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PROJECT EXIT REPORT
Agent / Project Lead: Anthony Edward Stark
Date: 02/28/2030
Project: Remote Portal Placement (Controlled Chaos)
Location: Asgard
If you're looking for the standard clinical jargon here, you pencil pushers might want to take the next file from the pile. For those of you who've opted to stay around, I've a tale to spin. A tale of intrigue and magic, lies and heartbreak...
Nope, sounds too grandiose, self serving....except maybe for the heartbreak part. That word I'm leaving in and let me tell you why. Straight out of the gate, this project was a thinly veiled effort upon the part of the leaders of the free (and I use that term very loosely) world to gain control over yet another domain in the name of safety and security, commerce, even an exchange of cultures. Sounds a bit Roman if you ask me, which you won't, but there it is. Divide and conquer.
Of course, as usual, when the men at the top of the heap send their boys to the front line, there are always casualties, or acceptable losses as they're often called. I don't consider any loss acceptable, especially the preventable one. We lost good people on this project. People like Agents Ardsley and Benlaw, fine young men who wouldn't have been in harms way, people that would now be walking into the office to start their workday, perhaps on assignment on Alcatraz (didn't think I knew about that one, did you?). There were civilian loses too, HRH Prince Brynn, lost soul Eris Carter. You cannot possibly fathom how much you people owe Agent Liaison Colin Denehy., likely no one ever will because this report will never be made available to the public unless there's an inquiry. I could probably oblige you with a bit of legal action if you'd like but I've got to talk to my lawyer first.
Earth has also lost some fine people to Asgard's bucolic lifestyle. Simon Foster, former Stark industries scientist has elected to become a citizen of the realm as has college student turned mother, Elizabeth Chapel and Professor Avrum Mindel.
If I might go all Prime Directive for a moment, I have to add that we have disrupted the infrastructure of an anachronistic society, increased the universal fear and distrust of planet Earth. Those of you who think universal fear of Big Blue might be a good thing, keep in mind we've discovered we are little fish in a mind bogglingly huge pond and if we ever need to defend ourselves in the future, we might not want to alienate those around us who'd extend a helping hand.
Progress wise, cleanup of the encampment is just about complete. All foreign materials have been transported back to earth assisted by Asgardian muscle so thanks to the citizens who pitched in to help. I expect final exit to be on or around March 5th with all personnel back on Earth. While the reigning king, Thor, hasn't completely closed Asgard's borders, any travel to the realm will be strictly monitored and regulated, forms in triplicate and all that bull crap.
The portal technology, which has been found to be a viable mode of transportation, might be better suited to the new colonies heading to the moon and beyond. I will be available to negotiate a usage rights contract after March 31st.
In conclusion, I declare the project a failure. My opinion is formulated upon the aforementioned losses, the personal tragedy. I was there to witness the effect our presence had upon this quiet, backward world so it is my opinion that we remain occasional visitors, casual observers, and expend our energy on becoming better custodians of our own planet.
Anthony Stark,
Owner/ CEO Stark Industries
“Assignment six-four-three-seven-nine oh one,” the records clerk muttered as she tapped the numbers into the tablet atop the next packing crate, “Personal effects, Agent Benlaw, Michael J., Agent Ardsley, Benjamin P., Agent Denehy, Colin M. Alright boys, lets see what's left.”
She released the clips on the front of the crate, slit her packing knife along the edge of the lid to break the protective seal and flipped it open with a loud sigh. This was the sole aspect of her job that Samantha hated, cataloging the items of someone else's lives, sorting through what could and could not be returned to their families due to the sensitive nature of the material. If it were up to her, she would separate the belongings into their own individual boxes and ship them out but it would likely be the last thing she'd ever do under the agency's employment and she had a mortgage she needed to pay so she started to unpack the crate, laying the labeled items in their respective bins atop the table at her right.
