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May. 8th, 2005 11:35 amFifth Arrival at Milliways + 1 Day
Milliways
Well, we're back.
Egon's got numbers and data out the wazoo about Pete's condition, although I guess I shouldn't call it that. It's more like an inborn state or ability. Diabetes is a condition. What Peter has is possibly the world's least useful third-string superpower, after the ability to read the minds of squirrels and the power to score with other superheroes' wives. He's a minor PKE source, very minor, but so far he doesn't seem to be able to do anything with it except see strong concentrations of the stuff and pick up on ghosts who haven't made themselves fully present on the prime material plane yet. Which, admittedly, turned out really useful yesterday, because we finally tracked down Mike Draverhaven and Pete saw what he was doing before I could get the PKE meter out and find out.
I don't think he likes it, though. He keeps referring to himself as a freak, and frankly, that worries me. A lot. Mike said yesterday that he had a limited ability to sense and speak to ghosts as a kid and that he was a really disturbed child, and that's... not too far off from what Pete's been caling himself. I, personally, don't see anything wrong with having that kind of perceptive capability even if you can't manipulate it, but what do I know? I'm just a scientist, not a philosopher. All I've got is an ordinary brain. I don't know if Pete will even listen if I try to convince him there's nothing wrong with having these abilities, regardless of what happened to his mother and what Mike turned into after the accident at Columbia. I hope he will, though. I really don't want to lose the guy. He's been my friend half my adult life, and the last thing I want is for him to vanish completely or go nuts.
Wonder if Xavier's School for the Gifted takes adult education students.
Anyway. Mike was... not good. He'd come up with some kind of plot to give the four of us to the vengeful dead so that the ghosts could take New York City over, and so that Mike could have the rest of the planet for his own. Sick, sick man. I kind of lost my sympathy for him then... let's face it. I built the machine. I was mostly responsible for the machine's design. I was at the controls when it exploded. That made me responsible for a lot of what happened to Mike, but it did not make me responsible for what he chose to do after that. Yeah, he was pretty well nuts- but only in the sense that he heard and saw things other people didn't, and he didn't care anything at all about what happened to other people any more. He knew damn well what he was doing, and he could've just escaped from the hospital and gone into hiding, or even asked me and the guys for some kind of help. Instead, he tried to kill us and destroy New York City with a legion of ghosts. That was his own decision, not something I did.
It didn't even feel all that good to punch the guy out. I just wanted him to stop hurting my city and my friends.
The doctors say Mike's too dangerous to be put into a penitentiary,even a supermax- especially a supermax- and clearly more than the psychiatric facility in Albany can handle. In light of his attitudes towards Manhattan they're going to push for having him hospitalized somewhere a little more isolated and safe, which I think I heard someone say meant Deaf Smith County, Texas. I'm fine with that, so when they asked I said it was cool and left them to do whatever they needed to do. My own world's Peter said that his older self had told him he was going to pieces from all the little differences between our New York and his own, so it would probably be best to get him back to something he at least knew, which is why we're at Milliways again. The third floor lab was very obliging on that front- I just opened the door with Pete over my shoulder (he's heavy, but it was the best I could do) and there it was. I don't know how much time passed while we were gone, but our rooms were still the way we'd left them, so I put him in his and waited for him to come 'round. Which, thankfully, he did. And he was lucid, too, so there's a good sign. I left the monitor running and went back to my own room to sleep.
I've decided, by the way, to destroy the plans for the proton assault cannons. They might be useful, someday, but what they come down to is a really, really ill-judged fear reaction. Yeah, I'd be able to protect my friends from the things here in the bar, or possibly the things Mike said were out there in the darkness calling for our blood, but you know what? I don't think it'd be worth it. The proton assault cannon is very much a weapon, not a tool. Our packs are meant for confinement and repulsion, not destruction. The assault cannon design was meant to destroy, more or less as a kind of pre-emptive defense- at least, that's what I'm guessing I was thinking at the time. My recollection of the episode is a little thin and swimmy. The point is, I don't want to be responsible for bringing something into the world that could neutronize spirits as easily as that thing could, especially not when I know that an ordinary proton pack on full stream can basically do the molecular dissociation trick on a living human. One false move with a proton assault cannon, and suddenly I've got the power to destroy entire cities- entire populations. All because I was afraid of things that I thought were hurting Peter, or me.
Not gonna happen. I'm erasing the designs now.
I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
... yeah, okay, I feel better now. Maybe I should see if I can't bring back a certain set of childhood memories. Not like Mom's around to stop me growing a set of lightsaber crystals now. Jedi know from protection.
