The Disillusionists cont'd...

"What the hell do you mean you can't find her?" Buck stood with his wife Gracie in the reception area of the station.

Sgt Leah Merriweather invited them into her office - the small station was becoming over-crowded and she didn't want anyone within earshot of each other. She took a chair from the lunchroom and placed it alongside the one already opposite her desk, "Please have a seat... Allow me to explain."

Merriweather sat behind her desk and in the gentlest of terms, unveiled some of what she already knew. She based most of this information on what Gunther and Jim Williams had told her. Buck and Gracie were only aware of the camping scenario and were not at all aware of Mike's involvement... Or anything about a film.

"We let her use the camper occasionally of course. She's been around that unit ever since she was a kid."

Merriweather filled them in on the current state of the camper and that unfortunately, another woman in their party had been killed. May's parents were mortified. What kind of situation had their daughter got herself into? Buck let his distaste for Mike be known, "That guy... I knew he was a fuckin' loser the minute I laid eyes on him."

"So you know him?"

"No! I don;t know him." Buck slid back in the chair and tried to gather his composure. "May brought him home one time for dinner or something."

"It was your birthday." This was the first thing Gracie had said since they arrived.

"Birthday, yeah." remembered Buck, "What a joy that was..."

Gracie leaned forward, "He, this Mike fellow, was argumentative and egotistical. How many people when you invite them into your home become practically combative?"

"Combative?" asked the Sergeant, "Physically?"

"No, no..." said Buck, "Verbally."

"He's an asshole," added Gracie.

Merriweather nodded. On a yellow legal pad she scribbled a few notes. "And this other fellow, Stevenson. Gunther."

"Just met him the other day. Guess he's part of this too."

"He was present, yes." Merriweather did not go into much detail and indeed kept from them Stevenson's assertion that it was all part of some bizarre conspiracy. She wanted to get their impression of him first.

"Seemed like an okay guy."

"Very nice." nodded Grace.

"Jeez. I like to think I'm a good judge of character but..." Buck lurched forward again, " What does this have to do with my daughter still being out there!"

"Sir, we have a team coming in overnight. Unfortunately it will be dark soon. An aircraft is due to make a few passes on it's way back from fisheries duty and I can tell you in all honesty, if she's alive, we will find her."

"If?" That possibility only now hit home.

"I'm sorry," continued Merriweather, "All indications are - that she escaped. In all likelihood she feared for her safety and left the main road. It's been at least eighteen hours since we were alerted and assuming she hasn't found another way out, she's probably within a four or five square mile range. Unfortunately we cannot do anything until morning and when more people become available. Does she have much experience in the woods?"

"Just camping... I don't know."

"Hopefully she knows to stay put. You can cover a lot of ground out there without even realizing it." Merriweather gazed out the window for a brief moment. She stood up. "Let me sort out a place for you to stay. We've got a good B&B in town I can arrange at nominal cost... Have you had something to eat?"

"No. Not really."

"I'm not hungry." said Buck, crossing his arms.

Merriweather regarded them for a moment, "I'll be right back. I'll let them know you're coming."

"Thank you." said Gracie as she reached over to pry one of Buck's hands free.

'GANS AT SEA

by Lucille D'ecoupage

The wind makes the most peculiar sound as it turns your toes black and freezes the snot an inch inside of your nose. "Woooooooowooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhsssshhoooooooooshtooooooo", but I feel I can't do it justice.

Pleasant.

Soothing really.

Warm, dare I say?

At any rate, afraid not much more for it really. Nothing much else to say. Did I mention it was cold? Yes. Bloody cold. Dickinson's gone all solid on me, silly tit. No more witty observances from the old fellow... Ah well, all for the best I suppose. Seeing as I can't move my body, I can't really complain now can I?

But if I could, I can assure you this - the complaints would be long and thorough.

Yet... even this takes all my energy ~

The Disillusionists cont'd...

May filled her cupped hands at the edge of a stream. She held the water up to the light and looked at the brownish, organism-rich soup. She sniffed it's earthy bouquet and took a sip. Not bad. Cold. Kind of tangy. It probably wasn't a good idea to drink the stuff. She had heard somewhere, sometime, that cedar trees pass toxins into runoff. The stream was so low it looked almost still. She slurped up a dozen more handfuls and then leaned back on her heels.

Her lips were chapped and blistered. Her shoes were ruined, caked in dried mud, torn, one sole beginning to seperate. She sat back and grimaced through the throbbing in her head as she reached to untie them. She took off her sweaty socks and lay them in a sunny spot to dry and then immersed her feet in the stream. They soon felt like blocks of ice. Strangely, it was good to be there and she felt like she could stay like that all day. The breeze above her did funny things to the trees and sounds like the ones in the city drifted through her ears.

"Roots and berries." She had eaten nothing but roots and berries and her guts were tied up in knots.

May pulled her feet out of the water and tried to wiggle her toes. They were stiff but it felt too good for words. Her entire body was cool and she could feel the tingle of blood returning to her feet. The socks were crisp and dry. She took another guzzle from the stream and then sat back down, wondering if Salal was edible. Every year there was a story about some kid suffering complete renal failure because of trying the wrong mushroom. She spat the bitter mash out and wiped her mouth. Salal probably needed to be boiled first.

She slipped her crinkled socks back on and then her shoes, turned and climbed up the short embankment to survey the vast plateau of bleached stumps, Fireweed and Alder saplings. Had she really come all the way across that? May climbed a teetering log for a better look. The road was no longer visible. She should have stayed on it... She turned back towards the stream, trying to get her bearings. (Which way was the sun going?) The road must be in that direction because there, in the distance, was a road cut on a hill. She felt a wave of nausea as the knowledge that she was well and truly lost came over her.

'GANS ON ICE

by Lucille D'ecoupage

Farthing and Dickinson were, in a strangely comparative way, almost comfortable.

They had stripped the other two bare and made use of their clothes. They had dragged the remains some hundred yards and buried them under rocks on the shore of an island lest they attract some scavenging beast. They took more stones and piled them around the outside of the overturned launch, having not the strength to drag the boat to the shore. They would winter here, await the spring thaw. Five, six months... under a dinghy in sub-zero temperatures with no light and nothing to eat.

Well, almost nothing.

__________________

RAINFOREST SPA

__________________

Hey kids - Be the first to visit the Lougan Watch channel on You Tube.

View exciting lougan videos like "RAINFOREST SPA" and "STEAMING HOT GOTCHIES"

___________________________

Do it today!

(site under construction - results may vary)

The Disillusionists cont'd...

