Lafourche waited several moments. "For now, probably. You can 
expect the spooks to be out in force in a few days, crawling over 
every abandoned mine shaft and desert valley in the whole 
goddamn country, checkin’ to see if we're bullshitting. Command 
says that we need two weeks. | hope to God we get that out of this 
atrocity." 


The young security attaché dragged a sleeve across his mouth. "Sir. 
What's...what's next?" 


A pause. "Kid, how's your Russian?" 


05-8 watched the Alps go by through the window of the private 
railcar. Darkness was falling early in the days now. It would be pitch 
dark by the time he arrived in Vienna. 


"| have communicated the orders to the North American sub- 
command," said O5-1 from his leather chair. "You're ready to 
proceed?" 


The younger Overseer pondered again his contacts in Cairo. In 
Jakarta, Johannesburg, and Bangalore. The logistics alone were 
horrifying to contemplate. The last thing in the world that he felt at 
the moment was a sense of readiness. "We move at your order," he 


replied. 


The Head Overseer nodded. "You may not believe this, Hans, but | 
have an idea of what's going through your mind at this moment." 
O5-1 stood up, and took a place by the window next to 05-8. "The 
only things | can say to you that matter right now, are these. The 
vote was in favor, do not dwell upon the margin. That decision has 
been made. And | placed you in charge of this operation because | 
believe you are best suited to this task." 


The younger man placed his hand on the window. The chill of the 
mountain air on the other side penetrated immediately into his 
fingertips. "Tell me, in your honest opinion. Do you think we make it 
out of this?" 


05-1 looked out the window, into the darkness, the mountains all but 
gone from view now. "I do not know." 


05-8 chuckled, not entirely without humor. "Nor do I, Herr 
Overseer." 


« | Hub | Voices Unassailable » 


Misnomer 


Site 23, Delhi, India. November 22, 1956. 


And this is why | insist is impossible to stress the 
importance of remaining neutral in this conflict. 
Alignment with either of the major powers would be a 
deep insult to those whose great sacrifices won earned 
us our freedom. 


You may notice that despite the sentiment of some of my 
other writings, | have chosen here to stress that we 
should become no more cozy with the Union of Soviet 
Socialist Republics than with the United States of 
America. Without meaning any insult to their cause or 
organization of their society, it would not be in the best 
interests of our fledgling nation to spit on our hard-won 
independence align ourselves too readily with either 
superpower; rather, we must th 

our long-standing racial and e 


"Your rhetoric is unimpressive, but for a native you have an 
impressive grasp of the language, Ms. Sanmugasunderam." Site 
Director Eriksson raised an eyebrow from over the torn scrap of 


paper. 


Satyana plastered a smile onto her face as she looked up at him 
from behind the typewriter. "You wouldn't have hired me if | didn't." 
With a hint of sheepishness, "And you said you were taking today 
off." 


The pale, heavyset man sighed and pulled up a chair in front of her 
desk. "No sweat. | can hardly afford to discipline every staff member 
who engaged in political diatribes during working hours." He glanced 
at the paper again, then glanced back at her. "Other writings?" 


Satyana removed the torn sheet of paper from the paper table and 
disposed of it. "I've written several other editorials for the local 
English-language newspaper. The Hindi ones are acceptable, but 
this one is usually filled with colonialist propaganda." Her smile 
widened slightly and involuntarily, before she forced it back to its 
default state. "No offense, of course." 


"| will say it again, | do not get involved in politics. But to address 
your earlier point, there's far too much work to be done to take more 
time off than | have to." He pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit 
one, taking a short drag before continuing. "We still lack a definitive 
catalog of everything we managed to evacuate, and we only have 
the personnel shortage to thank for this arrangement." 


Satyana stubbed out her own cigarette into the ashtray on her desk. 
"I'm aware. On that topic, you have mail." Satyana took a folder from 
her desk and handed it to Eriksson. "Two things at this site, and as 
usual, your position entitles you to recovery information from other 
parts of the Foundation." 


Eriksson accepted the file and opened to the first page. With a frown 
of resignation, "No doubt your position as my secretary entitles you 
to the same information somehow... just be aware that | overlook it 
as a favor." 


Satyana nodded. "As you wish. First order of business. Some Soviet 
munitions that we traded for three days ago, not fully written up yet. 
Initial reports are that they make trees after exploding." She hands 
another file to Eriksson. 


"Bombs that make trees? What the hell are they planning to do with 
those?" He took the file. "Seems like it would be counterproductive if 
you're looking to invade an area, to give the defenders cover." 


Satyana rolled her eyes. "Well, / prefer to think that they're intended 
to- You know what, never mind." She made to set the file aside. 


"No, go ahead. Give me your spiel. And send them to Hall, | think 
he's technically an explosives expert." 