Milliways
Well, we're back.
Egon's got numbers and data out the wazoo about Pete's condition, although I guess I shouldn't call it that. It's more like an inborn state or ability. Diabetes is a condition. What Peter has is possibly the world's least useful third-string superpower, after the ability to read the minds of squirrels and the power to score with other superheroes' wives. He's a minor PKE source, very minor, but so far he doesn't seem to be able to do anything with it except see strong concentrations of the stuff and pick up on ghosts who haven't made themselves fully present on the prime material plane yet. Which, admittedly, turned out really useful yesterday, because we finally tracked down Mike Draverhaven and Pete saw what he was doing before I could get the PKE meter out and find out.
I don't think he likes it, though. He keeps referring to himself as a freak, and frankly, that worries me. A lot. Mike said yesterday that he had a limited ability to sense and speak to ghosts as a kid and that he was a really disturbed child, and that's... not too far off from what Pete's been caling himself. I, personally, don't see anything wrong with having that kind of perceptive capability even if you can't manipulate it, but what do I know? I'm just a scientist, not a philosopher. All I've got is an ordinary brain. I don't know if Pete will even listen if I try to convince him there's nothing wrong with having these abilities, regardless of what happened to his mother and what Mike turned into after the accident at Columbia. I hope he will, though. I really don't want to lose the guy. He's been my friend half my adult life, and the last thing I want is for him to vanish completely or go nuts.
Wonder if Xavier's School for the Gifted takes adult education students.
Anyway. Mike was... not good. He'd come up with some kind of plot to give the four of us to the vengeful dead so that the ghosts could take New York City over, and so that Mike could have the rest of the planet for his own. Sick, sick man. I kind of lost my sympathy for him then... let's face it. I built the machine. I was mostly responsible for the machine's design. I was at the controls when it exploded. That made me responsible for a lot of what happened to Mike, but it did not make me responsible for what he chose to do after that. Yeah, he was pretty well nuts- but only in the sense that he heard and saw things other people didn't, and he didn't care anything at all about what happened to other people any more. He knew damn well what he was doing, and he could've just escaped from the hospital and gone into hiding, or even asked me and the guys for some kind of help. Instead, he tried to kill us and destroy New York City with a legion of ghosts. That was his own decision, not something I did.
It didn't even feel all that good to punch the guy out. I just wanted him to stop hurting my city and my friends.
The doctors say Mike's too dangerous to be put into a penitentiary,even a supermax- especially a supermax- and clearly more than the psychiatric facility in Albany can handle. In light of his attitudes towards Manhattan they're going to push for having him hospitalized somewhere a little more isolated and safe, which I think I heard someone say meant Deaf Smith County, Texas. I'm fine with that, so when they asked I said it was cool and left them to do whatever they needed to do. My own world's Peter said that his older self had told him he was going to pieces from all the little differences between our New York and his own, so it would probably be best to get him back to something he at least knew, which is why we're at Milliways again. The third floor lab was very obliging on that front- I just opened the door with Pete over my shoulder (he's heavy, but it was the best I could do) and there it was. I don't know how much time passed while we were gone, but our rooms were still the way we'd left them, so I put him in his and waited for him to come 'round. Which, thankfully, he did. And he was lucid, too, so there's a good sign. I left the monitor running and went back to my own room to sleep.
I've decided, by the way, to destroy the plans for the proton assault cannons. They might be useful, someday, but what they come down to is a really, really ill-judged fear reaction. Yeah, I'd be able to protect my friends from the things here in the bar, or possibly the things Mike said were out there in the darkness calling for our blood, but you know what? I don't think it'd be worth it. The proton assault cannon is very much a weapon, not a tool. Our packs are meant for confinement and repulsion, not destruction. The assault cannon design was meant to destroy, more or less as a kind of pre-emptive defense- at least, that's what I'm guessing I was thinking at the time. My recollection of the episode is a little thin and swimmy. The point is, I don't want to be responsible for bringing something into the world that could neutronize spirits as easily as that thing could, especially not when I know that an ordinary proton pack on full stream can basically do the molecular dissociation trick on a living human. One false move with a proton assault cannon, and suddenly I've got the power to destroy entire cities- entire populations. All because I was afraid of things that I thought were hurting Peter, or me.
Not gonna happen. I'm erasing the designs now.
I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
... yeah, okay, I feel better now. Maybe I should see if I can't bring back a certain set of childhood memories. Not like Mom's around to stop me growing a set of lightsaber crystals now. Jedi know from protection.
