OPERATION : FREQUENT WIND

“There Must Be Some Kind 

of Way Out of Here,” said

The Joker to The Thief —

NIXON: 

Well, if They're that collapsible, maybe 

They just have to be collapsed. 

We've got to remember, we cannot -- 

We cannot keep this child  sucking at the tit 

 when the child is four years old.

Schrödinger’s Beatles

“The Irish Beatles experts and podcasters Jason Carty and Steven Cockcroft refer to the period between Lennon quitting the band on 20 September 1969, and the news of the band’s split becoming public on 10 April 1970, as ‘Schrödinger’s Beatles’. In the Schrödinger’s Cat thought experiment, a poor cat is both dead and alive at the same time, just as during this period it was impossible to say whether the band was still a going concern or beyond hope. It could have been, as Lennon had told his band, the end of The Beatles. But his bandmates and the staff at Apple knew how changeable Lennon’s moods were. It could easily have been just another row that passed. The Beatles industry continued on as normal after Lennon informed the others of his decision to quit. A new deal with EMI was signed, and work on the Let It Be album continued. Had McCartney given Lennon more attention and listened to his concerns, without the pressure of business differences, it is conceivable that they could have repaired their relationship. Had Lennon regained enthusiasm for something other than Yoko and the heroin that the pair were by then taking, and become creatively engaged with his bandmates again, it is conceivable that he would have returned.”

  “Ironically, Paul was the only Beatle who never left the group. Ringo had been the first to quit, in 1968, when post-Rishikesh tensions between the Beatles first became undeniable, Yoko arrived in the studio, and he felt unloved and an outsider. He flew to the Mediterranean and spent two weeks on Peter Sellers’ yacht. During this holiday, he learned that cave-dwelling octopuses arranged shiny stones, bits of tin cans or whatever they found on the ocean floor outside their caves, like a garden, and a song was born. As he later recalled, he then ‘got a telegram saying, “You’re the best rock’n’roll drummer in the world. Come on Home, we love you.” And so I came back. We all needed that little shake-up. When I got back to the studio I found George had had it decked out with flowers – there were flowers everywhere. I felt good about myself again.’ ”

How Do We Get Out?

Kryten recounted how Lister had followed The Cat into The Game.

'But Better Than Life's addictive! I knew that.'

'You were drunk, Mister David; you thought you'd be OK just to go into The Game and tell The Cat what danger he was in. But once you'd linked up to the Cat's headband, you didn't come out.'

'What about me?' said Rimmer. 'Why did I go in?'

'You were drunk too. You said you had the willpower to drag them both out. You got Holly to splice you into the Game. And that was the last we saw of you.'

Kryten told how they had wandered around Red Dwarf in the twilight zombie state the Game induced. How he'd done his best to feed them, and keep them from harming themselves. But over the months the Cat's and Lister's bodies had begun to wither. Sometimes they'd spend weeks in a single position and develop huge bedsores. They'd tumble down stairs and get up, bloody and laughing, believing they'd made a parachute jump or some such thing. How he'd once seen Lister eat his own vomit with delight, obviously believing he was enjoying some sumptuous delicacy. How, in desperation, he'd begun lasering the messages into Lister's arms to warn him of the danger. This had distressed Kryten greatly. It was built into his software that he mustn't harm human beings. Months of cajoling by Holly had finally persuaded him that not to do it would hurt Lister even more.

But still the three of them remained in the Game. In the end, Kryten had no choice but to enter himself.

'But that's stupid,' said Lister. 'You'll get addicted too.'

Kryten shook his head. 'Holly was right. I'm immune. I could have come in right at the start and rescued you.'

'Immune?' said Rimmer. 'Why are you immune?'

Kryten cracked his face into a hollow grin. 'I'm a mechanoid. I don't have dreams. I don't have fantasies the way you do. I have very few expectations or desires.'

'Very few?' said Lister. 'Then you do have some?'