Benlaw's glasses, cracked but intact, his wristwatch, a vintage Swatch with a faded plastic band. She held it up to the light recalling the garishly colored model she'd seen a number of times setting on her mother's dresser. Standard issue assignment manuals, charred around the edges, his printed name half burnt on the cover, and at the bottom of his packet, his tablet. This she set on the table before the bins. These had to be gone through thoroughly and would probably not be included in the boxes sent home to the families. Not from this assignment for sure. She would have to take the chips out and put them in the database, scanning them for anything of a sensitive nature. She lifted the bubble wrap packing, popping one of the big bubbles to punctuate her feelings before dropping it into the trash can under the table.
The next packet, Ardsley's, was pitifully thin. She tore the top layer off to reveal his tablet, a screen surrounded by melted lumps of plastic and charred wires. She would have to extract the chip from inside unless it had been damaged too badly. There was nothing else in the wrapping and she shook her head as she tossed the packing aside to reach for the final packet.
Agent Denehy's packet was the heaviest of the three. She slid it to the center of the crate and undid the packing. At the top of the pile was what looked like an old wooden jewelry box strapped shut with a heavy rubber band. She hefted it with both hands and set it in the bin atop the table. She would have to open it to see what was inside. Below the wooden box was a long thin package wrapped in crimson velvet and tied tightly with rope. When she picked it up, she had to use two hands. It was heavy, unwieldy. As her fingers slid up the velvet she felt what could only be a hilt of a sword of some type. She lay the package on the floor, untied the rope and gingerly lifted aside the velvet to reveal a long leather sheath tooled with what looked like a battle scene. The hilt of the sword looked to be bronze, its ornate workings interspersed with gems resembling emeralds, rubies, sapphires. Around the top were the same odd writing she'd seen before. She stared at it a bit longer before at last rewrapping it and placing it in his bin. That would be the director's call. The next parcel in the crate was wrapped in heavy linen. She undid the folds until she was peering into the face of a tall thin young man with an unruly head of short russet hair, piercing eyes beneath heavy lids, thin lips curled into a Mona Lisa-esque smile. He had been seated in a carved chair pushed up against an eggshell white wall, long green drapes with part of a window accented the left corner of the scene. She lifted the small framed painting out of the crate and into the light, bringing the bottom right corner closer to her eyes in an effort to read the name scrawled in the paint but the letters were of the same style she'd seen on the signatures at the bottom of the manifestos and that was the Linguistic department's area of expertise. She flipped the painting around. On the back of the canvas in black letters was written “Colin Denehy, painted by Syngen 10/1/29”. Nothing sensitive there, she smiled. The family could in the very least have as a memento of their loved one. The last item in the wrap was the tablet. She lifted it out of the crate and carried it over to her desk. The painting had intrigued her. Who had Agent Denehy been? What had he done on Asgard? Had he been a worker? A technician? He certainly wasn't hired muscle judging by his spare frame. She felt for the slot in the tablet, slipped the chip from its berth and slid it into a small reader perched atop the desk. A bright green hologram blinked to life before her eyes as Agent Denehy's face appeared and he began to speak.
“My name is Colin Michael Denehy, E.M.I.E.D serial number zero-seven- one-seven-zero-three and this is my journal.”
“Computer, enact protocol six seventeen.”
A disembodied voice ehoed through the room, “Access restricted, agent identification required.”
Samantha sighed, “Agent Jones, Samantha J. Serial number one-zero-zero-six-seven-two-eight.”
“Access granted, forced entry achieved.”
The date 2/15/26 coalesced onto the screen followed Agent Denehy's short bio and statistics. Academy graduation. Division appointment, dates which meant nothing to her at the moment.
“Search entries by assignment.”
“Specify.”
“ Assignment six-four-three-seven-nine-zero-one.”
The first entry flashed onto the screen.
Assignment: 64379-01
Location: Asgard
Agent: Colin M. Denehy
Date: 6/14/29
Where do I begin? It seems as if I have stepped, not into another realm, but into another time altogether. Modern conveniences are eschewed here, note that I did not say unheard of. The Asgardians are a people who believe the conveniences which make our life so easy have also made us materialistic, shallow. They believe we have lost sight of what makes our lives worth living and therefore why we are continually at war with one another on Midgard in search of a happiness we can't hope to find in our present state. I hope to prove them wrong about us and the first people I have had the opportunity to work upon is the family of Thor's brother, Loki....