"Noted." She returned to attention. "And | was going to say that it 


looked to me like the-" She looked at the file again. "-'tannenbombs' 
are a foray into increasing agricultural production." 


"Isn't that what the collective farms were for? If | had to guess, it 
would be if they were on the run. If the Americans took Stalingrad, it 
would be a lot less useful to them if it were a forest." 


"Possibly, but | don't feel that anything approaching an invasion 
would benefit either party. They wouldn't invest this level of 
resources on such an unlikely event." 


"Unlikely? Hardly. Either they'll drop bombs, or skips, or bomb skips, 
or whatever. Then they'll swarm in to spread democracy or 
communism or whatever it is." 


"Given the ideological and economic disparity, it's actually not very 
likely that this ordeal will be settled by combat rather than words. 
There's been some rather insightful analys-" 


Eriksson waved a hand to cut her off. "| have more important things 
to attend to than vague strategic treatises, and so do you. Is there 
anything else?" 


Satyana blinked, a bit put off. "Understood. The next order of 
business would be Skip Fourteen Twenty-Seven. We recovered it 
from the Soviets before they tried to destroy it with an atom bomb. | 
for one think it's horrendously mis-documented, but it should only 
affect us in a wors-" 


"Mis-documented?" He scanned through the file. "Everything seems 
in order to me." 


"Yes. Second paragraph of the Special Containment Procedures. 
‘Habitually subjugated or otherwise politically oppressed individuals, 
such as those under Communist rule, are ideal for containment of 
SCP-1427." 


Eriksson yawned heavily and straightened up in his chair. "Yes, | 
read that. | fail to see how it's objectionable, given the documented 
effects of the anomaly." 


"Well-" Satyana asked. "It would hardly be accurate to call concern 


for your fellow worker or loyalty to a greater cause ‘subjugation’ and 
‘oppression.’ And they're even acting like it's some sort of great 
moral dilemma to keep it contained." 


"I'm not sure they see it that way." The tone of the statement warned 
against arguing that particular point. 


Satyana opened her mouth, then closed it. When she spoke again, 
her demure manner was obviously forced. "Whatever you or the 
authors of the document may feel about the... political implications, 
the bias is transparent for what is supposedly an apolitical 
organization." 


"It says here that it's at Site 81. Most of their bosses are French, if 
Durand is still in charge there. The sentiment isn't changing any time 
soon, and | don't think it pragmatic to call for the wording on a Keter- 
class to get changed. Especially the Containment Procedures." 


"Very well." She allowed herself a frown now. "As | was saying, this 
could only affect us in a worst case scenario. However, Twenty 
Eighty was requested for its potential to damp the effects. It seems 
rather straightforward, so it just needs your signature." 


"Cross-testing something like this with another skip, even twenty 
eighty, is risky. Have Galluzzo give the okay first." 


"I'll make sure to. Another that's actually being transferred here, Skip 
Fifteen Sixty-Four. It's a Broken God artifact. The only instance | 
believe will be troublesome is Dash One." 


Eriksson shuffled his papers around to examine the relevant 
documentation. "You're right on that account... it's hard enough to 
transport personnel with military backgrounds across borders, even 
without the the recent scrutinizing of all the veterans from NATO and 
whatever the Soviets have set up." He rubbed his eyes. 


"The Warsaw Pact. | haven't had the time to check our records yet, 
but if | recall correctly, we have two researchers and three assistants 
that fit the requirements, discounting you." 


"Not nearly enough... get on the horn with Logistics, we'll need twice 


that. Make sure they're not Buddhist first." 
"Logistics, or the researchers?" 


Eriksson smiled briefly. "Very funny. The researchers. Logistics can 
light incense and sing kumbaya if that's what keeps them working, 
but | want to be extra sure that the Tickers don't try and sneak in any 
more plants." 


"Noted. That's all that's in your mailbox today. Is there any other 
official business that needs taking care of?" 


"Official business? Nothing. | do have a koan I'd like to pass on to 
you." A pause. "Er, a koan is a saying that makes you think." 


"Oh? Let's hear it, then." 


"Heard it from Taylor on Tuesday, just thought of it now." He 
hmphed, recalling it as best he could. "Why is it called an arms race, 
when to win a race, you need to use your legs?" 


Satyana pondered the query for about fifteen seconds before 
responding. "Is that supposed to have some sort of hidden 
meaning? It's just a play on words." 


Eriksson shrugged. "Hell if | know, just something | thought worth 
sharing. Happy Thanksgiving to you." He stood up and walked past 
Satyana's desk and into his own office. 


She turned her head to look quizzically at him as he went. "We're 
not even American..." Satyana let out a sigh and set about calling 
Logistics. 


