Monday, September 08, 2008

Untitled derivative aborted project, part ii

This... this would be part of the same story. Really.

Some people will tell you that it's not true. That it's an urban myth, a conspiracy theory. But they're wrong. I saw it with my own eyes. At the end of everything, I can at least trust the evidence of my own eyes.

I remember it so clearly. That long day's drive across country, breaking speed limits and assorted local ordinances. It was an uneasy alliance with Kunio from the start, and that 48 hours tested it to its breaking point. Jammed in the passenger seat of that van that smelled like something had died in the back, vying with the din of the air rushing past the windows and the tools rattling behind us to argue constantly over what to listen to on the vehicle's dilapidated cassette player. Feeling every bump on the deserted roads as we neared our destination. And at twilight, dragging ourselves over the barbed wire fence, creeping through the undergrowth as though something was looking for us, although if it was I don't know what it might have been. And then impatiently waiting as he operated his GPS receiver, mocking him, insisting that this was a wild goose chase, that he'd wasted my time and his own. Insulting him. Hoping against hope that I was right. Because I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe a word of it.

And then, several hours of back-breaking labour. Digging through the thin layer of topsoil to the layer of concrete. Cursing him for his failure to bring anything stronger than pickaxes, and then driving the implements into that surface for what seemed like forever. Feeling the jolt of every impact resonate in my elbows and shoulders. He was too out of shape for such activity, and I was too lazy, and I knew my body would feel every repercussion the day after, but something drove us on through that night. Call it the quest for knowledge, call it the fear of the unknown. Call it what the hell you like, we kept digging. And as dawn approached we took it in turns to attack that concrete, and at times I tried to get some small amount of sleep on the dusty ground, against the background of rhythmic hammering. And eventually, after I know not how long, we had broken through, and the hole was big enough. The sun was not yet over the horizon. We did not have to dig far after that. I felt something beneath the spade on the fourth or fifth impact. Rummaging in the dirt. A mass of warped and broken plastic. Picking some of them out, separating them. Looking for what we had come for. And I saw that one of the labels was still intact, and in the half-light I squinted at its faded message. And I knew.

"E.T. - the Extra-Terrestrial"

So my point is that sometimes what people say is true, even though in your heart you know it to be ridiculous. Maybe they can't be wrong all the time. And after we found the cartridges, it wasn't long before we got what we'd been looking for. But that's another story.

And yes, I know this doesn't really tell you anything about the whole thing with the research company and the bandana. There's a reason for that. You're not going to find anything out about that because nobody knows anything about that. Best to leave the whole thing well alone, and you're a fool if you ignore my advice.