Word Made By Hand story

Please read the description of this deviation for all disclaimers. Most of this stuff is not mine. Also down there is a link to a picture of the primary setting of this story.</i></u>

Prologue</u>
The storms had been bad, and the farmer had not been to his fields in a few days. As he stumbling made his way down the dirt path and the trees thinned out, the heat of the June morning became more intense. Shielding his eyes from the sun and wiping his brow, the farmer surveyed the field.
The cabbages were gone! It didn’t seem possible, but there was no cabbage in the field anymore! It could barely even be called a field, as there was now a massive tangle of brush that simply hadn’t been there last week. The farmer ran, breath ragged. It was a terrible, even miniature forest of Japanese Knotweed, covered and weighed down by Rambler Rose with its little white flowers. Turning to return home for his machete, the farmer tripped over a wooden box lying by the side of the field.
The box was a cube about six inches in every dimension, very hastily and roughly made. The farmer pried one side open. Inside was something covered by a piece of paper. On the paper was a rather detailed pencil sketch of a Rambler Rose flower and the words “Yours truly, MBL”. Perplexed, the farmer picked up the paper to look underneath.
There was a blinding flash of light and a light breeze blew through the newly invaded field. When the light receded, the farmer was gone. A small pile of ash sat amid the worn work clothes, next to the piece of paper and the crude wooden box.

Chapter 1</u>

Three days later

A low hum, the sound of wheels on pavement, and one voice singing the words “Ride with me” repeatedly in a slightly off-key fashion. These were the sounds that preceded the arrival of Vangelis at the remains of the cloverleaf interchange between U.S. Interstate Highways 195 and 295 near what was once the town of Parsonville in what was once the state of New Jersey and still technically was, depending on who you asked. The small arc reactor on his Harley surged with a boost of power to help ram through the young sumacs that had taken over the interchange ramp. The Best of the Vines CD began skipping with all of the jostling, and Vangelis unplugged the player from the accessory port to the reactor and shoved it in his bag as the bike cleared the ramp and thrummed off down the short section of I-195 before veering off at the Parsonville exit. The sun was sinking lower in streaks of firey color, but Vangelis was confident of his ability to reach Fort Yardville in time for dinner.
Only a few scattered farmers were out tending their land in what had once been the small residential community of Parsonville. They regarded the quiet motorcycle with a few seconds of interest before returning to checking their fields once more before dinner. Travelers to and from Fort Yardville were nothing unusual, and even travelers in arc reactor-powered vehicles had become familiar over the past year.
Vangelis turned onto Ward Avenue and glided past the two schools that now housed each housed a different religious order: one Orthodox Jewish, the other Evangelical Christian. Turning next onto Hogback Road, he passed through cornfields studded with massive wind turbines and spreads of solar panels. This had been part of the power supply for the fort for many years and was now used as a reserve power system in case the fort’s arc reactor failed.
Suddenly, the 20-foot high wooden wall surrounding the fort’s perimeter was right there on the right, and Vangelis swung his bike to a stop at the main gate. A spotlight swung around to face him. A voice from above could be heard muttering “Oh, it’s just you…” and the gate creaked open. Vangelis headed up the driveway as curious soldiers peered out of the cornfields. Dodging a Humvee on its way out, Vangelis found a place to park, hefted his bags, and made his way towards to comforting glassy form of Roundhouse Minor. Seeing his standardized Coalition sergeant’s insignia, the door guards snapped to attention as he entered.
Making his way into the Ring Hub, Vangelis suddenly found himself surrounded by others rushing to dinner. The growing tide carried him through the Ring Hub and back through the outside of the Ring straight into Roundhouse Major, where he threw down his bags at a table and slipped through the crowd to the serving areas. The fact that Roundhouse Major used to be an auditorium back in the fort’s former life as the Garden State Youth Correctional Facility didn’t help its current usual role as a dining hall at all, but Vangelis got his food just the same. It was a simple but hearty meal typical of Coalition forts: roasted chicken, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, assorted green vegetables, and plenty of beer…perfect for someone who had been on the road all day.
Vangelis sat down and dug in. The table filled up with a number of lower-level soldiers that he had never seen before. They all ignored the outsider in their midst, preferring to discuss the day’s work and which NCOs they liked and disliked. As he gnawed on his corncob, Vangelis watched one corporal grow wide-eyed and then stand up at attention, hand quickly coming to a salute. The others followed suit, as did Vangelis, who suddenly found himself face to face with Commander Reyes.
Smiling, the Commander motioned for the table to sit down again. Clapping his hands together, he looked the table over.
“So, have you gentlemen been introduced to Sergeant Vangelis yet?”
Jaws dropped all around the table. Then the corporal who had first noticed Reyes a minute ago spoke hesitantly.
“The guy who lives across the hall from me keeps mentioning you. He says you’re something like Rambo, the Terminator, Neo, James Bond, Chuck Norris, and a bunch of other things…combined…is that…”
At this point, seemingly realizing the absurdity of his statements, he trailed off. Vangelis looked him straight in the eye. “Do I look like that kind of uber-action-hero to you?”
The corporal shook his head slowly. Vangelis sighed. “Look, I may be one of the more…acclaimed…ordinary soldiers of the Coalition, but I’m no superhero. If you’re looking for someone truly extraordinary, try Roland up at Fort Pilgrim. He’s beyond ridiculous…actually can do gun kata and all that stuff. You realize I can’t actually do gun kata, right?”
The corporal was beginning to turn red. By now, Commander Reyes had vanished on his rounds through the room. Vangelis returned to his mashed potatoes.