Eriksson closed his door without an explanation. He sat down at his 
desk and placed a piece of paper back into his typewriter. 


And | urge the goodhearted, rational citizens of India to 
realize that simply refusing to align our new country with 
either power is not enough to keep the forces of tyranny 
at bay... 


« Cleon | Hub | In the Shadow of a High Wall » 


In the Shadow of a High Wall 


On June 16, 1963, a team of Foundation 
agents attempted and failed to re-contain 
the escaped SCP-2030 in West Berlin. The 
following excerpt is drawn from the 
debrief of team leader Louis Franklin. The 
interview was conducted on June 18, 
1963, by Berlin station chief Marcel 
Gunther. 


[Note: Certain designations may no longer be accurate. ] 
[Excerpt Begins] 


Interviewer: Alright, Franklin, we've gone over SCP-2030's escape 
from the Oslo containment facility and the subsequent pursuit 
conducted by your field investigation team in some detail. Now, if 
you could give more context for the West Berlin encounter? 


Franklin: We had just arrived in the city on the morning of the 
sixteenth when Intelligence notified us about a scheduled meeting 
between one Agent Antonov, KGB, and a Foundation employee 
preparing to defect. Only problem was, this supposed defector had 
been listed as KIA quite recently — and if you've read twenty-thirty's 
file, you'll see why that set off alarms. 


Our team was half American and half German — a local bunch. We 
set out on the evening of the Sixteenth to break up the encounter 
and bag the thing. Antonov had arranged the meeting at a bar out in 
Charlottenberg — small, quiet place. Harrison parked across the 
street in the sedan with Michaels and Manteuffel. Tegelmann, 


Conley, and Roberts were staking out the back way with the 
automatic rifle. Ludwig and | were tailing Antonov on foot. It wasn't 
till he got up to the door of the bar that we got a good look at him 
and realized just how inexperienced he had to be. 


Interviewer: What gave you that impression? 


F: He dressed like he didn't know any better. No gloves or protective 
glasses, no briefcase for a gasmask or forensic kit — basics 
anybody who'd worked with parasci before wouldn't have gone into 
the field without. But he walked right into that bar as if he owned the 
place — it demonstrated to us, at least, that he had no inkling of 
what he was walking into. 


Interviewer: How did you proceed once he had entered the 
building? 


F: Ludwig and | checked in with the other two teams after Antonov 
entered — no sign of our skip, so we took station down the street 
and waited for about half an hour. Nobody else arrived or left during 
that time. 


All of a sudden Harrison tears out of there, tires squealing- he'd 
seen a couple of Polizei autos coming down the street, sirens 
screaming, and scrambled. | thought maybe the Americans had put 
the Germans onto our operation, so we got out of there too. 
Unfortunately that meant nobody was keeping an eye on the front 
door. Several minutes passed before it became clear that the cops 
weren't after us. We suspected that twenty-thirty might have been 
waiting for an opening to move in to the bar, so Ludwig and | 
decided to investigate the premise on foot while Harrison was still 
pulling back around. 


Interviewer: You engaged the entity with your backup out of 
position? 


F: We weren't sure it was in there at all, at first, but | didn't want to 
give our skip a chance to dig in — which it would, if we lost track of 
it. 


Interviewer: | understand. What did you find when you made your 


reconnaissance? 


F: Everything was pretty unremarkable; two women at the filthy bar, 
four drunken workers hooting over some card game in the corner. In 
the center, hunched over a rickety table underneath the shuttered 
front window was our KGB man, deep in conversation with Agent 
Hockaday. 


Interviewer: Hockaday was reported deceased after the Oslo 
breach, correct? 


F: Killed in the initial breach — and then twenty-thirty dragged his 
corpse helter-skelter across half of Europe. 


Interview: But why Hockaday? And why was the creature traveling 
east in the first place? 


F: Hell, Gunther, it's your station, you Know we could never follow it 
over the wall. East Germany could give it shelter. The thing must 
have called up Hockaday's contacts in the Stasi and arranged a 
defection — maybe even told them what it was. 


If we'd been any slower, twenty-thirty would have been on time and 
out of our reach — but now it sat before us, hands stretched out 
over the table just short of the Russki's bare palms. The infection 
process smells strongly of oranges — gave the game away even 
before | saw Hockaday's face. Before | could alert our backup 
though, Ludwig misjudged the situation. 


Interviewer: Misjudged? 


F: Ludwig knew a lot of folks at the Oslo site, maybe he was more 
shook up than he let on. We'd been on the road continuously since 
the breach — maybe sixty hours of pursuit had clouded his 
judgement. | don't know and | never got the chance to ask him. For 
whatever reason, as soon as he ID'd the thing he drew his automatic 
and started blasting.