A Valkyrie appeared, bearing a brand-new, freshly wrapped squeezy mop.

'Only one,' said Kryten, accepting the gift and tearing off the paper. 'Oh, wonderful. A squeezy mop! Just what I've always wanted.'

'OK', said Lister, leaning forward, 'the sixty-four million dollarpound question : How Do We Get Out?'

The windscreen wipers patted the snow into neat white triangles on the model A's window as the car grunted past, the white-coated sign: 'Bedford Falls - 2 miles'.

Lister banged at the dashboard with a gloved hand, and the faltering heater whirred back from the dead, and unenthusiastically started to de-mist the windscreen. Lister craned over the steering column and tried to make out the grey ruts in the snow which served as a rough indication as to where the road might be.

He was leaving The Game. It was easy to leave the Game. Easier than he'd have thought.

First you had to want to leave. And, of course, to want to leave you had to know you were in The Game in the first place. That was the hard part, realising that this wasn't reality. Then it was only a matter of finding An Exit. Just that. A Door marked 'EXIT'.

'And where are these doors?' he'd asked Kryten.

'It's your fantasy,' Kryten had replied; 'they're wherever you want them to be.'

So there it was. All he had to do was imagine An Exit, and go through it.

He'd pass through the exit and find himself back on Red Dwarf, probably thin and gaunt and wasted from his two years in The Game but, nevertheless, back in reality. Once back, he could remove his headband - no, destroy his headband!

Destroy them all! - then start the long haul back to health.

But it was an individual matter. They all had to create their own separate exits. Alone. You're born alone, you die alone, you leave The Game alone.

The glimmering lights of Bedford Falls twinkled in the valley below as, for the last time, he made his way down the hill to his personal Shangri-La.

Ever since he'd left Earth, every step he'd taken had led him further away from the dirty polluted world he loved. First Mimas, then the outer reaches of the solar system, then Deep Space, and finally here - in the wrong dimension of the wrong plane of reality. It was hard to imagine how he could ever be further away from Home.

The Ford juddered down the main street under the strings of lights that hung between trees down the avenue. He passed Horace's bank, and through the window saw the money still stacked in neat piles on the counter. He passed Old Man Gower's drugstore. How could he have - believed it existed? He passed Martini's Bar, alive inside with joyful revellers celebrating Christmas Eve. He headed the old car down Sycamore Avenue, and slid to rest outside no. 220.

There, in the middle of the street, a pink neon sign hung over a shimmering archway. There was His Exit, just as he'd imagined it. On the other side was Reality.

It started to snow. Christmas Eve.

How could he leave them on Christmas Eve?

What harm was one more day? He turned away from the dissolving exit and crunched up the drive to 220.

One more night of that pinball smile.

Just one.

He couldn't leave them on Christmas Eve.

But, of course, in Bedford Falls it was always Christmas Eve ...

Scorpion

“I went to The Woods because 

I wished to live deliberately, 

to front only the essential facts of Life, 

and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, 

and not, when I came to die, 

discover that 

I had not Lived.

I did not wish to Live 

what was not Life, 

Living is so dear; 

nor did I wish to practice resignation, 

unless it was quite necessary. 

I wanted to live deep 

and suck out all the marrow of Life, 

to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout 

all that was not Life, 

to cut a broad swath and shave close, 

to drive Life into a corner, and 

reduce it to its lowest terms.” 

— Henry David Thoreau

TEMPLE artefact #16

XIII. DEATH

KEY WORDS – 

MAJOR CHANGE. 

ENDINGS AND BEGININGS. 

DEATH.

Death is unlucky Trump 13 

of the Major Arcana.

Death is some say, a card 

of Change, not to be feared...

Colours are RED, PURPLE, 

BLACK and SILVER.

Our Death, like that of Jim Starlin 

and Neil Gaiman in the comics, 

is a female gothic figure, voluptuous 

and fetishistic in that inevitable intertwining 

of Sex and Death that followed 

when some opportunistic eukaryotes moved on from fission cloning.