Samantha touched the screen, highlighting the text of the entry.
“Entry marked,” came the voice again, “Action required.”
“Copy to file in descending order, Asgard, field agents, journals, Colin Michael Denehy.”
The screen blinked, “Action complete.”
She rubbed her eyes. Right from the get go. This journal and its contents would probably never leave the record room and as she started to scroll through the entries she became more certain.
“Copy to file...”
“Copy to file...”
She could have made the process simpler. Could have set the computer to find a specific set of words and copy the text of each entry but something compelled her to keep reading. She found Agent Denehy's candor refreshing, rare, even, among the many stale, protocol riddled journals she'd read over the years and so she continued until the computer brought her out of her trance.
“Final entry.”
She sat back, a hand to her mouth, angry with herself for getting so deeply involved once again.
“I should really reconsider that transfer to field agent,” she muttered to herself as she took a little notepad and began to transcribe the words she saw on the screen.
Assignment: 64379-01
Location: Asgard
Agent: Colin M. Denehy
Date: 1/28/30
I've not got much time. I'm fairly certain this will be my final journal entry unless, by some miracle, the things I've seen in me head since I became Asgard's equivalent of the Hail Mary don't play out. Therefore, I wanted to take the time I have left to explain my choice to Ma and Da, my friends on Earth, my extended family here on Asgard.
Da, I lied to you the last time we talked. I know I said I'd be coming home but I've a job to do. You already knew the score of the game before I walked through that portal so I won't insult your intelligence by giving you some weak explanation. Keep Ma safe and sane. Tell her I'm sorry...for everything. For leaving home, taking a job that schlepped me all over the planet and beyond. I wasn't running away from either of you, I was running toward something and I believe I found it here on Asgard. I've a chance to make a difference, to save a people that have taken me into their homes and hearts, made me one of them. I'm expecting to lose the battle, let's put that right out there now but if I don't try, I'll have lost either way and so will countless others. You understand don't you?
But understanding isn't the same as acceptance and there have been many things these past days I refuse to accept because I can't understand how fate could let them happen. Eidra, I can't accept the fact I won't see Loki and yourself sitting before the fire, heads together laughing, touching one another in love that shamed the sun with its brilliance. Your friendship was dear to me, your devotion a beacon that made me believe happiness had found its home here in Asgard. Now I find that devotion crippled, damaged, maybe beyond repair, your family devastated and my heart is heavy with grief.
I can't accept that we let a dangerous element into this realm in the form of Eris Carter, didn't investigate the incident further when she disappeared. That was our fumble and it cost so much. The threat of destruction. The lives of guardsmen and civilians, agents, technicians...God help me.
So if you take away anything from this journal let it be this, that I go to Jotunheim with the sole purpose to right some of the wrongs I've perpetrated,....no, no...it's how I feel and nothing will change my mind. I'm going to save the realms or.....
I can't say it....I can't....
I've got to get going.
I'm frightened...
Colin Michael Denehy
Samantha rubbed her eyes again, frustrated to find her fingers wet. She'd never met the man, likely never would have in the first place as he was from the European division but still he'd been a man, a human with a large heart. Were she in that same situation could she do the same as he had, accept her fate, face death? She shook her head with a sniffle as she touched the screen again.
“Entry marked. Action required.”
“Copy to file, repeat previous action.”
“Action complete.”
“Close journal.”
The hologram faded away. She withdrew the chip from the reader, re-installed it into the tablet and set the tablet into Agent Denehy's box, stuffing the piece of paper in her lab coat pocket. His parents, hell anyone's parents deserved to have the last words their child left for them, to hell with what the agency believed. She'd get the entry to Helen's Bay if she had to take it herself. She flipped off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, slamming the door behind her. She was long overdue for a vacation anyhow and when she returned, she was putting in that transfer. But right now, it was time to punch the clock and get out of Dodge. Samantha J was going to need a couple beers tonight.
“Simon! He's off again!”
Simon twisted about, his feet tangling a bit before he could right himself. A few steps ahead of him toddled Coran, his attention drawn by any number of distractions within the scope of his view, most likely the glittering strip of rushing water a few yards distant. Simon scooped Coran up into his arms, laughing at his indignant howl.