There was snow now in the mountains - on the highway to the coast. Buck followed the tracks left in the slick surface by the car ahead of him. It helped him to concentrate. But his mind drifted off again and again, imagining what their daughter must be going through. The fact that they didn't know where she was... Was it snowing on the coast? Couldn't be. It was still summer! Raining. How long could she have? Buck wanted to step on the gas, blow by everyone and get there as fast as possible. Gracie looked over and put a hand on his knee - telling him to slow down. Nevertheless, he applied a little more pressure on the pedal and watched the accelerator slowly climb.

According to the police there had been an accident involving their camper. There had been injuries and one fatality, not May, who was missing. Missing. How could she be missing? How many people were in the camper? They wouldn't say. Could she be hurt? They didn't know. Well he wasn't about to sit around at the kitchen table and wait for answers. Gracie squeezed his knee gently. Buck was startled, he looked down at the speedometer and took his foot off the gas a little. She tried to smile a reassuring smile but he could see that she was as scared as he was. Better to go slow in these conditions. Better just to get there.

They stopped for gas and directions once they had come down out of the pass. It was raining and they could smell the ocean. Buck's back was killing him from having sat behind the wheel for so long. They hadn't been out this way for years and hardly recognized the place. There were two (!) stoplights now. Development seemed to have been given free reign. There wasn't a main street left, so to speak, only a series of dis-associated minimalls, gas stations and fast food outlets. All within a three block strip.

* * *

Sgt Leah Merriweather swung around the doorframe of the interview room before Williams had a chance to shut the door. "Hope you don't mind but I did a few things without you..."

Drop the god-damn innuendo Leah, he thought before looking up with one eybrow raised, "Really? And what was that Sergeant?"

"I ran the information on the sedan, turns out it was rented to your man Gunther Stevenson four days ago. Pre-authorised on his Visa... Got a pretty good price too." Leah liked to rest her hands on her belt, even when she was sitting down. Williams thought it made her look like she was perpetually ready to take off her pants. She was also a fourteen-year member of the R.C.M.P. and liked to think she had seen it all, but she just couldn't get her jug-shaped noggin around this one. She handed over a series of photos which Williams leafed through quickly. These weren't kids and they weren't just out for a joyride.

The Sergeant continued in an authoritative manner, "This guy Stevenson claims he doesn't know what's going on. He's willing to make a statement. Says he wants to go home... Meanwhile buddy over in room two isn't saying shit. Says he'll sue if we don't let him go."

Jim had been at his son's softball game and had to stay until the end because he couldn't get in touch with his ex (because she wouldn't answer her god-damn phone) to come and pick the kid up. Then he had to drive two and a half hours out to this one pump town. He knew Merriweather would have done all the detective work by now and it really only made his job harder. "You haven't taken any statements yet have you?"

The Sergeant handed him a few sheets of printed material, hot off the press. She smiled at Jim in that 'hard to say' way that she had. Williams groaned, even a student would be able to get it thrown out...

'GANS ON ICE

by Lucy Twoscoopsie

"Vat? You vant some?"

The Whaler held out the sordid piece of flesh in a momentarily benign gesture. As soon as he did so, he realized his mistake.

"MY GOD!"

Farthing was beside himself. Why had this grusomeness been visited upon him? How could so noble an excursion come so writhe with pain? He longed to be back home... somewhere safe. Somewhere nothing could ever hurt him again.

"Haf some! It's really rather good!"

Larsfeldt was clutching at straws. It was obvious he had been caught. At that same moment Caudal extracted a breech-loaded pistol from inside his tunic. Without hesitation he shot the crazed fisherman, Gunther Larsfeldt by name, square between the eyes. They registered surprise, to say the least.

Caudal re-loaded the pistol so clumsily it seemed he might never finish the task. Once he had, however, he raised the gun to his own head, stammered something unintelligible and fired off another round. Into his own ear.

Farthing and Dickinson barely had time to realize, that what they had just seen, was indeed... real.

The Disillusionists cont'd. . .

Jim Williams, Regional Crown Counsel, opened a file entitled Jeanette Alexis Donaldson. Inside was a three sheet fax.

Her education was unremarkable, streamed into general level etc., special merits - music. Medical showed nothing out of the ordinary... fractured tibia at age twelve. Dental - braces fillings, that kind of thing. No criminal record beyond theft under, public drunk and punching a cop (!?) Employment nominal. Retail stuff, groceries, clothing, record stores... Interestingly, taxation records came to a stop around the age of twenty-five.

The outpost station wherever he was hadn't warranted a budget for computers lately. Jim had to rely on the fax.

It's dull witted paper had no heft to it - no way to express the gravity of what wasn't written. The first day of her last year at high school, for example. Her cat had been missing for a week and as she got ready she looked out her bedroom window and saw Loco, lying on his side in the backyard. In the grass. Pointed home.

Jeanette went outside. He was still warm. His tongue hung out and his ears were folded back. She stroked him over once and then scratched under his chin because he loved that so much... She lay down on the lawn beside him and tried not to cry. It was the beginning to a long year of incredible changes which eventually led, you could say, to this place.

Williams shut the file on Jeanette and lay the folder down. He looked in the rear-view mirror of his car and brushed back what was left of his hair. He got out and went around to the trunk to get his laptop and a bunch of pending files. Might as well knock off some paperwork while he was stuck in this shithole little town.

He trundled up to the door. He was a big man, light on his feet and he bounced heavily against the locked door of the station. He looked around for a buzzer as he pounded the door with his fist. A young constable appeared, his sleeves rolled up, as though he'd been doing dishes.

"Jim. Long time no see."

"Yeah, whatever..." said Williams as he squeezed in the door. "Doing some cleaning?"

"Got some company tonight. Hadda clear out the other cell. We been using it to store shit."

The constable locked the front door again.

"Have you filed any charges?" asked Williams.

"Not as yet. We've got more information for you..."

Jim Willaims threw his coat over a chair in the interview room and then sighed as he leaned over to find an outlet for his laptop because he was pretty certain the battery was runnin' low.

'GANS ON ICE

by Lucille D'ecoupage

The is no horizon, no delineation. Only bleak, endless grey. No sky, no shore. Only wind. Cold. The squawk of boot leather on ice, tensile, threatening. Comfort is a thing of the past. Warmth only a distant memory. To uncover the face long enough to watch as the ship is crushed under the unfathomable weight of the ice is to have your soul wrenched from you and all hope vanquished. Life is now measured in seconds, each bringing to light the miracle of breath. Exhalation frozen into crystal before one's very eyes... And finally, practically underfoot, the upturned hull of the launch. Abandoned once again by the mutinous crew.

They scurry underneath, out of the wind's heinious grip and huddle together for what little warmth they can generate. They are lost. The small boat seemingly placed before them by some mischievous God, unsatisfied with his work, wanting to prolong their suffering.

