D
Dagorath
Guest
An Enlightening Conversation
Dr. Breen sat comfortably in his armchair, smiling serenely up at the enormous Combine screen which he had suspended behind his desk. Normally, his back was to the screen when he admonished Combine guards or wrote speeches to help the people in the streets see why they should accept the Universal Union, but it was a grave infraction to turn one’s back on one of the Union’s Advisors. Breen had to stay on the best of terms with humanity’s Benefactors, as a matter of course.
The Advisor communicated with a series of clicks and grinding of its beak, which Breen personally found distaste –
The Union is instrumental for the survival of humanity!
- Which Breen found highly different to human speech, but which he had no problem understanding, thanks to his Combine-issued translator. It was so powerful he could even understand the primal calls of the Union suppressive airships.
“How is progress on the draining of the oceans within the planet?” the Advisor demanded.
“Going perfectly, sir,” Breen replied silkily. “Useful metals such as those used for the creation of Munidium alloys are being extracted very quickly. The water derived from the draining will go towards the manufacturing processes for more of the Union’s vehicles and armament.”
The Advisor clicked in satisfaction. It was not its part to give any sort of praise to the humans, even if it were the Combine’s sham Administrator, and it was not Breen’s part to demand it. Just knowing that humanity was on its way to become permanently assimilated into the Union was enough for Breen’s peace of mind.
“And the pacification of the primates?”
“Going well, sir. We recently found the locations of the ‘stations’ on the ‘railroad’ out of City 17. Civil Protection and Manhacks have been deployed to flush them out.”
“Enlighten me,” the Advisor said smoothly. “What do you mean by ‘railroad’?”
“A secret – well, no longer secret – route out of this wonderful urban centre – no idea why they would want to leave,” Breen replied happily. “Aided by fellow rebels and the Xen creatures known as ‘Vortigaunts’, they escape to a mining town outside the city.”
Breen could practically feel the anger emanating from the Advisor. The large slug –
You must not show disgust at the Advisor’s physical aesthetics! The Union is essential –
The large alien creature clicked and ground loudly, its bulk shifting slightly from side to side. Perhaps the Combine had once been very large slu –
“Why have you not destroyed that town?” the Advisor screamed. The clicks and grinds deafened Dr. Breen.
“I had been waiting for you to ask that,” Breen said smiling, but his voice shook a little. Seeing the Advisor angry was not a pleasant sight. “I have developed a new weapon which I hope the Universal Union” – here the Advisor clicked its beak– “which I hope you shall approve of,” he finished bravely. Moving to one of the control panels beneath the enormous screen, he pressed several buttons. On a side screen that the Advisor craned to see, he displayed a computer-generated model of a long, black pod with a metal mesh covering one end.
“This is my little invention,” Breen said proudly. Whatever his fellow humans said of him, he had been Administrator of Black Mesa and his scientific knowledge was sound. “This shell can be fired at a high velocity to impact in any area with the accuracy of 1 unit.”
The Advisor was losing patience as Breen extolled the technical virtues of his projectile. “What’s in it?” he demanded.
“Headcrabs from Xen,” Breen replied, grinning. “Or anything else you might require. A biological disease, a swarm of locusts, poison, explosives….” Breen talked with the enthusiasm of a seven-year-old.
“Well, fire it then!” the Advisor suddenly screeched. Breen jumped. He had forgotten all about firing the projectiles themselves in his eagerness to tell the Advisor of his humble invention.
Bowing, Breen said, “High pressure guns have been built on the sides of the Citadel. The coordinates –“
“Just do it!” the Advisor clicked dangerously. Breen could hear a steady grinding, a sure sign that the Advisor was going to order an antimatter charge or some other weapon of mass destruction to be deployed on this planet.
“As you command, sir,” Breen said reassuringly. Calm down, just calm down, he hoped fervently in his mind. He pressed several more controls and the screen switched to a view of the Citadel from a Scanner floating above the city. Many small, dark apertures opened in the dark, imposing walls and the Headcrab shells were fired. A hundred flew over the city and impacted several kilometers away.
The success of the firing calmed the Advisor. “Now, I would like you deploy those shells all over this miserable planet.”
