| worry. About my humanity. About the world. About the future. 
About hope itself. But none of it means a damn thing anymore. 
Nothing does except for this moment in time. 


The coin must have landed on heads. After all, it always does. 


| press a button and an automated voice blares to almost empty 
halls. 


Non-authorized personnel, please evacuate the containment 
area. Procedure 110-Montauk will now begin. 


The coin was a momentary reprieve. A forlorn hope that | could 
become something else... or anything other than what | am. 


But | am bound to my duty, and | am bound by my purpose. 
The moment has come, and | become that which | hate. 
The storyteller. 


And the world spins on. 


Moonrakers 


"Herr Noamtosk." 
"Herr Direktor." 


Without a further word, von Erbach pushed the sheet of clippings 
across the desk. In his mind he wanted to call them newspaper, but 
most were printed on the thin sheets of recycled plastic that had 
become the de facto writing material onboard what some were 
laughably calling the United Earth Fleet. 


The Sidereal Messenger 
CID Reps Refuse Comment On 'Soylent Red' 


(CIDF People’s Will) In a press conference to 
discuss the continued rollout of the increasingly 
popular Type 3 Synthetic Ration, representatives 
from the Chinese Central Investigation 
Department's Hydro-Agricultural Division refused 
to comment on the common nickname for the 
food product, instead restating that the Synthetic 
Ration is composed entirely of proteins derived 
from rice and other hydroponically-grown crops. 


Controversy has erupted following the discovery 
of untraceable chemical additives in up to 938% 
of all... 


The Wandering Star 


"A Spectacular Failure’ 
The GOCS Yeager Tragedy 


(UNOC Central Command, Athena One) In the 


chaotic days of the early Departure the one 
constant in many people's lives was the daily 
update from the doomed Global Occult Coalition 
starship Yeager and its heroic crew who gave 
their lives to get civilian contractors to safety 
even as their experimental ship collapsed 
around them. Now, for the first time, this five-part 
series will feature... 


The Sidereal Messenger 


Insider: 'UNOC Trials Humanoid Combat 
Vehicle’ 


(UNOC Central Command, Athena One) 
Increasing sightings of humanoid vehicles being 
tested around the UNOC Lunar Defense Facility 
docking bay have lead many to speculate that 
the UN is investing in a secret program of 
advanced rearmament. 


"It looked to be about three stories tall, sort of 
hunchbacked. I've never seen a_ spacecraft 
move like that. It just sort of danced... 


The Wandering Star 


Editorial: Aliens Walk Among Us... Right? 


| think in the years since the Departure what's 
amazed me most isn't what people are willing to 
believe, but what they're willing to disbelieve. We 
still, to this day, don't know what happened to the 
Earth. And neither the UNOC nor the GRU nor even 
the Foundation are willing to spill the beans about 
what or who was involved. Why then, do some sticks 
in the mud still insist that what happened was a 
natural phenomenon? The evidence clearly... 


The Sidereal Messenger 


Genius or Monster? 
Axel von Erbach: the Man who Lifted the 
Moonbase 


(FSF L'Engle) Of all the mysterious figures in Fleet 
society, few are more controversial (and more 
written about) than Axel von Erbach. In studying the 
man behind the myth, it is nearly impossible to avoid 
the extremes; for every accusation of war crimes and 
Nazism there is a hagiographic portrayal of a selfless 
Renaissance man putting Humanity on a new path. 
Interviews are, of course, impossible, and the few 
facts we know are tenuous... 


The Wandering Star 


SICP Delays Product Release 
Questions Mounting over Viability of Lasers 


(UEFS Stride Boldly) |n an announcement that had 
investors feeling a certain haunting familiarity, 
Subach-Innes Consumer Products today announced 
that they would be delaying the general release of 
their LCOL series of combat lasers despite high 
demand for their use as asteroid defense equipment. 
In a prepared statement, SICP president... 


"These have all been printed in the past six days. Do you know what 
happened in the past six days?" 


"We got some excellent filming done, that's for certain. And you had 
a little journalistic tumor sprout up in your midst. Nothing out of the 
ordinary." 


"Are you familiar with the Serpent's Hand, Noamtosk?" 


"Ah, yes, 'magic.' | mean it's all sufficiently advanced technology 
cleverly disguised, is it not. But what does that matter? Should | be 
worried about wizards pouring out of the woodwork? A genre shift, 
perhaps? Though fantasy does get stale sometimes. But what does 


this have to do with-" 


"During the...", von Erbach hesitated. 'Purges' was the first word 
that came to mind, but he set it aside. 


"During the police actions of the first few months we made sure all 
journalistic sources were firmly under the control of reputable 
authorities, ourselves included. You've seen the Foundation Daily 
and the United Voice, of course." 


"Get to the point, von Erbach. You so seldom make for good 
soundbites." 