Larsfeldt reached into his cloak and extracted a small piece of purplish meat. He knawed on it secretively until, aghast, the Doctor recognised it as part of a human thigh.

The Lougan Condition :

Neanderthals.

Science has shown they were 99.99 thousand percent Just Like Us.
Hell, I got a cousin who's 99.9 percent Sasquatch!

History has demonstrated that the GOOD people became cooks.
(That way they could stay warm by the fire.)

Technology has shown they were proficient in the use of simple tools.
ART has shown they fashioned jewellery from the bones of their ancestors...

Yep.
They're Just Like Us.

the Plant Whisperer

The Disillusionists cont'd...

And now they drove. Mike behind the wheel, Alexis in the passenger seat and Jay unsteadily pouring Scotch into plastic tumblers in the kitchen. He passed the drinks forward as the mighty coach struggled to maintain it's grip on the road.

"Another!" Mike held out his glass to be refilled. Jay poured the amber elixer into the tartan-print cup and then filled Alexis' as well. Overcome with excitement, Jay leaned forward to her feral lips and kissed them heavily, tasting the fruity biliousness of her throat.

"Enough!" commanded Mike and he clanged the cup off the back of Jay's head.

"Stop doing that..." Jay cried, rubbing the sore spot.

Mike squinted into the early morning sun. "Time to initiate plan B." Fresh dust hung in the air. There must be a vehicle up ahead.

* * *

A wee hare sat chewing a tender shoot at the side of the road. In the distance, a grey cloud formed low. A car approached. The rabbit stopped chewing as a primeaval culling instinct twitched through it's nose. As the vehicle approached, the little vermin's legs dug in the loose gravel... testing the grip... laying out the tragectory... waiting... waiting... NOW!

Gunth stamped on the brakes as a rabbit came out of fuckin' nowhere and tried to kill itself.

He couldn't see, caught in a cloud of floating road until he glimpsed the white-as-snow ass end of the thing bounding into the bush. Suddenly, the camper was there. It took up the entire rear-view mirror.

"Shit!"

Mike braced himself against the steering wheel and planted both feet on the brake pedal. Gunther hit the gas. The camper slammed into the back of the car and Jay and Alexis did a kind of slow motion float through the windsheild...

THE LOUGAN HALL OF FAME

ZANTA, THE 'LIVING LECEND', BANNED FROM TTC FOR 2 YEARS

WON'T PUT UP WITH PUSH-UPS

BY SAMANTHA ISREAL

Zanta, notorious for doing push-ups in nothing but a Santa hat and shorts, has been banned from Toronto's transit system.

The oddball busker, a.k.a.David Zancai, received a probation order stating he is "not permitted on any TTC property or vehicle other than surface routes" for a two-year period. Moreover, bus drivers across the city have refused him access as well.

"I've lost my freedoms. I can't move. I can't fo nowhere." Mr Zancai says. "They don't like it when I do push-ups or say 'Yes,Yes, Yes' and 'Merry Christmas'. But I refuse to take my hat off."

TTC media relations officer Marilyn Bolton would not say much about the situation. "This gentleman has a number of Bylaw No. 1 infractions," she said, "He was in violation of the 'No person shall loiter' bylaw."

This isn't the first time Mr. Zancai, 38, has had trouble with the TTC. After being convicted of committing a nuisance on TTC premises in April 2003, April 2005, and March 2006, he received a six-month probabtion. He was convicted of projecting his body beyond the edge of the platform in March 2006, and of entering a TTC vehicle other than from the designated entrance in April 2006.

His unpaid tickets relating to the TTC add up to almost $1,000.

In May 2006, he says, a TTC constable told him to leave the Keele subway station. An hour later, as he was walking across the street at Bloor and Dundas, a marked TTC enforcement vehicle stopped in the middle of the intersection. According to Mr. Zancai, two TTC constables jumped out of the car and roughly arrested him.

In September, Mr Zancai attempted to board a bus after appearing at the Ontario Court of Justice on Finch Avenue West. A police officer from 31 division served notice to Mr. Zancai, in writing, that the TTC ban applies to surface routes as well as subways.

"I'm a living legend at the TTC. Everyone loves me down there - the drivers, the guys that blow the whistles, everybody. I can't beleive they'd want me banned," he said.

But Mr. Zancai has been banned from city parts before. In 2005, he was banned from the downtown core after escalating complaints from Citytv news crews. He is no longer allowed at the Toronto Street Festival, the Taste of the Danforth, the St Patrick's Parade or (ironically) the Santo Claus Parade. Most recently, he's been banned from Old York Lane between Cumberland and Yorkville, College Park and Yonge-Dundas Square.

But fans defend him. Supporters join his "Zanta March" at Queen's Park every Sunday and his Web site, www.toronto-zanta.ca has received more than 85,000 hits since it was launched in July.

~ from The National Post - Nov 17 '06

The Disillusionists cont'd...

Jay stood in the road in front of the crumpled Winnebago. He tried to catch his breath - he had been jogging for longer than he had since high school. Once the burning in his lungs had subsided and the mucus cleared from his throat, Jay approached the vehicle cautiously. He burst inside and found that May had abandoned it. Climbing into the driver's seat, he tried the key. It ground into life and Jay ground it into gear. The old camper scraped away from the rock, executed a perfect twenty-six point turn and headed back for the campsite.

Gunther dove into the ditch as the headlights flared back and forth on the road ahead. He looked up long enough to see Jay cranking the steering wheel as he coaxed the beast around. The driver's side fender was caved in, the bumper dragged and one wheel splayed out like a cow with a cracked pelvis.

* * *

May climbed up on the tracks and pulled at the cab handle. It was locked and the glass was caged in steel. There must be a radio... She had to find a way to get in. At the very least she could barricade herself inside.

* * *

Mike stood and sniffed the air to the east. He then heard that a vehicle was approaching. Jay returned like a lost war hero. The camper ground to a halt and he stood triumphantly in the door.

"Where did you find this thing?" asked Mike, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"It was in the ditch a couple of miles up the road."

"She didn't get far..."

They howled like wolves on the hunt and then packed up everything they could find and threw it into the camper.

* * *

Gunther found the car within the distance of a city block. In doing so, he had passed the spot close to the road where May hid in the bulldozer. G bounced a rock against the passenger window. He tried again and then opened the door, sweeping the kernels of glass away from the seat and leaning in to pop the hood. Inside the engine compartment he pulled a couple of feet of wire away from what looked like the block heater and then stripped the ends of it with his teeth.

