From: Adrian Tymes <wingcat@pacbell.net> Subject: [PW!] Message To The Troops Date: Monday, December 27, 1999 11:31 PM 'Twas the day after Christmas, and all through Mt. Moon, not a creature was stirring, not even those with an aspect of balloon. "Shaken, not stirred, please." The jigglypuff bartender nodded once, and set to fixing Doppler's drink. "So, tell me, how much did we get this year?" "Same as always: one lump for each of us." She looked towards the fireplace. "I suppose it is good for heating, but surely there's some less polluting use for the coal?" "That's just symbolic. Most of it's in an airlock working its way towards some obscene pressure level. By this time next week, we'll have a bunch of diamonds we can sell. But some of us wanted a fireplace for an old tradition." The bartender winced. "Part of the sell-off will have to pay for this, you know." "I know. But it's good for morale. Besides, *tell* me you didn't want new ones anyway. Many of these were getting chipped." "True." She handed Doppler his drink: a strange concoction of juices and extracts that, she was told, could boost anybody's physiology, much slower but to a greater maximum extent than carbos, calcium, and other common boosters. Doppler was willing to try it on himself, though there had been no apparent effects yet since he had only recently started; she would prefer a bit more research before trying it herself, especially since it tasted so bad. "Looks like they're ready." And indeed, the crowd of his followers was quieting down, looking towards Doppler expectantly. He cleared his mind, summoning the words he had practiced only two hours prior. "Friends, siblings, and those who're only here to find shelter from the cold." A round of laughter. No one present merely came to find shelter; not from nature, anyway. The few travellers who did come close to the base by accident were always routed elsewhere. "There remains so much to do. To this day, the Team and the League continue to encourage adult and child alike to enslave our kind. *All* of our kind - while humans are immune to poke balls, the Powers That Be know of many ways to manipulate the weak-willed and unfortunate, leaving them perhaps even less free in the end. As I speak, the League is holding yet another of its gladiator tournaments, the same style of public 'entertainment' that distracted the ancient Romans from the crumbling of their civilization when they could have rebuilt instead. Meanwhile, our excuse for a government is silent on any non-League issues. There was barely a whisper of protest from them when, earlier this year, millions of pokemon were bred only to die extended, painful deaths from faulty genetic manipulation at the hands of 'professionals'. Even Mewtwo, with no formal scientific training, was (from what we can tell) more responsible and ethical in his experiments; yet they try - and utterly fail - to keep him under house arrest. "But there are signs that give us hope. Few had heard of us last year, but now, our cause and our friends' causes are catching the public imagination." Doppler held up a newspaper, with a front page article on the Resistance's recent Celadon raid; Cinder was clearly recognizable in the main photograph. "Even misguided actions, like taking credit for inflicted misery, put our names out there. I've read this; more than one letter to the editor speaks strongly in our favor, and they're from people we've verified have no current connection to any Resistance organization. "Furthermore, the League's elite are beginning to fear us. I personally hid in Giovanni's own gym for two days straight after he fled from our raid. We still do not know how he knew I was there, but he did not return until the second I was gone. He knows me...and us, and dreads in his heart that we will bring him to justice. "Real justice. Relish it, friends, for it will be rare in the immediate future. Silph Corporation's poke ball production has declined by 50 percent this year, and however much they may say they're temporarily scaling back production to counter an oversaturated market, we know the real reason: forty percent of their factories now lie in ruins, and another ten percent have been abandoned by work crews fearing for their lives. And that's not even counting what we've done to their research facilities. Silph's are not the most sought after jobs any longer, and some of their employees are asking for hazard pay - which further cuts into Silph's bottom line. What they do is a crime...and as we are demonstrating, crime does not pay. "And let us not forget the advances of our own. Most of you have seen the new technologies from our own laboratories, the new strategies and tactics developed in our combat simulators, and the new modes of persuasion written in our studios. Scientist, soldier, artist...we all have our part to play, and while some may receive more glory than the others, no two of these could survive, let alone have much effect, without the third in today's world. With that in mind, I would like to single out one who is all three of these, but who is not with us tonight. Many of us literally owe our lives to his gift, allowing us to keep fighting on even after our enemies would silence our voice for all time. And even better, our own psychics have managed to copy the technique, such that even if he is taken from this mortal coil, we may honor his memory by surviving. Mimic, wherever you are, thank you. "Our own progress is not limited to just ourselves. Some of you may see pokemon as trainers to be just another perversity of the League, but consider this: the more that pokemon are allowed to be just like people, and the more people see pokemon acting just like them, the less people will tolerate their capture. Every one of us can imagine what it would be like to fight against our own mind-controlled brothers and sisters; many of us don't *have* to imagine it. But think what will happen when most people out there see things as we do. When that day arrives, friends, we will have won - permanently and irrevocably. Every day that goes by, our victory draws closer...but only if we work towards it. "And so it is that I propose a toast, my friends." Doppler lifted his glass, as did everyone else present, many of whom were glad to get to the part where they could quench their thirsts, even as they churned Doppler's words in their minds. "To progress!" "PROGRESS!" The word echoed throughout the meeting hall as glasses were drained. Then, all in unison, the glasses were hurled into the fireplace. The bartender grimaced in pain for her equipment; her dishwasher would be running almost constantly during business hours until the new glasses came in, cleaning used glasses for new customers to use.