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                FROM THE FILES OF TEAM M.E.C.H.A.
                Adam Douglas: It's Not My Birthday

                         By Chris Meadows


Well the rain falls down without my help, I'm afraid
And my lawn gets wet though I've withheld my consent
When this grey world crumbles like a cake
I'll be hanging from the hope
That I'll never see that recipe again
As I walk, I think about a new way to walk
As I think, I'm using up the time left to think
And this train keeps rolling off the track
Trying to act like something else
Trying to go where it's been uninvited

It's not my birthday
It's not today
It's not my birthday, so why do you lunge out at me?
When the word comes down "Never more will be around"
Though I'll wish we were there
I was less than we could bear
And I'm not the only dust my mother raised

So I'm rattling the bars around this drink tank
Discretely I should pour through the keyhole or evaporate completely
But there'd be no percentage and there'd be no proof
And the sound upon the roof is only water

And the rain falls down without my help, I'm afraid
And my lawn gets wet though I've withheld my consent
When this grey world crumbles like a cake
I'll be hanging from the hope
That I'll never see that recipe again

It's not my birthday
It's not today
It's not my birthday, so why do you lunge out at me?
When the word comes down "Never more will be around"
Though I'll wish we were there
I was less than we could bear
And I'm not the only dust my mother raised
I am not the only dust my mother raised

    --They Might Be Giants, "It's Not My Birthday"


    The rain beat down against the window of the DefenseTrak
train Adam Douglas was riding in, on his way out of Bob City.
Adam pressed "stop" on his Sony Walkman, the only possession he
had besides his clothes and a few cassette tapes in his pockets.
The song was, he felt, about someone depressed because of all the
things he couldn't change.  Adam had to admit it was remarkably
apt.
    His grey world had crumbled like a cake, and all he could do
was hope that he'd never go through anything else like what he'd
seen and done over the last few days.  He was hanging from the
hope that he'd never see that Revolution again.
    But now, as he was running away, walking out on everything
he'd once held dear, he had the chance to think.  At least, he
had time until he reached his destination.  But he found that he
didn't want to think, do anything right now...the noise of the
train was derailing his train of thought, and he was reduced to
looking out the window into the pouring rain.
    "I guess I really was less than we could bear," Adam
murmured, thinking about what he'd done.  "After the Revolution,
I evaporated completely."  He shrugged.  "But what the hell (tm).
The sound upon the roof is only water."  He'd go back someday,
but not until he could forgive himself for what he'd done.  He
only hoped Sarah Conner would be able to forgive him as well.
    "I guess it could have been worse," Adam thought.  "I could
have kept a diary."

    "Attention please, this is the conductor speaking.  We're
sorry for the delay--a Burlington DefenseCo freight train is
blocking the rail interchange up ahead.  We're trying to get in
touch with someone to get in touch with someone to get the
engineer to move that train up so we can get through.  The club
car will remain open.  Thank you."
    Adam Douglas sighed.  The railroads hadn't been this
inefficient back when they'd been government-subsidized, and now
they were even being run by the same COMPANY.  Shouldn't things
have been better coordinated than this?  The train was already
two hours overdue, and they weren't even halfway to their
destination yet.  A lot of the other passengers were getting
drunk to stave off ennui, and Adam wouldn't have minded a beer at
the moment himself.  However, the least expensive beer on the
menu, Milwaukee Best, was $7.50 a can, which was about $7.33 more
than Adam had.  "They never were quite this expensive back then,
either," he noted.  So he drank water and waited.

    As night fell, Adam decided to get off early.  He'd forged
the ticket (rather badly) anyway--he'd been surprised that the
ticket office hadn't noticed.  But then, the guy had a New York
accent, so Adam wasn't all that surprised.  He understood things
like that happened in NY state all the time.
    When the train pulled in at some small Kentucky town just
after sunset, Adam Douglas shouldered his backpack and stepped
out of the car onto the platform.  He had no idea what he was
going to do for food, where he was going to sleep, or what the
next day would hold.  But it was what he felt he deserved.
    (It was fortunate for Adam that he got off when he did.
AmTrak's accident record hadn't improved any since DefCo had
taken over, either.  CRASH!!!)
    It was chilly as Adam walked down the main street of the
small town, through rapidly-lengthening shadows.  He shivered in
his jacket and walked faster to try to keep warm.  He couldn't
stay outside; he'd catch pneumonia.  But he couldn't afford a
hotel room.  That left only...
    Adam looked up to see the steeple of a nearby church
silhouetted against the red sunset.  "Hope someone's at home..."
He walked over to the big double wooden doors, tried the handle.
Locked.  The lights were out inside, too.  Looked like nobody was
around.
    It was definitely getting colder, though.  Adam pulled out
his Swiss Army Knife (Victorinox brand, of course) and a
paperclip, then paused to consider what he was about to do.
Breaking into a church?  But with cold weather coming on, and
what sounded like a storm moving in, this was not the time for an
attack of morals.  Adam expertly picked the lock on the doors and
stepped inside.
    Fumbling around in the dark, Adam found himself a corner in
which to curl up for the night.  He'd wake up early, and be out
before the sun came up.  With the skill of a professional soldier
who can sleep anywhere, at any time, Adam Douglas dozed off.