He wedged one end under the hot battery terminal and sparked the other against the starter. Nothing. He stripped more wire away and patched a bypass around the onboard computer and tried the alternator and then the starter motor again. Amazingly, the car wheezed to life. He pocketed the wire and slammed the hood. Once in the driver's seat he forced it in gear and then realized the steering lock was still engaged. He grabbed the rock off the floorboards and started smashing the steering column to breeak the plastic shroud and lock pin. The car stalled and he had to get out and do it all over again.

* * *

May would only wake when the sun broke through the precise line of firs at the far edge of the clear cut and shone on her face in the parched cab.

* * *

Gunther slowed the car - peering ahead - looking for May. She couldn't have got that far ahead. She was of course, falling further behind.

'GANS ON ICE

by Lucille D'ecoupage

The lights rise to find Doctor Dickinson asleep - huddled at the table. The forms of Lt Caudal and the Whaler are wrapped in hides on the floor by his feet. A low rumbling builds as the light continues to grow. It continues until it is a screeching wail - and then subsides. The figures on the stage begin to rustle. It is not the light but the sound we hear. A LOUD CRACK! The ship's timbers are shattered by ice. ..

Doctor Dickinson is thrown from the table by the force of the explosion. Farthing stumbles from his quarters to the centre of the room. An explosion of snow and ice shatters the windows of the stern. Blasting against him, arms spread out - Christ-like. There is much shouting.

"Leave it! Leave it! Everyone off of the ship!"

"Get the samples! My specimens!"

"Bring somezing ve can barter!"

"We're all going to fucke-ing die!"

"Abandon ship!"

* * *

My Dearest Richard ~
This letter is being sent to you via the trade vessel Enid, to the Bay Company post at Fort Macpherson where hopefully it will make it's way to you. I have received your note via the Sceptre and keep it with me at all times. It worries me so that your mission should suffer this set-back and we do not have any more news since from the colonies, but everyone seems quite certain of your safe arrival this spring.
I have had a difficult time with the Northern Commission, who do not seem to want to hear from me at all unless it is of course the role of distraught wife which you know I have difficulty portraying. The only interest now being displayed seems to be trade and I feel powerless in dealing with them...
I have dispatched this letter with a Mister Robertson, who has been exemplary in his concern for both you and myself. All is well at home. There is a squirrel of sorts in the attic of the south wing I shall have to have attention paid to. But surely these domestic issue are of no interest to you where you are now. Your son can now send his love... at least by his own voice ~ he is growing up so fast it is hard for me to keep up with him.

Love Claire forever

Hampshire, England

November 16, 1836

The Disillusionists cont'd...

"Wha'd'ya say we stay here?" said Jay, "She'll go to the cops and we just claim she freaked out and took off when her loser boyfriend got out of hand."

"Get the car." Mike repeated.

"I uh, don't know where it is."

"You parked it!" claimed Alexis.

"Yeah..."

"Did you leave it where we said?" added Mike.

"Yeah..."

"Then it should be a mile that way." Mike pointed towards the east.

"But we passed it way before that."

"And we drove back this way..."

"Oh." Jay stood still. "But it's dark out there."

He barely had time to duck out of the way of the bottle. MIke swung it into the bushes and then pulled the keys out of his pocket. He held them out for Jay, "Take these and go get the fucking car. Then come back and pick us up. We will clean this shit up while you do that. Okay?"

Jay decided that the best thing to do was just to get the hell out of there. He reached for the keys which Mike pulled back at the last second.

"Don't forget to come back and pick us up."

It was as though he had read Jay's mind. Jay knew he had to. Mike would make him pay for it if he didn't. Guaranteed. He took the keys this time and turned and ran towards the road. Gunther had to stop himself from tackling him - better to take him on his own. He stayed low, letting Jay get a little ahead of him and lead him to the car.

Alexis started to gather up whatever she could find in the dark. The moon had gone behind a cloud and it must have been close to dawn because it seemed darker now than it had ever been. Mike made his way over to her and she stopped him dead in his tracks, "Just... Don't."

* * *

May walked along the same road several miles ahead. Exhausted and wanting only to lie down, she was afraid if she did she would never get up again. She made a lot of promises to herself that night. If she ever got out of there she would finish her degree. Get a real job. Spend more time with her family. Donate. Eat properly. Quit drinking. Go to the opera. Learn to drive a bulldozer... A bulldozer! She stood in front of a large Caterpiller. It's smooth yellow paint seemed to pulsate in the dark. It was so new! Like a giant toy. She wanted to hug it and breath in it's diesel and gear-oil perfume.

'GANS ON ICE

by Lucille D'ecoupage

~ We now number four ~ Sir Richard, Lt Caudal, the Whaler and myselfe. The others have bound Lt Tarbin's body for stowage in the lazaret so that he may be interred on dry land.
I find it hard to put into worde the act of neccesity of having to perfrom an autopsy upon a man whom so recently was one's shipmate and a talented and capable Officer... Apart from showing the usual signs of scurvye, his organs demonstrated uncharacteristic swelling and in the case of the spleen, atrophy. The remaining crew initially were afeared of Cholera, but there was none of the explosive discharge and dehydration associated with it. Full details are to be found in my Surgeon's record.
What is most striking to me, despite all other events, was his sudden yet brief lapse into dementia where he seemed to re-live an event from his youth ~ we suppose that he was once knocked unconscious while learning to ride a horse. In many documented instances, memory loss of the immediate action prior to concussion are commonplace. It was startling for us to observe him, in this state, re-living this particular instance... The anger he displayed and in particular his voice, which was unflattering to say the least, has disturbed me beyond all else on this voyage. That the mind might carry this information throughout our lives and call upon it whether conscious or not has awoken in me an unease I surely have not felt since my introduction to this world.

~ November 15, 1836

The Disillusionists cont'd...

May drove like a madwoman in a grocery store. Breakfast cereals, soy milk products and vegetables spilled from the shelves and rolled around the coach. "My parents are going to kill me," she said to herself as she turned the vehicle around at an intersection. Suddenly, however, she was confused as to which direction she should go. In her panic she couldn't remember which way she had come out of the campsite and had the sickening feeling that she should have gone the other way. She wasn't about to risk going back though, and decided to continue on in the same direction, with the bus pointed the right way of course.

She gunned it. After about a hundred yards the road took a sweeping left hander which tightened sharply. She continued to giv'er but the motorhome bit into the soft sholder and wedged against a low cliff edge. It came to a shuddering and teeth grinding, tinny halt. May was pressed up against the steering wheel and pelted with ancient packs of Jello. The engine had stalled. The lights began to dim with her repeated cranking. Finally it became obvious she would have to abandon the old dear.