Chapter 2</u>

A few hours later…

Vangelis had been assigned a room all the way on the far end of the Cog, facing inward towards the Main Yard. It was the same as any of the other rooms, featuring a bed, desk with chair, toilet, sink, very small shower, and a small stereo. The inward view didn’t offer much to see but the pools of light made by the tall Main Yard lamps and the small vegetable gardens, two basketball courts, and open space that made up the Yard.
Vangelis finished brushing his teeth and spit out the strange-tasting Coalition toothpaste that was shipped out from the labs at Pilgrim to all other forts. Yawning, he turned off the lamp on the desk and climbed into bed. He fell asleep in a few minutes.

The next morning

The sound of reveille blaring over the hallway loudspeakers woke Vangelis up at six the next morning. This was nothing new for him, as it was fairly standard procedure at all Coalition facilities like his native High Point. Quickly showering and dressing, he headed around the Cog to Roundhouse Major with the multitude of other soldiers. Breakfast was buckwheat pancakes and oatmeal, typical of Coalition meals or perhaps the entire nation at this point.
After breakfast, Vangelis was due for a meeting with Commander Reyes in his office in Roundhouse Minor. This require passing through the Ring Hub like the night before, though now it was packed with soldiers headed off to work. In no time, Vangelis was up the Roundhouse Minor elevator and in the Commander’s office on the second floor. In fact, his office was the entire second floor. Roundhouse Minor was less than half the size of Roundhouse Major (itself about three quarters of the size of the Ring), only two stories tall, and entirely covered in bulletproof glass. Because the precedent of the Commander getting the entire second floor as their office had been set when the fort was founded, all the other officers had to cram their offices into the slightly larger first floor.
As Vangelis strode past the blank-faced guards with MP5K submachine guns, he was grateful that the Commander had the entire floor. It afforded expansive views of the whole fort and the surrounding countryside of farmland and wind and solar stations. Reyes had moved his desk yet again since Vangelis had last visited the fort, now facing the Spur, the asterisk-shaped piece of the fort where officers lived.
Vangelis sat. The commander didn’t seem as jovial this morning as he had the previous evening. Dropping a pencil in a mug on the desk, he regarded Vangelis gravely. “First of all, thank you for coming all this way. I hope your stay at Fort Rahway was a pleasant one?”
“Yeah…well…Rahway is just different from this place…”
“Where did you wind up staying this time?”
“The Towered Arm. Just like last time. Except at least I was on the outward-facing side this time. Though I’ll say this fort is in much prettier country…”
“That’s part of what makes us more popular than Rahway much of the time, isn’t it? Now, the reason I called you here is that we believe there’s just been an attack by the Mandrill Initiative nearby.”
“Here? I though their Jersey operations were limited to the Weird North and Weird South!”
“They’re expanding, then. Look, just the other day, a young man came to us saying that his neighbor, a cabbage farmer, hadn’t returned home like he usually did. We sent a platoon out to his field and found it overgrown with Japanese Knotweed and Rambler Rose. His clothes were lying on the edge of the field, next to a crude wooden box and a note. Both were recovered by our people and are being held in Forensics up in Roundhouse Broken. I’d like you to head over there and see what you make of the note.”
“Ok, I’ll get over there now.” Vangelis stood and saluted, then did his best soldierly pivot-in-place and strode back to the elevator.