    "What have we here?"
    Adam Douglas jerked awake.  "What the...?" he muttered.  Then
he looked up and his eyes focussed on the man standing over him.
He wore the collar of a cleric, and was in his late 40s, with
dark hair that was greying at the temples.  His face was a kindly
one, with vivid blue eyes hidden behind wire-framed spectacles.
And he was looking down at Adam with a curious expression on his
face.  "Oh."
    "I didn't think that I left the door unlocked," the priest
remarked curiously.  "I must have been mistaken."
    "Urgh," Adam grunted, getting to his feet.  "I think I'd
better be going..."  He started for the door.
    "NOT so fast."  Hearing the iron in the man's voice, Adam
halted in midstep.  He turned around slowly.  "Not," the priest
continued, "until you've had some breakfast.  Come on."
    A few moments later, they were facing each other across a
table in a small kitchen off of one of the church's corridors.
Between them were two plates, each of which was occupied by two
fried eggs, two strips of bacon, and a microwave croissant.
"It's not much of a breakfast, but at least it's something," the
priest said apologetically.
    Adam nodded, not saying much as he ate, trying like crazy to
think of a way out of this situation.  Was he going to report him
to the cops?  Have him arrested?  Adam didn't doubt that if he
was taken into custody and his fingerprints sent up they'd get an
APB back on him.
    Adam finished eating and pushed his plate back.  "Uh...thanks
for the breakfast," he said hesitantly.
    "Don't mention it," the priest said.  "Oh, by the way, we
haven't been properly introduced.  My name is Father Matthew
Cleary."
    For a moment Adam toyed with giving a pseudonym, but decided
against it.  "Adam Douglas."
    "Pleased to meet you, Adam."  Father Cleary paused for a
moment, as if about to bring up a distasteful subject.  "I'm
wondering why you--"
    "It was about to rain," Adam said quickly.  "I needed
shelter."
    "That's not what I was asking," Father Cleary said with a
faint hint of reproach.  "What I'm wondering is why you're away
from home to begin with.  You're surely not even...old enough to
drink legally."
    Adam Douglas sighed and closed his eyes.  "There's more than
one kind of old, Father."
    Neither said anything for a moment, Adam thinking about
friends he'd alienated and people he'd nearly killed, Father
Cleary wondering just what Adam could have been through to give
him that outlook.  Then Adam pushed his chair back from the table
and stood up.  "Thanks for the breakfast, but I really should be
going..."
    "Hold on a minute," Cleary said, concerned.  "Where are you
going to go?"
    Adam shrugged.  "I dunno.  Gonna go look for a job or
something, I guess.  Need to get some money so I'll be able to
afford to pay for my next meal."
    "But what about your family?  Won't they be worried about
you?"  Cleary rose to his own feet.  "A boy your age shouldn't be
out on his own.  Listen, why don't you let me buy you a bus
ticket home, wherever home is for you?"
    Adam shook his head.  "I don't need your charity."  He looked
away.  "Besides, I can't go home.  Not yet, and maybe not for a
long time."
    "Why not?" Father Cleary probed.  "Whatever you've done,
surely it can't be that bad."
    Adam shook his head.  "It--it just is."  He turned away.
"Thanks for your hospitality.  For now, I have to go find some
work."
    "Wait."  Father Cleary came around the table to stand in
front of him.  "If it's work you're looking for, then there's
plenty to be done right here.  What do you say?"
    Adam turned slowly.  "I...well, all right."