* * *

At the remains of the campsite, Alexis and Jay recovered two lawn chairs and stoked the fire. Mike was hurling epithets and whatever else he could get his hands on. The other two passed a gritty bottle of wine back and forth and waited for him to calm down. Alexis had seen this many times and knew it was not wise to intervene. Finally Mike exhausted himself and, propped against a small tree, began banging his head against it.

"So what now chief?" asked Alexis, familiar with the next stage.

Mike started to laugh. He stopped banging his head and glared at the ground. Yes, that was exactly the kind of thing she would say when they were working. He released his stranglehold on the sapling, came over and sat on a log by the fire. He motioned to Jay for the bottle and drank the rest down. Wiping his mouth, he looked back and said, "Go get the car."

"What. Me?" Jay was gob-smacked.

"Yes." sighed Mike, "You."

"Fuck that. I'm not going out there!"

Alexis laughed. Mike turned his attention to her. "What is so funny?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Mike stood up and held up his palm to Jay before he could speak, "Shut. Up."

* * *

Meanwhile, as Gunther crept closer to the edgo of the campsite he could just about make out what they were saying. He watched as their silhouettes played out a strange pantomime until finally he heard Mike say, "Get the fucking car and we'll pack up the gear like nothing happened..."

"Car?" His eyebrows raised, "What car?"

'GANS ON ICE

by Lucille D'ecoupage

It is dark now. The days pass with brief dullness as the sun's rays reflect off the constant cloud cover. Temperatures plummit, exposed skin freezes at the mere suggestion of exposure. Piles of discarded tins litter the floor of the cabin. Non-essential items such as stools and wooden fixtures are now being used as fuel, as the ship's supply of coal has been sullied by damp, frozen into solid non-cumbustability. Terrifying sounds come out of the ice as it strains against itself and threatens to crush the ship.

The remaining crew are huddled together, reeking of dispair.

"Sweet Jesus! Mother of God!" screams Tarbin, writhed in pain. The others hobble to his side as he lays, convulsed in a bunk.

"He's delirious... Enoch, get my bag!" said the Doctor, struggling to get the patient prostrate.

"Where is it?"

"Under my desk!"

"Forgive me!" cried Tarbin, his eyes grey as the sky outside. He shuddered uncontrolably, "What dear heaven have I entered?" Conversely, his speech was clear - free of the impediment which followed his entire life. There was little the Doctor or anyone else could do.

"Easy lad..." said Farthing, holding onto his legs.

"Let me go! You've seen what will happen if you don't hold the reigns like this, hold them like this!"

"Vat is he saying?" asked the Whaler, who tried to wrap another blanket around him.

"Pull with your left! Lead him through the gate! Pull with your left!"

"Hurry!" cried Dickinson over his shoulder to Caudal, who was struggling to locate the Doctor's satchel in the dark. Finally he discovered it, tossed in a corner among the debris and stumbled back to the others.

Dickinson rummaged around 'til he found with his fingers a small vial of gelatinous clear liquid. He tried desperately to warm it with his breath while he prepared an enormous brass-plated hypodermic. Before he could go any further, Tarbin snapped his head back and gasped. He remained rigid for a few seconds and then collapsed heavily.

Silence.

They relaxed their grip and sat by the bunk, stunned by his sudden and violent passing.

The Disillusionists cont'd...

He forded a small stream and lay panting on the other side - trying to comprehend what had just happened. His clothes were soaked in sweat and stuck to his skin like wallpaper. He could hear nothing but the pulse pounding in his head and could not make out if they were chasing him. It was pitch black and he ached all over.

Gunther clung to the bank of the stream. He moved several yards along but decided he was making too much noise. The previous few days spooled through his mind - they had planned it all along... An owl called. He was to take the blame, there was no way May could've known; they were willing to kill her. Willing to kill him! They weren't artists. They were animals. He had to do something. Her parents, how would they listen to his news, "I'm sorry, I left your daughter in a heap on the floor." He didn't have a choice, anger swelled up into his brain. He got up and turned back, looking for a tree branch, a club or a rock. His life would never be the same.

* * *

May woke up in a small puddle of blood on the kitchenette floor. She was unsure as to how she got there. There was a large gap in her short-term memory. Something about doing the dishes. The place was a mess. No one else around. She felt sick and dizzy and needed some air.

Outside, the generator still putted away. A floodlight swarmed with bug and she though she heard music. The fire crackled. Then she saw the smashed television and it all came back to her. She now felt the sticky wet blood in her hair. She tripped up the stairs of the camper and rifled through the cupboards until she found a first aid kit. Pouring disinfectant directly on her wound, she wobbled in pain and wrapped head head tightly with gauze. Trying not to vomit, she went through the cupboards again until sje found an expired can of bear spray and tossed it on the passenger seat. She climbed into the driver's side. There were no keys in the ignition.

"Shit!" She pounded on the steering whell, stood up and hit her head on the bunk above. It felt almost good, numb but tight - like an over inflated balloon. She went outside once more to the rear bumper and groped through the road muck and oily grime behind it until she found the magnetic key box that had been there since she was a teenager.

She just wanted to lie down...

* * *

Gunther stopped suddenly at the sound of a twig snapping and hunched down low in the bush.

Another one.

He peered into the darkness and saw three shadowy figures spread out in the trees. A dim flashlight panned in front...

* * *

May looked over on the ground where she sat and saw a bottle of wine. She reached over and took a swig. Thus fortified, she got back up, steadied herself and made her way back inside the camper. With the spare key, she turned the key and waited for the glow plugs to warm up. The buzzer beneath the dash sounded like a ship's horn to her and she cranked the engine a little early. It hesitated and then mercifully coughed to life.

* * *

The three assailants stopped and turned at the sound of the camper starting. They hacked there way back to the road, Gunther following as closely as he could. The headlights receeded into the dark - she was backing up along the road. The generator and lawn chairs had been dragged several yards as well. Mike, Jay and Alexis stood in the empty campsite with their arms at their sides. Mike's cry echoed through the valley.

"FUCK!"

The Lougan Condition
Municipal Elections
with G. Stevenson

There's an election?

'GANS ON ICE

by Lucille D'ecoupage

It was an unusually warm day in the gardens of Farthing Hall. Lady Claire and the Vice Admiral strolled through the grounds, trying to admire the late fall colours.

"Thank you for coming Admiral. I am sorry to have drawn you to the country." She paused. "I trust your journey was a safe one?"

"Yes m'Lady. It was particularly uneventful."

"Splendid. Do sit down." They sat at a small bench, overlooking an herbacious border, low hedgerow and further still, a golden valley rolling gently in the breeze. "Shall I send for a cup of tea?"

"No thank you please."

