Once he has safely returned to the biodome of New Austin, Logan continues his tale in the middle of the night…
LOGAN’s LOG # 3:
Begin recording!
So, how’d we all end up out here? And how come me and my team “do what it do”? That’s the question, ain’t it? Well, today we’re gonna talk a little impromptu history, and maybe we’ll figure out some answers along the way. So listen up, stoods. We’re gonna do the history of my planet and the history of me:
(Clears throat)
“A Bug War.” “Xenos.”
They were sci-fi classics or played-out jokes, depending on your outlook, going back all the way to the Fettered Days. Back when Lonestar wasn’t even Lonestar. Back when Texas was still a piece of that bullfucking “Union”.
You know, as part of our Xeno Squad training, they actually had us read a translation of that one book about the Troopers? We also saw that “Face-Stinger” horror flick and its action sequel, “Face-Stingers” (both subtitled in Plain Meric). We even got to play the original Space-Limmer games ported into decent holo-rigs. Now that shit was some fun infotainment!
I guess the brass thought some exposure to all that old-timey shits-and-giggles media would prepare us, in some little way...
...For our exposure to the real Things. And, I suppose, in some little way, they were right. By the time us dumb rookies were shipped out, at least we had all gained a few green notions of what we were about to get Into. I guess fiction can help with the facts sometimes...
But like I was saying earlier, way back in the day, the fiction was all the Earthers had. “Alien. Life. On Mars?” Pfft. Discredited science! The subject of outdated genre pulp and make-believe nonsense. Fuel for memes. A punchline.
(Pause)
Then, came the fact. The new science had arrived. And the first farmers and ranchers on Mars stopped laughing. And then their lines were promptly punched.
We call it The Collapse. Sounds grim, don’t it? But “Collapse” is just a well-worn pussyfooting euphemism. It don’t cover the bullfucking half of it. In simple terms, it was a massacre. In the end, all the First Colonists were slaughtered or made Fected. Every last man, woman, and child on this planet ended up a mangled, bloody corpse. Or a skittering, skulking corpse, worse than dead.
(Pause. Sniff)
And all because some damn fool miners had gone and dug up the old Gardener Tombs. “What a discovery! The find of the century!”
(Snort)
And like that (Snaps finger), the Ikari Corporation swooped in on an ocean of digi-cred and a boatload of government favors to take over the dig site. The way I heard it, the minute they got there, they immediately started messing with them... “Life Constructors.”
I guess they were hellbent on studying and replicating all that fascinatin’ DNA, or some such. Ya know, the remains of all those exotic “flora” and “fauna” the Old Martians had cultivated underground.
Why? Because the Gardeners’ ugly leftovers could advance their goddang biotech research. ‘Course! Why else?
Well, the Martians kept a strange fuckin’ “Garden,” that’s for damn sure. In my honest opinion, messing with the Tombs and what was waiting in ‘em, that right there is the most colossal fuck-up in human history to date. Or at least the biggest since they created the androids.
So once again, one dumbass corp too big for their own britches tries to play God, botches it, and everyone else pays the price. Oh, Ikari’s stock tanked again, sure enough. Boo-fuckin’-hoo. But the company’s value didn’t collapse until the First Colonies did. Fuckers.
(Spits)
And no one is laughing now.
—Except the Mercs, of course. We always joke about the newest possibility of human extinction. Shhh. Don’t tell the Purifiers.
(Loud chuckles, sound of a flask being opened, followed by a long swig, then another long swig. More chuckling, harsher now. More drinking, then a sudden coughing fit.)
(Pause. A sigh.)
Well, Hell. This shit is takin’ a lot longer than I thought it would to get out. I’ve gone on ramblin’ and rantin’, and mumblin’ and grumblin’, but I haven’t landed anywhere near to a gorram point! I’ve only succeeded in putting myself in a sour goddang mood.
I think that’s enough history lessons for one night, folks. We’ll pick it up again tomorrow once I’ve gotten a little shut-eye. You’ll get your precious answers then, young stoods.
(One more swig)
...That is, if I don’t croak first.
(End log)
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