“But, sir –“ Breen began to protest. It was his planet, his race –
There was a loud thump. Breen span round. There, sprawled in the middle of his office, was a man in the familiar Black Mesa Hazardous Environment Suit. The man’s hair was close-cropped and he wore large, thick-rimmed glasses.
“Who goes there?” Breen cried in surprise. “How did you get in here?”
And, just as suddenly as he had come, the man was gone.
The Advisor’s good mood, so recently restored, disappeared again. Breen gaped for a while, until the Advisor’s clicks and grinds brought him back to reality. “How could you have allowed one of those filthy primates to infiltrate your own office?” the Advisor screamed.
“I’m deeply sorry, si –“
“I am having you removed,” the Advisor said quietly. “I shall personally come to your miserable planet and devour you. And then I shall set the Striders loose. They have been sleeping too long.” The Advisor ground its beak, its species’ version of a grim laugh. “The Union” – here it laughed again – “shall wipe out your miserable species. You are more trouble than you’re worth.” It clicked derisively.
“Please let me explain,” Breen begged. “I will improve my efforts!” He grimaced. “I have no idea, but I believe that man was” - he turned around again to look at the patch of ground where the man was –
And there he was again. There was no doubt. He was standing now, and walking slowly towards Breen, as though through thigh-deep mud, with a murderous look.
“Gordon Freeman….”
Freeman remained there for a second, and then disappeared once more.
Breen turned to the Advisor, certain that it would jump out of its universe and eat him there and then, but it had suddenly become rather agitated. “Gordon Freeman?” it asked worriedly. “Gordon –“ Breen could suddenly see something amazing. As the Advisor wriggled, he saw fragments of its thoughts appearing on his screen! Perhaps the Advisor was used to communicating telepathically. There was an exceptionally thin man in a blue suit, a desert covered with black, metallic structures, and then a vision of a huge congregation of Advisors. They looked down at whatever viewpoint Breen was looking from. That must mean –
The Advisor got a grip on itself suddenly. “You shall remain as Administrator,” it said loudly. The thought-images disappeared. “Deploy soldiers immediately and eliminate Freeman as quietly as possible.”
“Of course, sir.” Breen bowed low. When he looked up again, the screen was empty.
Dr. Breen sat comfortably in his armchair, smiling serenely up at the enormous Combine screen which he had suspended behind his desk. Normally, his back was to the screen when he admonished Combine guards or wrote speeches to help the people in the streets see why they should accept the Universal Union, but it was a grave infraction to turn one’s back on one of the Union’s Advisors. Breen had to stay on the best of terms with humanity’s Benefactors, as a matter of course.
The Advisor communicated with a series of clicks and grinding of its beak, which Breen personally found distaste –
The Union is instrumental for the survival of humanity!
- Which Breen found highly different to human speech, but which he had no problem understanding, thanks to his Combine-issued translator. It was so powerful he could even understand the primal calls of the Union suppressive airships.
“How is progress on the draining of the oceans within the planet?” the Advisor demanded.
“Going perfectly, sir,” Breen replied silkily. “Useful metals such as those used for the creation of Munidium alloys are being extracted very quickly. The water derived from the draining will go towards the manufacturing processes for more of the Union’s vehicles and armament.”
The Advisor clicked in satisfaction. It was not its part to give any sort of praise to the humans, even if it were the Combine’s sham Administrator, and it was not Breen’s part to demand it. Just knowing that humanity was on its way to become permanently assimilated into the Union was enough for Breen’s peace of mind.
“And the pacification of the primates?”
“Going well, sir. We recently found the locations of the ‘stations’ on the ‘railroad’ out of City 17. Civil Protection and Manhacks have been deployed to flush them out.”
“Enlighten me,” the Advisor said smoothly. “What do you mean by ‘railroad’?”
“A secret – well, no longer secret – route out of this wonderful urban centre – no idea why they would want to leave,” Breen replied happily. “Aided by fellow rebels and the Xen creatures known as ‘Vortigaunts’, they escape to a mining town outside the city.”
Breen could practically feel the anger emanating from the Advisor. The large slug –
You must not show disgust at the Advisor’s physical aesthetics! The Union is essential –
The large alien creature clicked and ground loudly, its bulk shifting slightly from side to side. Perhaps the Combine had once been very large slu –
“Why have you not destroyed that town?” the Advisor screamed. The clicks and grinds deafened Dr. Breen.