That sat that way for a while. Claire spotted a troublsome Hare that poked his ears up and stayed stock still on the lawn. He had been raiding the vegetables of late and the staff had made him quite wary.

"Rather a fine day isn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it is." The Admiral grasped one of her hands. "I suspect you are anxious to know why I have called."

"A communication I hope."

"Yes madam." The Vice Admiral withdrew from his coat a tattered envelope and handed it to her carefully. "Not from your husband's ship I'm afraid, but it's sister. The Sceptre."

Lady Farthing took the letter from him. There was a single page inside. She could smell the oakum and sea in it's folds - immediately recognizing the handwriting as her husband's... She held it as though it were a sacred text.

The Vice Admiral continued, "It seems as though their rendezvous with supplies did not proceed as planned. The Sceptre has wintered in Pace Bay... Ready to set out once the ice breaks."

"When did this arrive?"

"I received it only yesterday. It was given to me by the skipper of a trading vessel who had been entrusted with it. He insisted that it be hand delivered, as was your husband's wish..."

She looked deep into the Admiral's eyes. He nodded for her to read. With trembling hands, she began ~

My Dearest Claire,
I must send this with haste as our mission has taken a change for the worse. I beg not to worry ~ all is well. We are to spende the winter as far North as we can make. The Sceptre will return in the spring... We have only to wait out the cold. I have entrusted this note with the Captain and upon his word says he shall not fail. I can only pray that at some time you have the opportunity to read these humble words and to know that I love you.
You are in my thoughts always.

Love Richard.

The Disillusionists cont'd...

The third night was always a test. Patience tried. True colours flown. Laziness called to account and odd smells investigated. They were all crammed into the motorhome doing last night's dishes. Mike had recovered from his half-hour tirade about fuel consumption and how long it had taken them to return from the lake. Jay claimed to have won the swim challenge on a technicality and felt he should not have to take part in any meal preparation. He lay on the couch, fiddling with a tiny portable television. If he had to dry some plates he was at least going to do it lying down. Mike and Alexis went outside to try and get the fire going. May said to G quietly, "Sometimes it's just easier to agree with Mike no matter what..."

Jay seemed to take offence. He blurted, "I don't know if you realize that we are on a payroll. I happen to work for him okay? So don't expect me to answer a lot of questions, no wait a minute..." May was trying to interupt. She had no idea what sparked this outburst. Jay continued, "The thing is, this isn't some kind of nine to five existence. This is what we do."

"At least you said we."

For once there was no response. Jay lapsed into a habit born in high school. He composed songs inside his head, a soundtrack to block out whatever was bothering him at the time.

May was running out of places to stack clean dishes. Any attempt by her to convince Jay to forget about the television fell on deaf ears. Soon no-one was talking. The only sound was the static from the t.v. as Jay tried to tune something in. Cutlery clinked in the dish rack. An atonal drone... It was unbearable.

Gunther was the first to break, "Look, I'm sorry if we offended you somehow."

Jay did not respond.

May leaned on the counter, "Gunth, look... I am not on the payroll. I'm doing this because I like what Mike is trying to say... If he's a little difficult to get along with, then fine."

"I certainly don't deserve to be treated this way." muttered Jay.

May propped herself further on the counter. The will to live slowly drained from her body. Alexis came on board to see what was keeping everybody. She stopped in the doorway like she had interupted a mugging. Jay started bashing the top of the television with his fist. May finallt snapped.

"HEY! That is not your television!"

"Fuck off you fucking dishrag!" Jay stopped bashing the television long enough to give her the finger.

May lunged at him, trying to grab the t.v. Gunther held her back.

"Give it a rest Jay." said Alexis from the relative safety of the doorway.

"Well how much longer do we have to put up with this slut?"

The camper creaked with tension. Everyone looked at May. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing May." Alexis tried to pave over the situation.

"Put up with me?" May wasn't about to let it go that easily. "Fuck you buddy... This is my camper and I want you to get the fuck out of it now!"

"Fuck you."

May threw a plastic coffee mug at Jay's head with her left hand. It bounced off the wall above him. Jay took a swing at her while still prostrate.

"Fucking bitch!"

"Fucking fuck off..."

May pulled Jay off the couch. Gunther tried to get between them but Alexis got in the way.

"Don't touch me!" Something in Jay's voice said molestation.

Mike burst in. A soon as he did Jay stood up fast and threw the television at May's head. She stood for a moment, said "Shit." and fell down. A trickle of blood rolled over her forehead and into her eye.

Mike turned on Jay, "You fucking dickhead!"

"Fuck her. She was going to get it anyway..."

Gunther looked up from May's side where he was trying to stem the flow of blood. What the hell did that mean? The other three looked at him oddly. A sudden, primeaval reaction compelled him to spring up and dive toward the door. They almost caught him as he pushed through and fell out onto the ground. He kicked wildly at anything that moved and struggled to his feet. Alexis jumped on his back and sank her teeth into his neck. Mike tackled both of them. A twig ground into the bruise on Gunther's back and sent a twinge of electric agony down his leg. He punched Mike twice in the face. Jay came at him, swinging the television by it's power cord, screaming - "Aaaieeeiieee..." Gunther planted a foot in his crotch. Jay fell openmouthed, with a thud.

Gunther ran, sputtering, adrenaline pumping, branches tearing, into the woods.

'GANS ON ICE

by Lucille D'ecoupage

"God Damn it to Hell how can this be!?"

They now stood in the quarterdeck of the ship, still dressed in their snow covered garb. Farthing ranted like a madman, "How in the name of Christ Almighty does he manage to take my crew without my even knowing!"

"He, Sir?" said Caudal as he struggled with a flint in order to re-light the fire.

"That bloody whaler, that's who!"

"But he is still with us..."

"What?" Farthing was incredulous. He searched the room with his eyes even though Larsfeldt stood before him, although behind the Doctor. "God deliver us, where is he..."

"I am right here Captain."

The Whaler stepped out from behind Dickinson. It seemed as though he and the Captain had been re-united after a long absence. Farthing grasped him by the shoulders, "But, I did not see you earlier..."

"I vas reliefing meinself Sir."

"Well thank God for that!" Farthing shook him, "Thank God for that..."

The men gathered around the chart table, still wearing their heavy gear while the small fireplace sputtered to life. A pot of snow had been placed on top, ready to be melted. There were many questions to be answered. The Whaler seemed particularly dejected. "Ze men I had taken wif me are behind ze desertion... They became convinced on our journey zey could make it south to James Bay. Zey acted quite quickly. Ve had been back only one evening."

"And the hunters?"

"Zey are quite innocent Sir. I had convinced zem a great ship had come from ze sky over the range to ze east. Zey had come three days out of their migration. Zey had no choice but to return to ze hunt."

