#TeamFirstContact - Part Four: Pseudo-Purgatorio - @Reverentia

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Interstellar Etiquette - Part 4 - Huis Clos - angerbda 

Listening to the void, looking at the sky, the young man reflected on the illusive nature of the memory. Since he met Al, around the corner, in his sanctuary of knowledge and paper, the stars felt unreachable, faraway and concealed. Elusive.

One day, he felt like touching them, talking to them, the next, he seldom knew about their existence. But, always in a corner of his mind, there was this certainty that something big and important was to be expected.

And that something was amiss...

"Dear K,

I had a feeling, with the previous documents I sent you, that I was missing something.

There had been an encounter, though I wonder, here, if it wasn't yet another result of a body weakened, the consequence of severe dehydration in this case. You know how, sometimes, it will create hallucinations and can even lead to memory loss.

Talking about memory, I know, now, what I was missing when I sent you the last letter. I didn't realise that the events in the file was not supposed to have happened. At the time I wrote to you, no manned spacecraft had ever been sent up there.

You can understand my confusion. Even if it wasn't the case, it is now a fact. It feels like our timeline has been changed in the span of the blink of an eye. I hope it is not just the symptom of insanity, though. I shall not be affected by this ailment.

Did you think the same? Not about the insanity, but about the change in the Earth rotation, the switch to another space-time continuum?

I have found what I think could be an explanation of this sudden acquisition of a new past. What we knew was is no more and our future seemed to come from another past.

In the file I send you today, you will find the reason that would explain this confused History. Let me know what you think of all of this.

Yours truly

R"

*-*-*-*

// File #3 - Pseudo-Purgatorio

by Reverentia //


Facilitator9 stood over Quinn as he slept off the slumber of the dead. Literally. Usually Actants didn't need quite this much decontamination, but these were special times. Boss had cleverly chosen to select this Actant from Bordeaux, year 1348. Year of the bubonic plague, as it turns out, though Boss didn't care much about that—he just wanted Quinn. Whole flocks of people writhed to their deaths all around Quinn, including his wife and daughter, who just died yesterday. Well, yesterday on August 29, 1348. Thus today in 1348, Quinn cleverly decided to commit suicide with a poison so wretched and homebrewed that it that took the team two hours to identify, and another hour to formulate the antidote. Meanwhile, Quinn died and the team had to cryo him for a couple hours to preserve his body for revival.

Now, with the antidote in hand, the team had just finished returning his body temperature back up to the normal zone, and administered the antidote. Life support patches papered his skin like logos on a race car, some infusing oxygen, others nutrients, still others antibiotics. Stats and measurements glowed on the far wall, where two of the team doctors stood like sentries in their dark blue gowns, silently watching and approving adjustments.

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