“Do you remember all the times I kept asking when he would start to walk?” Simon deposited Coran into Lelia's waiting arms.
“I don't take humans in trade just in case you was wondering,” the troll sniffed, regarded them both as Simon returned to the satchel hooked to the flank of his horse.
“No worries there,” Simon grinned, saw Lelia clutch Coran tighter to her breast, “We've coin for passage.”
“Good enough,” the troll sniffed, holding out a dirty hand, “Two silver'll do.”
Simon dropped the coins into the troll's hand. The troll studied the coins in turn, biting them one by one before shoving them into a pocket hidden among the tattered folds of his garments and trudging over to the gate across the bridge.
“Where you off to, mind?”
Simon was sliding a struggling Coran into the sling around Lelia's shoulder, “Ah....we're....attending the royal.....wedding...”
“You'n the rest a the kingdom. Getting a bit dull to hear tell. Thought you might have a different story.”
“Sorry, no,” Simon hauled himself into his saddle.
“Why a princess of the realm would marry a Midgardian's beyond me,” the troll swung the gate wide and started onto the bridge to open the gate at the far end.
“Sure they love one another,” Lelia nodded, glanced over at Simon who gave her a wink.
The troll however, looked up at them as if they'd grown another couple heads collectively.
“This is the only thing matters in this realm,” he patted the hidden pocket, its treasure making a merry tinkle against his hand, “Coin, wares, food, a warm fire. Love won't fill your belly or keep you warm on a cold winter night...bah.”
“It will indeed if you find the right person to share it with,” Simon gazed across the way at Lelia and Coran who'd settled down into the sling, his little hand playing with a lock of her long red hair as his eyes drifted shut.
The troll pulled open the gate at the other end, watching them as they trotted over the cobblestones to the ground on the other side of the river.
“Good day to you,” Simon called over his shoulder.
The troll raised a hand to them, swinging the gate shut with a shake of his head, “Love.....give me a bowl a rabbit stew any day, says I.”
Agent / Project Lead: Anthony Edward Stark
Date: 02/28/2030
Project: Remote Portal Placement (Controlled Chaos)
Location: Asgard
If you're looking for the standard clinical jargon here, you pencil pushers might want to take the next file from the pile. For those of you who've opted to stay around, I've a tale to spin. A tale of intrigue and magic, lies and heartbreak...
Nope, sounds too grandiose, self serving....except maybe for the heartbreak part. That word I'm leaving in and let me tell you why. Straight out of the gate, this project was a thinly veiled effort upon the part of the leaders of the free (and I use that term very loosely) world to gain control over yet another domain in the name of safety and security, commerce, even an exchange of cultures. Sounds a bit Roman if you ask me, which you won't, but there it is. Divide and conquer.
Of course, as usual, when the men at the top of the heap send their boys to the front line, there are always casualties, or acceptable losses as they're often called. I don't consider any loss acceptable, especially the preventable one. We lost good people on this project. People like Agents Ardsley and Benlaw, fine young men who wouldn't have been in harms way, people that would now be walking into the office to start their workday, perhaps on assignment on Alcatraz (didn't think I knew about that one, did you?). There were civilian loses too, HRH Prince Brynn, lost soul Eris Carter. You cannot possibly fathom how much you people owe Agent Liaison Colin Denehy., likely no one ever will because this report will never be made available to the public unless there's an inquiry. I could probably oblige you with a bit of legal action if you'd like but I've got to talk to my lawyer first.
Earth has also lost some fine people to Asgard's bucolic lifestyle. Simon Foster, former Stark industries scientist has elected to become a citizen of the realm as has college student turned mother, Elizabeth Chapel and Professor Avrum Mindel.
If I might go all Prime Directive for a moment, I have to add that we have disrupted the infrastructure of an anachronistic society, increased the universal fear and distrust of planet Earth. Those of you who think universal fear of Big Blue might be a good thing, keep in mind we've discovered we are little fish in a mind bogglingly huge pond and if we ever need to defend ourselves in the future, we might not want to alienate those around us who'd extend a helping hand.