This is The Empress Death, 

Mother of Skeletons, 

who also culls in 

endless abundance 

what she brings forth.

In many Death cards, 

our POV is at a safe remove, 

watching Death at work in a field, culling Kings and commoners alike.

In ours, there is no doubt 

that the figure is advancing 

toward us, taking all 

the time she needs.

She is approaching, implacably, 

step by step, her huge scythe swinging like a pendulum, 

she gets closer, change by change, 

moment by moment.

In the meantime, on her way, she can be a card of Radical Change, 

a harbinger of Transformation 

and personal growth!

On her head, she wears 

a bishop’s fish-like mitre 

(the fish is related to Death 

via the Hebrew letter NUN attributed to this Card, 

the fish swimming in the ‘underworld’…) 

with an armored VISOR 

pushed up at the front as if 

from a knight’s helmet.

On the mitre we see 

the astrological sign 

for SCORPIO with its 

hooked tail.

A weblike VEIL draping down from the mitre and the raised visor to her shoulders, covering her head. 

Under the mesh we can tell 

there is no face, 

only the sockets and 

grin of a SKULL.

Otherwise, she has a Burlesque 

pin-up body – waist cinched tight 

by a strappy leather corset.

In her black-gloved hands 

she wields a big and formidable 

scythe sweeping back for the cut. 

The angle of the scythe makes a diagonal slash across the centre of the image suggestive of 

a falling guillotine blade.

We can tell where she’s been 

by the swathe of cut blooms 

and floating flower heads 

in the swirling wake behind her.

A GIANT SCORPION 

clings to Death’s back, 

so that see only its 

legs and pincers wrapped 

around her body like some nightmare couture. 

These articulated scorpion legs clenched around her midriff resemble the bones of a corset. The huge, upraised PINCERS at either side, like ghastly wings. 

The thorned venomous tail 

curled up behind.

Death wades through the brackish waters of a LILY POND that come up above her knees to her thighs. We can see the tops of tight thigh boots and fishnet tights above.

Flaring out either side and dragging on the water a SKIRT.

RED HEART-SHAPED LEAVES on black branching nervous systems, we see flowers with black stems and red heads growing from the bloody acrid waters –under the surface in the red swamp water, we can see skeleton fishes swimming among the stems of flowers.

Seen through the misty gloom that fills the background above the lake -

A BOAT - simple punt belonging to 

CHARON boatman of the dead, moored at a rundown wooden jetty.

A forest of five 

SQUARE CHIMNEYS bristle in background. Cremation smoke rising in straight lines from each.

Cypress and weeping willow add to the mournful landscape.

A red, smoky sun simmers behind Death’s head, setting into the miasma. It seems to be held between the upraised pincers of the scorpion riding on Death’s back. 

In the sun can be seen 

the skeleton of an EAGLE.

7 of 9, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix-01 : 

There is only ONE course of Action : 

DESTROY Them FIRST. 

• My subspace link to The Collective has been weakened by the interdimensional rift. 

• We CANNOT signal for Help. 

• We ARE alone. 

We must construct a compliment 

of biomolecular warheads 

and modify Your Weapons to launch them.

Acting-Captain Cmdr. Chakotay : 

I've got a better idea — Why don't you open that rift again and take Us back?

7 of 9, Tertiary Adjunct to Unimatrix-01 : 

If I did THAT, 

• You would NO-LONGER cooperate.

Goo People

Capt. SHAW : 

Of all the stations that 

a Changeling could infiltrate, 

why transporter tech? 

Seven of Nine :

I don't know. I've never 

encountered one before. 

Capt. SHAW : 

[SIGHS] They're goo-people. 

Walking, talking clay-dough. 

They can replicate a person 

on sight alone. 

Voice, mannerisms, 

s-speech patterns, 

but that's it. You... 

Most of the time, you can tell. 

Ask him a question that 

they should know the answer to. 