Farthing sat with his head in his hands. He was weak with hunger, his eysight failing - he could not focus on the chart before him. He could not reason why...

"And no one thought to wake me."

"You were among the thpirit-th, Thir." sputtered Tarbin.

Farthing raised his head, "Drugged?"

"I think not." Doctor Dickinson advanced. He gave Farthing a short Phrenocological exam and found no evidence of toxins in his cranium.

"And what of the launch?"

Caudal spoke next. He had made a quick inventory of the ship. "They have taken anything and everything of value. Particularly food. They've left us only canned meats, which taste of tin. The silverware is gone. Trade goods... china, crystal. They've also taken the ship's piano Sir."

"My God." groaned Farthing once again. "What's to become of us."

The Disillusionists cont'd...

WHAT BECOMES AN ELEPHANT

EXT. EARLY MORNING - LOGGING ROAD

We look up along the length of a deserted logging road. We HEAR frogs croaking, crickets, perhaps a Raven's call, Eventually we see and then HEAR a logging truck approach.

EXT. MORNING - LOGGING ROAD - PANNING

Looking across the road as the truck ROARS past. A cloud of dust envelops us. As it settles, THE COWBOY is seen standing at the far side of the road.

EXT. MORNING - LOGGING ROAD - CLOSE UP

A tear traces a route through the dust on THE COWBOY'S face.

EXT. MORNING - LOGGING ROAD - TRACKING

Follow as THE COWBOY turns to follow the truck. For the first time we see that the rope drags behind him and is beginning to fray.

FADE OUT -

Through the darkness we HEAR the sounds of the city. (The rhythmic croaks of frogs and chirping of crickets blends into and is overshadowed by the thrum of traffic and honking of horns.)

FADE IN -

EXT. DAY - URBAN HIGHWAY

ESTABLISH the speed and density of the traffic.

EXT. DAY - URBAN HIGHWAY - ONE SHOT

THE COWBOY walks with his shoulders slumped towards the city. A few feet of rope drags behind him. It has been a long journey and-

PAN UP -

We see that THE COWBOY still has several miles to go as the towers of the city loom far in the distance.

'GANS ON ICE

by Lucille D'ecoupage

Farthing awoke with a start. His eyes ached, they had been clenched shut for hours. The room was the same as when he left... Or was it? He sat up straight and rubbed his eyes. Someone had placed a pillow under his head and a thick blanket lay over his shoulders. He was alone.

Standing up from the chart table, the sudden change in elevation put his head into a throbbing spin. What had he been dreaming of? The others were out on the ice, collecting snow for melting. They must have been as dry as he was. The fire was running low and the lead pipes that ran along the hull were cold. Farthing opened the door and peered into the darkness of the ship. It was eirily quiet. He called for a crewman but there was no reply. Slamming the door shut he went back to the window at the stern of the ship and scraped at the ice inside the pane. What he saw sickened him.

With the help of the telescope he could see two groups of men struggling with the ship's launch. Laden with material, it scraped it's way over the frozen surface of the ocean - bearing south.

A wave of nausia overtook him and he collapsed on a chair, unable to comprehend what had happened. He struggled back to his feet and pulled his boots and great coat on and tumbled out onto the ice. There he found only three officers, Caudal, Tarbin and Dickinson trudging back through the snow.

"What in God's name is going on here?" Farthing yelled into the howling wind. Dickinson dropped his load and rushed over to take him by the shoulders.

"They've gone Richard. They've gone."

He stood, unable to move. Crystals of ice had formed on the Doctor's beard, highlighting how guant he had become. Farthing looked deep into this stranger's eyes. "Gone? Gone where?"

"They have determined to follow the hunters... They have abandoned us Richard."

The Lougan Condition

Transporting A Cat

with Lonesome Betty

I don't know what it is but cats seem to know when something is up. I tried training the damn thing by putting treats in his cage months ago but when it comes time to actually take the heathen somewhere he's all claws and teeth about it. I used to drive him around - back when I still had my licence (or car for that matter) - and he'd be yowlin' away in the back window like a weirdo and then pissed down my neck one time so I hadda put an end to the drives. I thought it'd be cool 'cuz my sister in law's cat likes to sit in her lap with her little paws on the wheel just like that old skit on Sat Nite Live.

I found the best way to transport a cat is to tackle him with a thick old blanket and wrap that around him before he can sink his teeth into your arm and don't let him know in advance by approachin' him with the blanket. Sit calmly on the couch with the blanket until he comes over and then pounce on him like you're a cat and maybe he'll understand. I gotta find another vet too because of the last visit which went a little sour. If you go there you can still see the claw scatches in the doorframe from when I ran into a little trouble with my boots, well they ain't really my boots, I borrowed them from one of my friends but they're a couple a sizes too big and I tripped on the step. Good thing they come up to my thigh or else I'd a got a new bruise.

Anyways, looks like Sanchez here can keep his claws a while longer. I got a pellet gun if he goes near the curtains again... Maybe he doesn't like going anywhere 'cuz the last time he lost his cocobas. Poor little guy.

Farthing's Dream

The Disillusionists cont'd...

Walking along the road, they had the world to themselves. Jay and Alexis marched ahead, whispering at each other. May and Gunther walked a little slower, May resplendent in dripping hair and lake smell. "How is your ass?"

"Not bad." G was more embarrassed than hurt, "It actually looks worse than it feels."

"It looks scary."

They continued walking, looking for something else to talk about. But what? Trees and rocks and things. How was that going to impress her? May was totally unprepared for the blunt horror of his next statement. "We should get a place together."

May tried to reign in her eyebrows. A sort of neutral calm came over her. "I uh... We uh, could, but I want to go back to school."

"I will support you."

Looking at her feet as they kicked up plumes of dust on the hot, dry road, May blew out her cheeks and smiled. "Aw thanks, but you know that wouldn't work."

"Why not? I'll get a job and we can grow vegetables."

"I'm thinking of going to another city."

"Oh." He stopped and looked at her.

"Gunth... You're a sweet guy, but I just don't feel that way about you." She tried to lessen the blow, "I just... I don't think we're old enough to commit to something..."

"May. I'm thirty."

"Oh." She started walking again. "Well, maybe you are but I'm not... and don't say anything! Listen, I'm just not capable of anything right now so don't ask me for anything concrete. Can't we just enjoy ourselves and keep it like that? Besides, there is something, I guess you already know." She paused dramatically - as soon as Gunther heard the name a sharp tingle went down his spine. "Mike and I, well... I was living at his house for quite a while."

Silence.

"Gunther?"

"But he's such an asshole."

"I know. That's why I had to move out. It's like, totally over but I don't want to go around like it's some big fuckin' secret."