Progress wise, cleanup of the encampment is just about complete. All foreign materials have been transported back to earth assisted by Asgardian muscle so thanks to the citizens who pitched in to help. I expect final exit to be on or around March 5th with all personnel back on Earth. While the reigning king, Thor, hasn't completely closed Asgard's borders, any travel to the realm will be strictly monitored and regulated, forms in triplicate and all that bull crap.
The portal technology, which has been found to be a viable mode of transportation, might be better suited to the new colonies heading to the moon and beyond. I will be available to negotiate a usage rights contract after March 31st.
In conclusion, I declare the project a failure. My opinion is formulated upon the aforementioned losses, the personal tragedy. I was there to witness the effect our presence had upon this quiet, backward world so it is my opinion that we remain occasional visitors, casual observers, and expend our energy on becoming better custodians of our own planet.
Anthony Stark,
Owner/ CEO Stark Industries
“Assignment six-four-three-seven-nine oh one,” the records clerk muttered as she tapped the numbers into the tablet atop the next packing crate, “Personal effects, Agent Benlaw, Michael J., Agent Ardsley, Benjamin P., Agent Denehy, Colin M. Alright boys, lets see what's left.”
She released the clips on the front of the crate, slit her packing knife along the edge of the lid to break the protective seal and flipped it open with a loud sigh. This was the sole aspect of her job that Samantha hated, cataloging the items of someone else's lives, sorting through what could and could not be returned to their families due to the sensitive nature of the material. If it were up to her, she would separate the belongings into their own individual boxes and ship them out but it would likely be the last thing she'd ever do under the agency's employment and she had a mortgage she needed to pay so she started to unpack the crate, laying the labeled items in their respective bins atop the table at her right.
Benlaw's glasses, cracked but intact, his wristwatch, a vintage Swatch with a faded plastic band. She held it up to the light recalling the garishly colored model she'd seen a number of times setting on her mother's dresser. Standard issue assignment manuals, charred around the edges, his printed name half burnt on the cover, and at the bottom of his packet, his tablet. This she set on the table before the bins. These had to be gone through thoroughly and would probably not be included in the boxes sent home to the families. Not from this assignment for sure. She would have to take the chips out and put them in the database, scanning them for anything of a sensitive nature. She lifted the bubble wrap packing, popping one of the big bubbles to punctuate her feelings before dropping it into the trash can under the table.
The next packet, Ardsley's, was pitifully thin. She tore the top layer off to reveal his tablet, a screen surrounded by melted lumps of plastic and charred wires. She would have to extract the chip from inside unless it had been damaged too badly. There was nothing else in the wrapping and she shook her head as she tossed the packing aside to reach for the final packet.
Agent Denehy's packet was the heaviest of the three. She slid it to the center of the crate and undid the packing. At the top of the pile was what looked like an old wooden jewelry box strapped shut with a heavy rubber band. She hefted it with both hands and set it in the bin atop the table. She would have to open it to see what was inside. Below the wooden box was a long thin package wrapped in crimson velvet and tied tightly with rope. When she picked it up, she had to use two hands. It was heavy, unwieldy. As her fingers slid up the velvet she felt what could only be a hilt of a sword of some type. She lay the package on the floor, untied the rope and gingerly lifted aside the velvet to reveal a long leather sheath tooled with what looked like a battle scene. The hilt of the sword looked to be bronze, its ornate workings interspersed with gems resembling emeralds, rubies, sapphires. Around the top were the same odd writing she'd seen before. She stared at it a bit longer before at last rewrapping it and placing it in his bin. That would be the director's call. The next parcel in the crate was wrapped in heavy linen. She undid the folds until she was peering into the face of a tall thin young man with an unruly head of short russet hair, piercing eyes beneath heavy lids, thin lips curled into a Mona Lisa-esque smile. He had been seated in a carved chair pushed up against an eggshell white wall, long green drapes with part of a window accented the left corner of the scene. She lifted the small framed painting out of the crate and into the light, bringing the bottom right corner closer to her eyes in an effort to read the name scrawled in the paint but the letters were of the same style she'd seen on the signatures at the bottom of the manifestos and that was the Linguistic department's area of expertise. She flipped the painting around. On the back of the canvas in black letters was written “Colin Denehy, painted by Syngen 10/1/29”. Nothing sensitive there, she smiled. The family could in the very least have as a memento of their loved one. The last item in the wrap was the tablet. She lifted it out of the crate and carried it over to her desk. The painting had intrigued her. Who had Agent Denehy been? What had he done on Asgard? Had he been a worker? A technician? He certainly wasn't hired muscle judging by his spare frame. She felt for the slot in the tablet, slipped the chip from its berth and slid it into a small reader perched atop the desk. A bright green hologram blinked to life before her eyes as Agent Denehy's face appeared and he began to speak.