Simple question, 

wrong answer... boom, Changeling. 

Seven of Nine :

Yeah, but that would require 

a huge amount of knowledge 

about everyone in the crew. 

SHAW: 

Look, you and I got off 

on the wrong foot. 

I underestimated you. 

You have great instincts, 

you're a natural leader, make a 

great captain one day — 

Which is something 

I totally would say... 

Seven of Nine :

….if you were a Changeling 

and not just a dick. 

Capt. SHAW : 

Now you're starting to catch on. 

But you were right. 

Goo people... it's got to be tough 

to snuff out this asshole alone. 

So, so... Maybe you get them 

to come to you. 

Seven of Nine :

How? 

Capt. SHAW : 

Bait them. Steal their pot. 

Seven of Nine :

Pot? I'm assuming you're not referring to cannabis. 

Capt. SHAW : 

Sadly, no. 

Seven of Nine :

I... 

Capt. SHAW : 

So, it's hard 

for Changelings to maintain 

their non-goo false form, and so, 

they have to rest in a-in a... 

in a-in a pot, a vase, a... 

receptacle-thing. 

Sometimes, they leave behind, 

like, residue goo, like, resi-goo. 

You get a sample of that, 

you upload it to the computer, 

you have the ship scan 

for that son of a bitch. 

Seven of Nine :

Thank you, 

Captain.

[GRUNTS] 

Capt. SHAW : 

Whatever. 

[DOOR WHOOSHES SHUT] 

Pirates

“Essentially, Pirates were people who rejected society and created their own little world on their ships. Their community was multicultural and everyone got an equal share of the prize. They answered to nobody but themselves. Their deeds were reported in newspapers and other publications, which flew off the shelves, for the common people to consume. 

In Britain and Colonial America, when people gathered around in taverns to hear someone read the news, pirates were always a subject that came up. They read about pirates who brutally murdered their hostages, stole large ships with huge caches of supplies, were captured and put on trial, and were sentenced to harsh public deaths at the gallows. 

Reading between the lines, they learned about how pirates brought desired forbidden items into the colonies. These stories were gulped down like the tastiest of rums. What really made pirates seem so cool was that they were able to cast off all of their social obligations and roles. 

During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, your status was pretty much fixed from birth. If you were born poor, you would stay poor. If you were fortunate enough to be born wealthy, you would stay rich. If you were born into a skilled middle-class family, you would follow in your father’s footsteps. Sailors often came from either poor or middle-class families. If they were less fortunate, they were put onto ships at a very young age and, over time, could work their way up a bit. If they were middle-class and educated, they could become a First Mate or Quartermaster before long. Pay was based on position and was often withheld for various reasons. Pirates, on the other hand, only needed to know how to sail (or to be able to learn quickly) and to be brave in a fight. They were assigned duties based on their skills, and money or prizes were doled out equally so that everyone had a fair share. A destitute man could become extremely wealthy after just a year or two on a pirate ship. One way to avoid the risk of capture and hanging while still enjoying the benefits of piracy was to become employed as a privateer. During wartime, sailors were called upon to fight against specific enemy ships, depending on the country that hired them. These sailors were given letters of marque, which, again, were official documents that gave them permission to attack and rob enemy ships. They would be paid in whatever loot they could steal. A letter of marque, however, was like a contract. It had an expiration date that was usually at the end of whatever conflict was taking place. At that point, the sailors were required to stop their privateering and return to a legitimate line of work. Many privateers enjoyed being able to rob ships and steal anything they could carry because it guaranteed a much higher income than they would have earned as a merchant or naval seaman. Plus, it was a lot more fun and adventurous to travel the world as one wished in search of new things to steal. Be honest—what would you choose to do? Captain William Kidd was one of the most well-known pirates during the Golden Age of Piracy, the years from 1650 to 1730, in which pirates were most active and organized throughout the Caribbean and North American colonies. Pirates may have existed since the day people figured out how to make a boat float, but this time period was different because it was the first time history saw a pattern of large, organized societies made up of hefty pirate fleets. During this era, ownership of the colonies and Caribbean islands was constantly fought over by various European powers. Britain managed to secure Jamaica from Spain around 1670 with the Treaty of Madrid, but one of the requirements of this treaty was to rid the seas of pirates. With the uptick in persecution, pirates who already lived in the Caribbean began to scatter, but then formed their own squadrons. This persisted for the next fifty-odd years. Piracy also flourished during the early eighteenth century because peacetime had returned, and many people who worked as privateers in wartime (as in the War for Spanish Succession, a fourteen-year conflict about who would succeed to the Spanish throne after King Charles II’s death) were suddenly unemployed. The number of pirates shot up to the point where Britain had to begin an extermination campaign to get rid of them all. Pirate…or Criminal? Captain Kidd became the prime scapegoat. His exploits created the first concurrently-documented manhunt in history, rendering him one of the most famous pirates that ever lived. Newspapers were constantly publishing articles with the latest news of his exploits until he was finally captured in Boston. His life and death captured the public’s attention, forever changing our perception of pirates. But were pirates criminals? And who was in charge of capturing them? 