Chapter 3</u>

Roundhouse Broken was a one-story, windowless section of the fort that was the same size as the Ring…except with a section missing. It housed a random assortment of departments for the Fort, many separated merely by flimsy temporary walls. Vangelis had to pass back through the still-crowded Ring Hub to get there and needed to ask several soldiers for directions to the Forensics department once inside the labyrinth of Roundhouse Broken. In the first room he entered once passing through the accordingly labeled door, he saw a bunch of technicians he didn’t recognize gathered around a table.
One of the techs waved Vangelis over. “Oh great and legendary Sergeant Vangelis…please bestow upon us the knowledge of who the hell is MBL?!”
Vangelis blinked. “MBL? Let me see that!” He peered at the note on the table and the excellent drawing of a Rambler Rose flower. “Only one person I know of with those initials draws that well…Marvin Bronstead-Lowry. Formerly a biology professor at Princeton, one of their brightest young minds at the time…then, when things went sour, he went underground for a while and re-emerged as an invasive plants expert for the Mandrill Initiative.”
“So you think the farmer was definitely taken out by a run-of-the-mill Mandrill Bomb that was in the box” said the tech as he pointed to the wooden box that Reyes had mentioned in the briefing.
“Absolutely. You only found his clothes at the site, right?”
“Right. Definitely an MB. But why are they doing this?”
“Same reason as always. To be evil for the sake of being evil. They know they can keep the poor farmers nervous, like the terrorists that brought the U.S. down did, and look where that got us. We need to start sweeping for these guys right now.”
“Apparently Lieutenant Rice has already assembled a team for you. You’ll be leading it with him. His office is up on the second floor of the Ring.”
“All right, I’ll head over there now. Thank you very much. Keep an eye out for any new evidence that comes in.”
As the tech attempted to thank Vangelis in return, he found that he was already headed out of Roundhouse Broken in search of the Lieutenant’s office.

Chapter 4</u>

Climbing up the stairs to the second floor of the Ring, Vangelis was recognized several more times by awed soldiers. Staunchly refusing to give any autographs, he quickly squeezed into Rice’s office and slammed the door shut.
An entire squad sat on folding chairs, regarding him coldly. A large, very solid-looking man with dark hair buzzed short in the style of soldiers from the time before sighed noticeably. Vangelis guessed he was in his early forties and instantly identified by his insignia as Lieutenant Rice. As Vangelis hastily threw up a salute, Rice stood and grunted “You’re late”.
Vangelis rushed to apologize. “Sir, I’m very sorry, the guys down at Forensics certainly took their time in mentioning that you and your team had assembled already and were waiting for me, and then I got held up on the stairs by all these guys asking for my autograph-”
He stopped as he realized that far from the same cold stare as before, a smile was spreading across the lieutenant’s face. The rest of the squad burst out laughing as Rice clapped Vangelis on the shoulder, unexpectedly sitting him down in a chair with the force of the action. “Vangelis, from now on, I want you to assume that when I’m angry and we’re not in the middle of combat, I’m just messing with you.” As Vangelis allowed his brief burst of embarrassed anger to subside, the rest of the squad nodded in agreement. “And also, you should call me Dave. The Coalition is not the United States Army. Hell, I don’t even know if there is a Unites States Army any more, seeing as there isn’t much of a United States. But as I was saying, we don’t care much for formalities in the units I command. So with that in mind, I say we head out on our mission right now!”
There were shouts of approval from the rest of the squad. Vangelis realized that one thing was bothering him. “I’d like to take my Harley on this little trip, but is this squad going to be allotted some actual vehicles as well?”
Rice shrugged. “We never have before, so I don’t see why we would now. We’ve always gone by horse, so I suppose you and your Harley are going to need to follow us to the stables.”
“All right. Stables it is then. Hey, I can ride a horse just as well as anyone else. I’m sure you’ve all heard about my famous trip from High Point way up in New York down to Poughkeepsie and into Connecticut, where I scored a contract of alliance with every Coalition facility in the state in two days. That trip got me the rank of sergeant…and trust me, I did the whole thing by horse. Arc reactors then were not what they are now…”
One soldier was visibly impressed. “Two days? Two days?! Did you even sleep?” Vangelis smiled, remembering the unusual circumstances of his journey. “I would have slept less, but things got a bit complicated. In Poughkeepsie, I had to visit the two dominant forces: one was a bunch of guys holed up in an abandoned psychiatric hospital who thought they were all Coalition-like but seemed awfully sketchy to me, the other was Vassar College. As I said, the hospital guys seemed a bit dangerous, so I didn’t give them the contract and told them I had to think things over. What they didn’t know was that I headed straight to Vassar, which I liked much more. The commander there was very nice…almost too nice, really, ‘cause she…er…unavoidably detained me, sort of. I wound up spending the night there, and the hospital people attacked early the next morning. They must have sensed that I ditched them. I got Vassar to sign the contract and got out of there and across the border into Connecticut as fast as I could. So I actually wound up doing all my contracts there in one day, and there were at least five of them.
The amazed soldier looked just as amazed as Rice and the rest of the squad filed out of the room. Vangelis gave the stunned-looking man a friendly shove in the direction of the door and headed out to find his Harley.