“My name is Colin Michael Denehy, E.M.I.E.D serial number zero-seven- one-seven-zero-three and this is my journal.”
“Computer, enact protocol six seventeen.”
A disembodied voice ehoed through the room, “Access restricted, agent identification required.”
Samantha sighed, “Agent Jones, Samantha J. Serial number one-zero-zero-six-seven-two-eight.”
“Access granted, forced entry achieved.”
The date 2/15/26 coalesced onto the screen followed Agent Denehy's short bio and statistics. Academy graduation. Division appointment, dates which meant nothing to her at the moment.
“Search entries by assignment.”
“Specify.”
“ Assignment six-four-three-seven-nine-zero-one.”
The first entry flashed onto the screen.
Assignment: 64379-01
Location: Asgard
Agent: Colin M. Denehy
Date: 6/14/29
Where do I begin? It seems as if I have stepped, not into another realm, but into another time altogether. Modern conveniences are eschewed here, note that I did not say unheard of. The Asgardians are a people who believe the conveniences which make our life so easy have also made us materialistic, shallow. They believe we have lost sight of what makes our lives worth living and therefore why we are continually at war with one another on Midgard in search of a happiness we can't hope to find in our present state. I hope to prove them wrong about us and the first people I have had the opportunity to work upon is the family of Thor's brother, Loki....
Samantha touched the screen, highlighting the text of the entry.
“Entry marked,” came the voice again, “Action required.”
“Copy to file in descending order, Asgard, field agents, journals, Colin Michael Denehy.”
The screen blinked, “Action complete.”
She rubbed her eyes. Right from the get go. This journal and its contents would probably never leave the record room and as she started to scroll through the entries she became more certain.
“Copy to file...”
“Copy to file...”
She could have made the process simpler. Could have set the computer to find a specific set of words and copy the text of each entry but something compelled her to keep reading. She found Agent Denehy's candor refreshing, rare, even, among the many stale, protocol riddled journals she'd read over the years and so she continued until the computer brought her out of her trance.
“Final entry.”
She sat back, a hand to her mouth, angry with herself for getting so deeply involved once again.
“I should really reconsider that transfer to field agent,” she muttered to herself as she took a little notepad and began to transcribe the words she saw on the screen.
Assignment: 64379-01
Location: Asgard
Agent: Colin M. Denehy
Date: 1/28/30
I've not got much time. I'm fairly certain this will be my final journal entry unless, by some miracle, the things I've seen in me head since I became Asgard's equivalent of the Hail Mary don't play out. Therefore, I wanted to take the time I have left to explain my choice to Ma and Da, my friends on Earth, my extended family here on Asgard.
Da, I lied to you the last time we talked. I know I said I'd be coming home but I've a job to do. You already knew the score of the game before I walked through that portal so I won't insult your intelligence by giving you some weak explanation. Keep Ma safe and sane. Tell her I'm sorry...for everything. For leaving home, taking a job that schlepped me all over the planet and beyond. I wasn't running away from either of you, I was running toward something and I believe I found it here on Asgard. I've a chance to make a difference, to save a people that have taken me into their homes and hearts, made me one of them. I'm expecting to lose the battle, let's put that right out there now but if I don't try, I'll have lost either way and so will countless others. You understand don't you?