The definition of Piracy has always been debated. Official definitions of piracy were written into English law in 1536 when King Henry VIII signed the Offences at Sea Act 1536 (28 Hen 8, c.15), which was later modified in 1700 to create the Act for the Effectual Suppression of Piracy. (This would be reissued twice, in 1717 and 1721, in continued efforts to curb piracy.) 

However, both laws essentially used the same definition. Pirates were legally defined as “hostis humanis generis” : Enemies of all Mankind. In essence, A Pirate was anyone who robbed, plundered, and murdered on any type of body of water.

As for their pursuers, England had a special court — the High Court of Admiralty — for all things related to the sea and exploration. 

The Admiralty was created in 1260 to ward off potential Viking invaders, but their authority did not grow until Henry VIII passed the above-mentioned act. This law officially declared England An Empire and made Piracy punishable by England no matter where in the world the pirates were. The High Court of Admiralty was ordered to put its complete focus on Pirates. 

Admiralty Officials then had the power to arrest pirates just for being accused of Piracy.

If Britain was attacked for any reason, or even just harassed, the deliberately vague wording of this definition became very convenient. If The Government wanted a certain group of sailors punished or killed, it could easily twist the definition of Piracy to serve its purpose. 

Anyone who committed any sort of crime could be considered A Pirate. Even if the person did not Murder anyone, it could be suggested that their Robbery was an intent to harm their own nation. Bam. Pirate. This legal ambiguity meant that it was sometimes hard to decide who really was a pirate, which presented a major problem. 

What if a man killed someone or stole something on his own ship? What if someone killed another person at sea without taking anything? 

Many “pirates” did not consider themselves pirates. 

For instance, Captain William Kidd had specific orders from the British government to rob French ships while sailing the Indian Ocean. 

His fatal mistake was robbing a big and powerful Armenian ship. In his defense, he thought it was a French ship, or so he claimed. Throughout his trial, he maintained that he was absolutely most definitely not a pirate. He had legal orders to rob enemy ships in the East Indies. “Then produce proof,” Admiralty officials told him. “Bring us your letter of marque.” 

Kidd, unfortunately, could not produce the letter of marque, because it had conveniently disappeared. 

Another example is Richard Coyle, a sailor accused of murdering his captain. 

Was this Piracy? 

Or—just as bad, if not worse—was this Mutiny? 

Naturally, at his trial, Coyle claimed that he was innocent. “I had no choice but to murder him!” he declared. “That man was not really our captain. The ship’s carpenter killed our captain and then forced me to sail under him. I had no choice but to avenge my real captain!” The judge was no doubt exasperated by this claim. There was always a reason. 

“Very well,” the judge said, calling his bluff. “Produce some witnesses, or someone who can vouch for your character, and we will look more closely at these charges.” 