“I had been waiting for you to ask that,” Breen said smiling, but his voice shook a little. Seeing the Advisor angry was not a pleasant sight. “I have developed a new weapon which I hope the Universal Union” – here the Advisor clicked its beak– “which I hope you shall approve of,” he finished bravely. Moving to one of the control panels beneath the enormous screen, he pressed several buttons. On a side screen that the Advisor craned to see, he displayed a computer-generated model of a long, black pod with a metal mesh covering one end.
“This is my little invention,” Breen said proudly. Whatever his fellow humans said of him, he had been Administrator of Black Mesa and his scientific knowledge was sound. “This shell can be fired at a high velocity to impact in any area with the accuracy of 1 unit.”
The Advisor was losing patience as Breen extolled the technical virtues of his projectile. “What’s in it?” he demanded.
“Headcrabs from Xen,” Breen replied, grinning. “Or anything else you might require. A biological disease, a swarm of locusts, poison, explosives….” Breen talked with the enthusiasm of a seven-year-old.
“Well, fire it then!” the Advisor suddenly screeched. Breen jumped. He had forgotten all about firing the projectiles themselves in his eagerness to tell the Advisor of his humble invention.
Bowing, Breen said, “High pressure guns have been built on the sides of the Citadel. The coordinates –“
“Just do it!” the Advisor clicked dangerously. Breen could hear a steady grinding, a sure sign that the Advisor was going to order an antimatter charge or some other weapon of mass destruction to be deployed on this planet.
“As you command, sir,” Breen said reassuringly. Calm down, just calm down, he hoped fervently in his mind. He pressed several more controls and the screen switched to a view of the Citadel from a Scanner floating above the city. Many small, dark apertures opened in the dark, imposing walls and the Headcrab shells were fired. A hundred flew over the city and impacted several kilometers away.
The success of the firing calmed the Advisor. “Now, I would like you deploy those shells all over this miserable planet.”
“But, sir –“ Breen began to protest. It was his planet, his race –
There was a loud thump. Breen span round. There, sprawled in the middle of his office, was a man in the familiar Black Mesa Hazardous Environment Suit. The man’s hair was close-cropped and he wore large, thick-rimmed glasses.
“Who goes there?” Breen cried in surprise. “How did you get in here?”
And, just as suddenly as he had come, the man was gone.
The Advisor’s good mood, so recently restored, disappeared again. Breen gaped for a while, until the Advisor’s clicks and grinds brought him back to reality. “How could you have allowed one of those filthy primates to infiltrate your own office?” the Advisor screamed.
“I’m deeply sorry, si –“
“I am having you removed,” the Advisor said quietly. “I shall personally come to your miserable planet and devour you. And then I shall set the Striders loose. They have been sleeping too long.” The Advisor ground its beak, its species’ version of a grim laugh. “The Union” – here it laughed again – “shall wipe out your miserable species. You are more trouble than you’re worth.” It clicked derisively.
“Please let me explain,” Breen begged. “I will improve my efforts!” He grimaced. “I have no idea, but I believe that man was” - he turned around again to look at the patch of ground where the man was –
And there he was again. There was no doubt. He was standing now, and walking slowly towards Breen, as though through thigh-deep mud, with a murderous look.
“Gordon Freeman….”
Freeman remained there for a second, and then disappeared once more.
Breen turned to the Advisor, certain that it would jump out of its universe and eat him there and then, but it had suddenly become rather agitated. “Gordon Freeman?” it asked worriedly. “Gordon –“ Breen could suddenly see something amazing. As the Advisor wriggled, he saw fragments of its thoughts appearing on his screen! Perhaps the Advisor was used to communicating telepathically. There was an exceptionally thin man in a blue suit, a desert covered with black, metallic structures, and then a vision of a huge congregation of Advisors. They looked down at whatever viewpoint Breen was looking from. That must mean –
The Advisor got a grip on itself suddenly. “You shall remain as Administrator,” it said loudly. The thought-images disappeared. “Deploy soldiers immediately and eliminate Freeman as quietly as possible.”
“Of course, sir.” Breen bowed low. When he looked up again, the screen was empty.
. But it's true that Grigori wouldn't go loony quite yet. Unless he already was and he'd already set them up (read Concerned: We Still Go to Ravenholm).