"Six days ago Atmospheric Control detected a minute increase in 
oxygen intake and moisture levels, consistent with at least ten more 
people entering the Athena One environment. Ten people more than 
accounted for with regular personnel movements among the Fleet. 
Six days ago someone started publishing two underground 
newspapers including material from sources who should not exist." 


"So your security isn't perfect. What's the big-" 


"Six days ago our anti-anomalous activity detection equipment 
registered signatures consistent with Serpent's Hand thaumaturgy. 
And all the Showmen machinery you provided showed nothing." 


Noamtosk went stock-still save for the constant working of its teeth. 


"But- but that's not possible. There's absolutely no reason that- 
that-" 


"You want a soundbite? Here's a soundbite for you: Your little 
experiment is compromised. Someone's found a Way on and off the 
ship. Someone's found a Way home." 


« Minerva Lifted | Straight On Till Morning Hub | The 
HAMI-BOMBARD Blues, Part 1» 


Mothers' Love 


The passions of the dead can be vast and mighty, but we are not all- 
powerful. 


There are things | can never see. There are things | can never 
touch. There are things | can never overpower. Because of that, 
there are many things | can never protect my-children-who-birthed- 
me from. Because of that, oftentimes they die in bitterness and pain. 
Because of that, their deaths can also birth Hates, large and small. 


Hates are things | can see and touch. | must see and touch them, 
because my-children-who-birthed-me cannot. | must protect my- 
children-who-birthed-me where | can, just as my strange brethren 
are driven to curse them. | do not have the power to unmake Hates. 
The best | can do is bind them to a seal made from things that my- 
children-who-birthed-me can see and touch. The truth of our nature 
is all we have and are, and denial of that truth is denial of our power, 
but, more importantly, my-children-who-birthed-me can guard 
themselves against what they can see and touch. 


The form of a ladybird beetle or butterfly is a fine seal for small 
Hates. In a seal of that size, it is easy for me to reduce the power of 
their curses to almost nothing. The larger seals needed to hold 
larger Hates are more difficult. A Hate sealed as a cat can still cause 
sickness and misfortune. 


Then there are vast Hates, birthed from wars and plagues that kill 
together many of my-children-who-birthed-me. There are few Loves 
vast enough to deny the truth of their nature, but | have tried once. It 
was a Hate birthed out of the smoldering rage in the hearts of so 
many who died knowing that their bodies would be burned together 
in a pit of pestilence and anonymity. | rarely call upon the power of 
the light that brings life to create a seal, but there was little choice 
against a Hate natured so strongly of death. 


The weakest part of any seal is always in the eyes, because they 


are the windows to the soul. My-children-who-birthed-me only 
believe in that as a concept, but concepts are far more real to my 
brethren—whether they are strange or not—and | than what my- 
children-who-birthed-me would think of as "concrete". To line up the 
windows is to make an open path between a soul and the most vile 
curse a sealed Hate can still inflict. | used every method | knew to 
reinforce the seal's eyes, but even then | could not stop it from 
setting a cause of death in anyone it met gazes with. My blessing 
could only delay the curse's full effects for a single cycle around the 
light that brings life. 


My misguided children, why did you take its eyes? 


unintelligible, and hurriedly 
paddied away. 

13 (Dr. Garcia) Agents and approach 
islet by boat from Wisconsin. On 
day 46, boat is struck by torpedo 
which fails to detonate. Torpedo 
resembles Kriegsmarine design 
but incorporates modern 
guidance and drive systems. * 

14 (Dr. Garcia) Agents and approach 
islet by boat from Wisconsin. On 
day 77, boat is attacked and 
destroyed by large aquatic 
creature of unknown origin. 

Footnotes 

1. A connection between this torpedo andSCP-1142has been 

theorized due to similar designs between the two. 


« SCP-907 | SCP-908 | SCP-909 » 


Motivation of Man 


Locke sat in the ‘waiting room’, reading through the report that had 
been filed by her. 'Anabasis' was confirmed anomalous, and was 
now SCP-1856. Something involving space-time. She couldn't 
understand it. Somehow, she doubted the people who'd written the 
report understood it as well — so many footnotes, divergent 
thoughts, and technobabble on theoretical sciences. It wasn't the 
only object they'd caught that had reality-bending effects. It was just 
the first that could actually do something on a considerable scale. 


None of that bothered Priscilla Locke. What disturbed her was 
seeing Jaime Marlowe's name plastered everywhere. Priscilla 
Locke's words, her notes, even her initial sketch, were all included in 
the report. And her name was nowhere near them. Dr. Jaime 
Marlowe's name decorated every page. 


She snorted, and dropped the report into her lap. It didn't bother her 
not getting credited so much; it was just Jaime Marlowe she hated. 


Her gaze shifted, over to the short man standing nearby, having 
emerged from Dr. Marlowe's office. He looked over at her vacantly, 
as if expecting her to tell him what to do. 


"Hey," She said. He fidgeted, and stood erect, nodding in response, 
"Sir. | mean, ma'am." 