Coyle was never able to produce any witnesses, and so he was sentenced to hang.

Coyle was not unique. There were other cases like his. The Admiralty never actually called him a pirate, but others were, just for the sake of semantics. This was the case for Captain James Lowrey, who was found guilty of the murder of Kenneth Hossack, a prisoner on his ship. Lowrey’s chief mate, James Godderar, was the star witness of this case. He claimed to have watched Lowrey beat Hossack to death. The circumstances of how Hossack came to be a prisoner, however, were murky, and it seemed no one could provide any specific details about this. 

“Did the captain accuse any of the crew of acts of piracy?” the prosecutor asked. 

“No, he did not,” Godderar responded. 

The context of the murder was also tricky. Did Lowrey intend to beat the prisoner to death, or just give him a routine beating? Did the prisoner do something to antagonize him? The details were too unclear. 

Finally, out of sheer frustration, The British argued that, by taking Hossack a prisoner, Lowrey had stolen a man. Since Lowrey beat him to death, he had killed a man. 

Therefore, Lowrey must be a pirate. 

So they declared him one and hanged him for it.

This is why many pirates did not believe they were pirates. The rules were so fluid and constantly changing that they often did not know they had committed a serious crime. Murder on the high seas? Meh. It happened. Sometimes ships had to battle, and in battles there were deaths. 

Robbery? This also happened. During battles, people took advantage of the takings if they had the opportunity. 

Sometimes these actions were also a necessity. What if there was a crew member who began threatening the lives of everyone on board? The crew member could be marooned. 

But what if they were not anywhere close to a spit of land? It is very unlikely that a dangerous crew member would be killed in cold blood. Instead, they would be locked up or chained belowdecks. 

However, if a fight broke out, death was always a possibility due to the available weapons and the harsh realities of living on a ship. 

There could also be an accident. What if someone caused someone’s death unintentionally? Perhaps there was a fall due to human error or an emergency situation that would cause panic, such as a ship threatening to capsize during a storm. Not every case could be defined as Murder in the way that the Admiralty wanted to consider it. 

It is a similar case for robbery, although, yes, it would be harder to justify. Sometimes robbery happened out of necessity rather than for the sake of stealing goods for monetary gain. Medicine and foodstuffs would be the items most needed on ships, especially if an illness broke out or extenuating circumstances caused a food or water shortage. These times would be desperate and, unfortunately, one side would have to suffer as a result. 

But could desperate needs be taken into consideration? This is a question that no doubt would come up. 

It is also important to consider that many people were forced into piracy. These people were usually hostages taken on after a battle to replace members of the crew who were killed. The hostages were either kept in custody or forced to swear their fealty and join the crew. In the eventuality that the pirates were captured, the hostage would plead innocence. This was a complicated situation because it was difficult to prove that the person was forced into piracy against their will. There would have to be witnesses to speak for him, but pirates generally did not betray each other. The law boiled down to what was written on paper. If murder and robbery were committed on the high seas, it was piracy, punishable by death. After the turn of the eighteenth century, the law became even more strict. In efforts to stop piracy, colonists and governors were explicitly forbidden to deal with pirates. If they did, they would be considered pirates as well, and therefore subject to the law. After all, in the end, how is helping a pirate different from actually being one? 

WILLARD (v.o.) "I was going to the worst place in the world, and I didn't even know it yet. Weeks away and hundreds of miles up a river that snaked through the war like a main circuit cable and plugged straight into Kurtz. It was no accident that I got to be the caretaker of Colonel Walter E. Kurtz's memory, any more than being back in Saigon was an accident. There is no way to tell his story without telling my own. And if his story is really a confession, then so is mine."

In the briefing room :

 COLONEL LUCAS "Come on in.. At ease. Want a cigarette ?"

 WILLARD "No, thank you sir."

 LUCAS "Captain, have you ever seen this gentleman before ? Met the general or myself ?"

 WILLARD "No, sir. Not personally."