But understanding isn't the same as acceptance and there have been many things these past days I refuse to accept because I can't understand how fate could let them happen. Eidra, I can't accept the fact I won't see Loki and yourself sitting before the fire, heads together laughing, touching one another in love that shamed the sun with its brilliance. Your friendship was dear to me, your devotion a beacon that made me believe happiness had found its home here in Asgard. Now I find that devotion crippled, damaged, maybe beyond repair, your family devastated and my heart is heavy with grief.
I can't accept that we let a dangerous element into this realm in the form of Eris Carter, didn't investigate the incident further when she disappeared. That was our fumble and it cost so much. The threat of destruction. The lives of guardsmen and civilians, agents, technicians...God help me.
So if you take away anything from this journal let it be this, that I go to Jotunheim with the sole purpose to right some of the wrongs I've perpetrated,....no, no...it's how I feel and nothing will change my mind. I'm going to save the realms or.....
I can't say it....I can't....
I've got to get going.
I'm frightened...
Colin Michael Denehy
Samantha rubbed her eyes again, frustrated to find her fingers wet. She'd never met the man, likely never would have in the first place as he was from the European division but still he'd been a man, a human with a large heart. Were she in that same situation could she do the same as he had, accept her fate, face death? She shook her head with a sniffle as she touched the screen again.
“Entry marked. Action required.”
“Copy to file, repeat previous action.”
“Action complete.”
“Close journal.”
The hologram faded away. She withdrew the chip from the reader, re-installed it into the tablet and set the tablet into Agent Denehy's box, stuffing the piece of paper in her lab coat pocket. His parents, hell anyone's parents deserved to have the last words their child left for them, to hell with what the agency believed. She'd get the entry to Helen's Bay if she had to take it herself. She flipped off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, slamming the door behind her. She was long overdue for a vacation anyhow and when she returned, she was putting in that transfer. But right now, it was time to punch the clock and get out of Dodge. Samantha J was going to need a couple beers tonight.
“Simon! He's off again!”
Simon twisted about, his feet tangling a bit before he could right himself. A few steps ahead of him toddled Coran, his attention drawn by any number of distractions within the scope of his view, most likely the glittering strip of rushing water a few yards distant. Simon scooped Coran up into his arms, laughing at his indignant howl.
“Do you remember all the times I kept asking when he would start to walk?” Simon deposited Coran into Lelia's waiting arms.
“I don't take humans in trade just in case you was wondering,” the troll sniffed, regarded them both as Simon returned to the satchel hooked to the flank of his horse.
“No worries there,” Simon grinned, saw Lelia clutch Coran tighter to her breast, “We've coin for passage.”
“Good enough,” the troll sniffed, holding out a dirty hand, “Two silver'll do.”
Simon dropped the coins into the troll's hand. The troll studied the coins in turn, biting them one by one before shoving them into a pocket hidden among the tattered folds of his garments and trudging over to the gate across the bridge.
“Where you off to, mind?”
Simon was sliding a struggling Coran into the sling around Lelia's shoulder, “Ah....we're....attending the royal.....wedding...”
“You'n the rest a the kingdom. Getting a bit dull to hear tell. Thought you might have a different story.”
“Sorry, no,” Simon hauled himself into his saddle.
“Why a princess of the realm would marry a Midgardian's beyond me,” the troll swung the gate wide and started onto the bridge to open the gate at the far end.
“Sure they love one another,” Lelia nodded, glanced over at Simon who gave her a wink.
The troll however, looked up at them as if they'd grown another couple heads collectively.
“This is the only thing matters in this realm,” he patted the hidden pocket, its treasure making a merry tinkle against his hand, “Coin, wares, food, a warm fire. Love won't fill your belly or keep you warm on a cold winter night...bah.”
“It will indeed if you find the right person to share it with,” Simon gazed across the way at Lelia and Coran who'd settled down into the sling, his little hand playing with a lock of her long red hair as his eyes drifted shut.
The troll pulled open the gate at the other end, watching them as they trotted over the cobblestones to the ground on the other side of the river.
“Good day to you,” Simon called over his shoulder.
The troll raised a hand to them, swinging the gate shut with a shake of his head, “Love.....give me a bowl a rabbit stew any day, says I.”
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