The jumpsuit indicated him as Class-D, but that wouldn't have been 
necessary. He looked like a junkie, fresh off the streets and hosed 
down like a dog until he was presentable enough to pass as human. 
Remembering Rhiannon's argument the week before, Priss was 
uncomfortably aware of his race. Most of the Class-D were black or 
Hispanic. Some of the doctors were, too, but the percentage of non- 
white Class-D was enormous. That couldn't have been intentional... 
everyone here was a local. 


"What's your name?" She asked. 


He fidgeted again, eyeing her suspiciously before responding, "My 
designation number is D-9...99401." 


"That the name your mother gave you?" 


He shook his head, "No, ma'am. Never knew my mother. | grew up 
in a orphanage... ev'rybody called me Boo. Short fo Butane, ‘cause | 
always had me a butane lighter handy." 


She couldn't help herself, "Do you still have the lighter?" 


"No, ma'am. Took it from me before | came here. Dunno where it 
went now. Don't matter, everyone still call me Boo." 


"Are you talking to my D-Class?" A voice suddenly broke in. 


Priss looked over her shoulder. Marlowe. She looked like a porcelain 
doll, with big round blue eyes, perfect white skin, perfect little snub 
nose, supple lips. Priss hated every little thing about her face. 


"Don't talk to my D-Class," She said in her cool, husky voice. Boo 
shuffled over to her, and she patted him on the shoulder, leading 
him out of the room. Like he was an animal... Priss felt a hot rush of 
anger go through her, and she lunged from her seat, giving a firm 
middle finger at the open doorway, before Dr. Marlowe returned. 
She smiled to Priss, motioning with her own middle finger for Priss 
to follow her. Fucking fucker. Somehow she knew. She always 
somehow knew. 


Priss followed her, out into the hall and into a conference room. 
Sharpe was there, along with Agent Maximo and Dr. Horner, Dr. 
Domingo, and Dr. Valens. Priss took a seat next to Sharpe. 


"Agent Locke," Valens nodded, and turned to the rest, "Let's begin." 


From : 113110ULH@.com 

To : moc.liamtoh|rekcoL_P#moc.liamtoh|rekcoL_P 
CC : ten.dkuf|nOn1 eihr#ten.dkuf|n0n1 eihr 

Subject : None 


| don't know how best to compare it to, when Istanbul fell 
in '66 and all the dirt the Ottomans had been stashing 
since the 1870s came out. Everyone knew about the 
deaths and actual movements; some compared it to the 
Trail of Tears. We didn't know it was a systemic effort. 
The Christian Genocide, they called it, because the 
Armenians were Christian, | guess. Not like anyone here 
cared about Armenia or could even locate it on a map. 
Besides, it was 50 years in the past by that time. "A true 
testament to the power of the Sultan to keep it hidden 
that long" | just typed before realizing it wasn't hidden at 
all — nothing ever is. We just didn't care as it happened 
because of the War. 


Speaking of that, one bit of info that riled up some of the 
boys was news of Ottoman plans to invade Russia. 
Some stupid bastard named Enver Pasha was going to 
strip down the defenses in the Mid-East and Thrace in 
the middle of a British invasion to march up into the belly 
of Russia. Stacks and stacks of papers detailing these 
plans. Only one letter explaining why it was shut down. 


| know you don't care, Locke, but it warrants repeating; if 
it weren't for the Ottoman victory in the Mid-East war, 
we'd probably be in an all-out brawl with Britain, France, 
Russia, and China over the Arab world. Even then we 
knew about all the oil they had. The land was precious. 
Part of the Fourth Armistice in 1925 was a subsidizing of 
the oil by the Germans so the rest of Europe could buy at 
low prices, making the Sultan fat. 


It was a sweet deal for everyone but the Turkish people. 
Probably sweeter for them than the situation in '69. You 
know how the US is with occupations. Remind me to tell 
you about China some time. 


Those Muslims aren't dumb savages. Don't let any 
WestCiv propaganda tell you otherwise. | wasn't on the 
ground by then, but | met with plenty of Arabs during the 
time. The image of them you see of camel-riding, turban- 
wearing nomads living in tents and living off loot and 


spoils is all bullshit. Bedouin, they call those types. The 
Arabs | saw were dressed in robes and turbans for show; 
back home, they wore T-shirts, polo shirts, denim pants. 
They smoked cigarettes and cigars, drank whisky and 
beer, ate steak and watched western TV and movies. 
They even shaved sometimes, though they kept the 
mustaches. 


So why the masquerade of the dumb oriental savage? 
Pure racism, Locke. And you've only got your WestCivvie 
selves to blame. WestCiv hates seeing savages start to 
"walk upright", they'll cut off any people they think are 
becoming too "westernized" if they can't control them, 
and the Mid-East is a rabid beast at war with itself. You 
can't even begin to pretend to control them.