 LUCAS "You have worked a lot on your own, haven't you ?"

 WILLARD "Yes, sir. I have."

 LUCAS "Your report specify intelligence, counter-intelligence, with ComSec I Corps."

 WILLARD "I'm not presently disposed to discuss these operations, sir."

 LUCAS "Did you not work for the CIA in I Corps ?"

 WILLARD "No, sir."

 LUCAS "Did you not assasinate a government tax collector in Quang Tri province, June 19th, 1968 ? Captain ?"

 WILLARD "Sir, I am unaware of any such activity or operation - nor would I be disposed to discuss such an operation if it did in fact exist, sir."

 GENERAL CORMAN "I thought we'd have a bite of lunch while we talk. I hope you brought a good appetite with you. You have a bad hand there, are you wounded ?"

 WILLARD "A little fishing accident on R&R, sir."

 CORMAN "Fishing on R&R... But you're feeling fit, ready for duty ?"

 WILLARD "Yes, general. Very much so sir."

 CORMAN "Let's see what we have here... roast beef and..., usually is not bad. Try some Jerry, pass it around. Save a little time when we'll pass both ways. Captain, I don't know how you feel about this shrimp, but if you'll eat it, you never have to prove your courage in any other way... I'll take a piece here ..."

 LUCAS "Captain, you heard of Colonel Walter E. Kurtz ?"

 WILLARD "Yes, sir, I've heard the name."

 LUCAS "Operations officer, 5th Special forces."

 CORMAN "Luke, would you play that tape for captain, please. Listen carefully."

 ON TAPE "October 9th, 0430 hours, sector PBK."

 LUCAS "This was monitored out of Cambodia. This has been verified as colonel Kurtz's voice."

 COLONEL KURTZ (on tape) " I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor. That's my dream. That's my nightmare. Crawling, slithering, along the edge of a straight razor, and surviving. "

 ON TAPE "11th transmission, December 30th, 0500 hours, sector KZK."

 KURTZ (on tape) " We must kill them. We must incinerate them. Pig after pig, cow after cow, village after village, army after army. And they call me an assasin. What do you call it when the assasins accuse the assasin ? They lie.. they lie and we have to be merciful for those who lie. Those nabobs. I hate them. How I hate them..."

 CORMAN "Walt Kurtz was one of the most outstanding officers this country has ever produced. He was a brilliant and outstanding in every way and he was a good man too. Humanitarian man, man of wit, of humor. He joined the Special forces. After that his ideas, methods have become unsound... Unsound."

 LUCAS "Now he's crossed to Cambodia with his Montagnard army, who worship the man, like a god, and follow every order however ridiculous."

 CORMAN "Well, I have some other shocking news to tell you. Colonel Kurtz was about to be arrested for murder."

 WILLARD "I don't follow sir. Murdered who ?"

 LUCAS "Kurtz had ordered executions of some Vietnamese intelligence agents. Men he believed were double agents. So he took matters into his own hands."

 CORMAN "Well, you see Willard... In this war, things get confused out there, power, ideals, the old morality, and practical military necessity. Out there with these natives it must be a temptation to be god. Because there's a conflict in every human heart between the rational and the irrational, between good and evil. The good does not always triumph. Sometimes the dark side overcomes what Lincoln called the better angels of our nature. Every man has got a breaking point. You and I have. Walter Kurtz has reached his. And very obviously, he has gone insane."

 WILLARD "Yes sir, very much so sir. Obviously insane."

 LUCAS "Your mission is to proceed up to Nung river in a Navy patrol boat. Pick up colonel Kurtz' path at Nu Mung Ba, follow it, learn what you can along the way. When you find colonel infiltrate his team by whatever means available and terminate the colonel's command."

 WILLARD "Terminate ? The colonel ?"

 CORMAN "He's out there operating without any decent restraint. Totally beyond the pale of any acceptable human conduct. And he is still in the field commanding his troops."

