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Aberrant: Ba'alt - Re: Time Clinic


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Chronos wrote;

<!--quoteo--><div class='quotetop'>QUOTE</div><div class='quotemain'><!--quotec-->Planet Paril

March 21th, 459 CY

Participants: Chronos

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro--><!--fonto:verdana--><span style="font-family:verdana"><!--/fonto-->*Tick*

The<!--fontc--></span><!--/fontc--> clock, as usual, was roughly 1/90000th too fast. Very annoying. Over the course of a month it would gain half a minute. Local technology was well capable of creating more accurate time measuring devices, this was obviously a reflection of the team's current status, i.e. 2nd class citizens of this reality, or put another way, poor. This was unacceptable.<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->*Tick*

Worse, the entire reality was abominably inefficiently run. The class structure, distribution of resources, of opportunity, of control, everything was seriously dysfunctional. There had been no reason to intervene in the Goddess' realm's politics beyond dealing with the Ban's minions. Generating money and improving the team's status had been implemented as side effect of upgrading the planet's medical systems, which was a worthwhile investment of his time in any case. But not here. Here he was going to have to get involved, and rebuild much of the societal fabric of the system. Only one question remained.<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->*Tick*<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->After initial contact started it was likely that this would consume his time for a while, so everything had to be thought through and perfected before it began. Finally he came to a conclusion: White. His suit would be white. <!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->*Tick*<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc--><!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro--> <!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->This was the last of the unobvious decisions. Everything else wasn't really a choice as it was forced on him by the parameters of the situation. Life was like that. Optimal decisions, optimal actions? free will became more illusionary as intelligence increased. He needed an "in" to what passed for the ethical wealthy on this reality. The first step, accomplished days ago, was finding out who those people were. The list wasn't as long as he might have wished. <!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->*Tick*<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->His target needed to be very well connected to the wealthy, and every such person was guarded and unreachable with his current resources and status. Not a surprise. Contact would be made one level removed. Find someone who could reach his real target. Putting together a list of such people had been harder, but as always, luck was with him. Final selections had been made shortly before Jack and Po had managed to almost unleash a plague of unlife.<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->*Tick*<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc--><!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro--> <!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->Security considerations would make some of his presentation more duplicitous than he might like, but with enough information the target was obvious. Howard R. Howson, aka "How How". Currently a lonely very old man living in an assisted living retirement home for the elderly, but once upon a time he was a talent finder who searched the underclass. He started the careers of a number of people in the entertainment business who eventually became very big? and who are now themselves past their prime and out of favor. Thus does time end all lives.<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->*Tick*<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc--><!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro--> <!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->Ironically, rounding up the props took more time than figuring out who to deal with. Eventually Eve had to help with her nanos. One disguised doctor's bag with injectable vials of distilled water. The bag looks almost grown, not made, and implies alien technology. The vials are labled with years. One local and very ancient cat, inside a cat box, 'saved' from the pound. Blind. Feble. And How-How is a cat man.<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc--><!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro--> <!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->*Tick*<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc--><!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro--> <!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->It was time. Chronos picked up the phone and dialed a number.<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:blue--><span style="color:blue"><!--/coloro-->"Is this Howard Howson? Yes? Good, I'm a researcher, and when I was looking into the backgrounds of Glitter and Paul Westson, your name kept coming up. I understand you used to be their agents? Yes? Would you be willing to talk about those good old days? Yes? Thank you. Would lunch be good? Good."<!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc-->

<!--coloro:#000000--><span style="color:#000000"><!--/coloro-->Doc picked up his two bags, and on the way out the door turned off the clock. <!--colorc--></span><!--/colorc--><!--QuoteEnd--></div><!--QuoteEEnd-->

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