyway.
The best things I could do, for all concerned was to give it away. Give it to a group or a person whose vision is noble and intentions are good. Or at least, With so many groups looking for the Entertainment; from O.N.A.N’s own Office of Unspecified Services (OUS) to the Québécois separatist group, Les Assassins des Fauteuils Rollents (A.F.R.), the Wheelchair Assassins in English, before acting, I long contemplated the consequences of my decision, before settling on the A.F.R. and most specifically, the wheelchair assassin named, Remy Marathe. Even though I found the notion of secession noble for any peaceful soul that wishes to liberate him or herself from under the thumb of oppression; especially given the fact that at its core the ‘consolidation’ of the North American countries under the O.N.A.N. was an exercise in coercion if there ever was one, the A.F.R itself would use the cartridge in nefarious ways without considering the consequences. It was the same throughout recorded history and probably will be until eschaton is reached. After that, who knows? It could be a reset, as has also happened many times before but it could also be the actual absolute end to the universe’s ill formed, yet noble plan, of self discovery. To me, the plan was basically conceived in an ill-formed mind as a viable alternative solution to spending what was considered an inordinate amount of resources to clean up the contaminated prefecture by bequeathing the toxic land to our friendly neighborhood northern neighbors; thereby abnegating and transferring the responsibility of cleanup elsewhere. Mr. Marathe, on the other hand, had less nefarious designs in mind should he ever get his hands on the cartridge. Him and his triple or quadruple spy (depending on who you asked) status was all created for the sole purpose of trying to make sure his wife got the medical treatment she so desperately needed and the care he thought she rightly deserved. You see the poor lady was born without a skull and a heart beating right outside her chest. A terrible thing that no one should have to suffer through. It was suspected that her birth so near the contamination zone, and her parents habitual use of hardcore drugs was the cause; but no one suspected in the least that it might just be a genetic mutation that may possibly lead to the next step in evolution.
So, through my back channels, I found a number to dial and set up a meeting at a popular nightclub here in town where the music was so loud and bass-driven that it was to the point of ear-splitting, the fog machine continuously pumped out it’s product so everyone’s vision was rather blurry and hazy and it was rumored a hotspot for the drug Ecstasy and all its derivatives and complements. It was called the ‘E’xpress Club. I couldn’t think of a less personally identifying venue in public and so therefore thought it was the perfect place to meet and bequeath my gift upon Mr Marathe.
The convention that the teleputers were always available for video mode but never used in that fashion was indeed a good thing for me. It made it much easier to be coy and rather ambiguous when I finally talked to Remy. I didn’t need any physical disguise just yet and all I had to do was let him know that I had something I was pretty sure he’d be interested in taking a look at. Being straight forward over the telephone in these days when USS is so diligently looking out for our best interests by looking over our shoulders on a grand scale (and who knows how many other clandestine organizations) is a rather silly and absurd notion if one values their freedom as I do. Even if by some off chance they weren’t listening I figured it was always better to err on the side of paranoia in such instances with so much at stake.
Marathe, incidentally, was overly agreeable on the teleputer; like he already knew what it was I wanted to show him or something, like disgustingly so and it immediately put me on edge. I knew a little about the A.F.R. and a little more about Marathe’s own personal map but even if I had extensive knowledge about both the organization and the subject there is always that certain level unpredictability about things and that philosophical truism that you can never completely know someone else. One some level it all boils down to faith; faith that they’re good people and know what the subjectively right thing is, substantiated by reasonable thought and can be counted on to do said same when they say they’re going to? Life was no picnic for Remy; even a complete conformer with no legs would have a hard go of it; much less one that was involved in an almost unachievable fight for his and all his neighbors own personal freedom as well as the exorbitant costs of caring for his poor skullless and outside of the body beating heart wife. For him to be so quick to acquiesce to my meeting request could only mean one of two things. Either he was getting so beat down by his search that he would grasp on to any lead, no matter how illusory or he planned to set me up. Both the scenarios meant trouble and so I decided to be extra careful but as it turned out I don’t think I really had to.
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