"No, uh yeah. It's a good thing you told me."

May took a deep breath, "Whew. Glad we got that one out of the way."

'GANS ON ICE

by Lucille D'ecoupage

"Ah-ha-ha-ha... Unt, as it turns out, he is ze couzin off mein father!"

"No. Theissen?" Said Tarbin.

"Jah. Sheizzen!"

"Ah-ha-ha-ha..."

"Gentlemen!" It was the Captain. "Behave yourselves."

They had broken out a prize bottle of rum in order to welcome their new friends. Larsfeldt and Tarbin had consumed a fair amount, having just returned from their adventure and therefore quite invigorated by it. The hunters had never tried such a foul concoction before. They soon found it's effect pleasing, if not debilitating. The other three were more restrained and fearful should decorum be breached.

The Whaler had discovered that he and Tarbin shared a distant past in the Bavarian district of Kelp. They seemed to be developing a friendship, something about which Farthing was none too pleased. He regarded the interloper with suspicion. This arrangement could be little more than a trap. He struggled to keep his doubts from the surface. Caudal and Dickinson were faring somewhat better and appeared to be actually enjoying themselves. Perhaps this new connection was good for them. At the root of it, they knew they were not alone. It was a confused moment for Farthing. He could feel himself become light-headed, an expression of glee frozen in place. Voices and actions blurred. The night wore on. Drink more. Drink more. Soon they had established a display, in order to demonstrate for their audience the manner in which they had become lodged in this land. Farthing and Dickinson danced around, made elaborate gestures. Tarbin and Caudal playing each the Lord Admiral and a Member of the Gallery. The Whaler played a fish. The hunters laughed and slapped their knees - some hilarious myth of creation performed in their honour. They themselves performed a dance, Caribou and Eagle, welcoming the Spring. It offered hope for a new beginning, a message completely lost on the crew, who were now passed out at the table. The two hunters made themselves comfortable on the floor and fell asleep, heads swimming in strange new aromas.

Sanchez Enters the Fray*

I don't think I need to remind anyone that the term "Cat-nap" was named after ME. That's right, ME. So y'all can fuck yourself. And get me some fresh cat-nip, bee-yatch. That shit's been sittin' in a drawer since last year!

*Or frayed if you ask me. I'm gonna have the little bastard de-clawed. - L. Betty

The Disillusionists cont'd...

This was the scene where the Cowboy is first struck by man's inhumanity to man. They waited and then waited some more. May and Alexis abandoned the shoot to go for a swim at a small lake they had seen along the way. "All the good light is gone anyway."

Jay and Gunther followed a few minutes later. Mike was no longer talking. They could still fit in a swim before it got too dark and ran after the girls like it was recess. G needed to rinse off the sea salt from earlier. He was developing a rash. Mike claimed he had to stay and watch the equipment.

Back in the camper, Mike sat and brooded at the kitchen table. Once or twice he got up and wandered out to the road to see if they were on their way back. He wasn't sure if he could trust them all together in one place. He decided to lock up the camper and join in. He might even go for a swim. At the lake he followed the noise of the others, creeping up on them simply to watch. He was, after all, a film-maker.

Standing naked on the shore, they were planning a race to a rock on the far side of the lake. The winner would have all their food and drink served to them at dinner that night. They looked modest and giggly.

"Ready, set..." Jay waited, "Go!"

They hit the water clean, slicing the surface and pushing through the green soupy water and popped back up to the surface for breath. Then, thrashing like maniacs, they raced for the far shore. Jay seemed to be opening up a lead and stopped at one point to slow May down. G looked a little tired from his ocean dunking. Alexis was keeping her head above water well... Mike turned around without waiting for the final result. Jay held on to the rock while for the others caught up. He had done a little competative swimming in high school. He caught a glimpse of Mike folding back into the bush like an Armani Sasquatch. There might be trouble in negativeland.

The race over, the others splashed around for a while and then swam back to their clothes.

"Is it ever warm!" Alexis could not remember the last time she swam in a lake.

Gunther climbed out of the water ahead of the others.

"Oh my god!" yelled May.

"Ew."

"What?" said Gunther, covering his genitals.

"Your back! You've got a big purple bruise coming out of your crack!"

"What have you been doing?" mocked Jay.

It must have been when he was slammed against the bottom near the tide pool. "Jesus," He strained to get a better look. "I hit a rock in the water this morning."

'GANS ON ICE

by Lucille D'oobiecoupage

The wind whistled through the creaking hull of the ship. Our three friends slumber in the dim light of day. No progress has been made over the course of a few days and the ship's crew have taken this day as a day of rest. No one is on watch to witness a group of seven men, as they approach from the west. As they come closer, two of them would seem to be Innu hunters, dressed in traditional garb of fur and leather. They walk with a practiced gait on the snow, pressing it underfoot before putting their full weight upon it. The others, including Tarbin and the Whaler crash through the crust of snow, expending twice the energy in their hast to make it onboard. One of the hunters comments in his native language, "Big canoe."

The second nods his head, "Canoe? It blocks the reflection of the sun..." *

Together they climb the ladder onto the ship. The hunters are amazed at the size and complexity of the vessel. Tarbin leads them to the Captain's quarters, demonstrating along the way the workings of the ships wheel. The compass. The telescope.

"Come in, come in... Don't be afraid."

The others wake to the remarkable sight of the two Innu standing in their quarters. Tarbin and Larsfeldt grinning behind them.

"This is wood."

"This is big wood. Not like any wood I've seen before."

"Gentlemen please, enter, make yourselves at home." Farthing stood and offered his guests a bench to sit on. The two men sit awkwardly astride it, testing their weight on the floor. They continue talking to each other, out of nervousness as much as facination with their surroundings.

"We are on the ground?" He motions toward Farthing, "Are you from the moon or the sun?" **

"These are not clothes that they wear."

"They dress and still they are naked."

Farthing said as an aside to the Whaler, who was busying himself with a plate of gruel. "You have had experience with this tribe?"

"I may have, jah."

"What are they saying? I understand only the Coppermine..."

"Zey are wondering about ze hull."

"Yes, yes, I can see that!"

"They hardly got any meat on their bones." said the second hunter.

"They're hungry like us."

"They don't look like us."

Farthing motioned for the Whaler to put his plate down and try to communicate with them, "Tell our friends here that they are welcome aboard the Rotund..."

"Hello. You pleaze to maken happy bed-bed?"

"And that it is my hope that the future will be very beneficial for all of us..."

"Happy bed-bed for everybody!"

*Not entirely translatable.

**Either the meaning is too grandious, or my abilities as a translator are too limited. (Jack the Dog Barker, official translator).