 CIVILIAN "Terminate with extreme prejudice."

 LUCAS "You understand captain... , that this operation does not exist, nor will it ever exist." 

In helicopter :

 

How many people 

had I already killed? 

There was those six 

that I know about for sure. 

Close enough to blow 

their last breath 

in my face. 

But this time it was 

An American and 

An Officer. 

That wasn't supposed to make any difference to me, but it did. 

Shit...charging a man with Murder 

in this place was like handing out 

speeding tickets in the Indy 500. 

I took The Mission —

What the hell else was I gonna do? 

But I really didn't know what I'd do 

when I found him.

I was being ferried down the coast in a Navy PBR, a type of plastic patrol boat, pretty common sight on the rivers. They said it was a good way to pick up information without drawing lot of attention. 

That was OK, I needed 

the air and the time. 

Only problem was,

I wouldn't be alone.

Jacobites

Worf

(As happy gamblers play below, Worf sits alone at a table and stares at nothing.) 

O'BRIEN: 

You look like you could 

use some company. 

WORF :

Chief, do you remember the time 

we rescued Captain Picard 

from The Borg? 

O'BRIEN: 

How could I forget? 

It was touch and go 

there for a while. 

There were a couple of moments when I thought we were all going to wind up 

being assimilated. 

WORF: 

I never doubted the outcome. 

We were like warriors 

from the ancient sagas — 

There was nothing 

we could not do. 

O'BRIEN: 

….except keep the holodecks working right.  (grins)

WORF: 

(It is not reciprocated) I have decided 

to resign from Starfleet. 

O'BRIEN: Resign? What are you talking about? 

WORF: 

I have made up my mind. 

It is for the best. 

O'BRIEN: 

Look, I know how much 

you miss the Enterprise, 

but I'm sure they'll be 

building a new one soon. 

WORF: 

It will not be the same. 

The Enterprise I knew is gone. 

Those were GOOD years, 

but now it is time for me to move on. 

O'BRIEN: 

And do what? 

WORF: 

I do not know. 

I thought I would be 

returning to Boreth, 

but now that is impossible. 

I have made an enemy of Gowron, 

and every other Klingon 

in the Empire. 

O'BRIEN: 

All the more reason 

to stay in Starfleet. 

WORF: This uniform will only serve to remind me of how I have disgraced myself in the eyes of my people. I suppose I could get a berth on a Nyberrite Alliance Cruiser. They are always eager to hire experienced officers. 

O'BRIEN: 

The Nyberrite Alliance? 

That's a long way.

 What about your son? 

WORF: 

Alexander is much happier 

living with his grandparents 

on Earth than he ever 

was staying with me. 

One thing is certain. 

The sooner I leave here, the better. 

My continued presence on Deep Space Nine would only be a liability to Captain Sisko in his dealings with the Klingons. 

QUARK: 

Do you hear that, Chief? 

Seventy two decibels. 

Music to my ears. 

O'BRIEN: 

I think I liked it better 

when it was quiet. 

QUARK: 

You want quiet, go to the Replimat. 

This is Quark's the way 

Quark's should be. 

The way it was meant to be. 

Am I glad we finally got rid 

of all those Klingons. 

Present company excepted, 

of course. 

(Worf leaves.) 

O'BRIEN: 

I got to hand it to you, Quark. 

You really know how to make 

your customers feel welcome. 

QUARK: 

What do I care? 

All he ever drinks 

is prune juice.

[Captain's office]

SISKO: 

I'm sorry, Mister Worf, but I can't 

accept your resignation at this time. 

WORF: 

I do not understand. 

What further use 

could I BE here? 

SISKO: 

I'm not •sure• yet. But as long 

as the fighting continues between 

the Klingons and the Cardassians, 

I need you here on the station. 

WORF: 

If you think that is wise. 

SISKO: 

I don't know if it's WISE or not — 

But I DO know that 

you're a good officer, 

and right now I need EVERY 

good officer I can get.