    Adam Douglas spent the day around the church, doing things
that really needed to be done.  The lawn had to be mowed, of
course, but first the riding mower had to be fixed.  The stained
glass windows needed a (very careful) cleaning; there was some
repainting to be done; a few light switches needed rewiring;
several fuses had to be replaced; some light carpentry was also
required.
     Adam took off his shirt and sweated in the late summer heat,
straining every muscle and sinew in his body as he worked hard on
the necessary chores.  It had been a long time since he'd worked
this hard--perhaps the last time had been helping in the
reconstruction of Garrett Falls after it had been liberated from
Dr. Zwarghoff.  And that had been at the very beginning of his
heroic career.
    Heroic.  Adam snorted.  What had he ever done that was worthy
of being called "heroism"?  He'd followed Mike's lead, that was
what.  And at the end, when he'd finally decided to strike out on
his own, that was when he'd fallen from grace.  Was fate trying
to tell him something?
    "Am I incompetent?" he asked himself, hammering a nail into
place.  "Unfit to do anything heroic without someone else being
in charge?"  He shook his head.  "I can't believe that.  I won't
believe that.  It would mean I wasn't officer material, and I'd
be the first in my family for generations."
    Officer material.  That caused some ironic laughter.  Why
wasn't he in the service right now?  He was certainly old enough
to go through Basic.  In fact, that's what he'd intended to do.
But before he could enter the program, Zwarghoff had come to take
over Garrett Falls, and the rest was history.  "Maybe now would
be a good time..." he thought, considering.  "Only...they
wouldn't take a wanted man."  Another dream gone, or at least
deferred.  That damned Industrial Revolution.  How had he ever
gotten involved?
    The hate.  He couldn't even find it now, not anymore.  The
distrust of magic and magi was still there, but the hate had
vanished.  He could hardly even remember what it had felt like.
Why had he felt it in the first place?  It was a question he
couldn't honestly answer.
    "Ha.  Freud probably couldn't answer it."  He knew what it
probably was.  The mass hysteria of the times had gotten to him.
Radian almost destroying the world.  Sarah Conner disappearing,
and turning up in a magical, semi-medieval country.  That
magic-user, Scholarman.  It had been seeing him there, in such
close proximity to Sarah, that had really set him off.  It would
be ironic indeed if it were the Sorcerer Superfluous's influence
that had sent him down the path he'd taken.  "Fate indeed."
    But he couldn't blame someone else for his problems.  That
was what it all came down to.  He'd been the one at fault.  He'd
gone berzerk, fought and nearly killed one of his friends.  But
at least Mike would be all right.  With all those magical healers
around, how couldn't he be?
    Adam sighed, turning his attention to his work.  If he just
concentrated on what he was doing, he didn't have to remember
what he'd done.  And if he could just get through life one day at
a time, maybe he'd be all right.

    Father Cleary fixed a lunch of tuna salad sandwiches and they
ate at a table outside.  Cleary commented on how much work Adam
had gotten done already, and Adam nodded and grunted but didn't
say much else.  For not the first time that day, Cleary wondered
what could have caused Adam Douglas's strange withdrawal.  He
seemed much too young to be so cynical.
    The priest considered calling the local police station and
seeing if they could find out anything about the young man, but
decided against it almost as soon as he thought of it.
Friendships were built on mutual trust.  If he wanted Adam to
trust him enough to reveal his problems, he would have to trust
Adam in return.
    Adam Douglas kept working, forcing himself to go on even when
his endurance began to wear down.  Even if he wouldn't admit it
to himself, it was almost as if by doing something constructive,
maybe he could redeem himself.  By supper time, he was exhausted,
but he got some energy back durin the meal, enough to go for a
walk through the small town's streets in the gathering evening.
    "So," Father Cleary said as they walked.  "You got a lot done
today."
    "You bet," Adam replied.  "Work.  Tiring, but fulfilling."
    "Some of those chores you did have been needing doing for
months," Cleary continued.  "I think that's worth at least a
hundred dollars."
    "That's not bad for a day's hard work," Adam Douglas
remarked.  "Whew, but I'm tired."  They sat down on a bus-stop
bench to rest for a bit.
    "I've made up a cot for you in one of the side rooms," Father
Cleary said.  "Not as hard as the floor, but you should be able
to get some rest there."
    "You didn't have to--" Adam began, but Cleary interrupted
before he could finish.
    "Yes, I did.  What kind of a host would I be otherwise?"
Cleary grinned.  It was a kindly smile, and Adam couldn't say no.
    "It's almost more than I deserve..." he half-whispered,
staring off into space.
    They sat in silence for a long time, neither one having much
more to say.  At last Father Cleary judged the time was right.
He had to try again now, to find out what was troubling Adam so
he could see if he could do anything to help.  "The way you talk,
that look in your eyes..." he began.
    Adam grunted noncomittally.
    "I've seen it many times before," the Father continued.  "In
the eyes of people who've seen or done something that's come back
to haunt them."
    "So?" Adam asked.  The last thing he needed right now was a
crusading priest trying to convert him...
    "They say confession is good for the soul..."
    Adam gawked.  "You want to confess me?  Here?  Now?"
    Cleary waved his hand in a gesture encompassing the empty
streets.  "There's no one else in sight.  We're completely alone.
I'd say that sanctity of the confessional would cover it.  I
won't tell anyone if you won't."
    "But--I don't even subscribe to your religion!" Adam
protested incoherently.  "And besides, even if I knew what a
'Hail Mary' was, I really doubt that rattling off a few
catechisms would do anything to make up for what I've done."
    Father Cleary reached over and patted Adam on the shoulder.
"My friend, allow me to let you in on a little secret.
Confession isn't simply a religious practice, it's a
psychological one as well.  When you tell someone else about your
problems, it lightens your own burden.  Right now, it's not
important what your faith is.  What IS important is that you
obviously have need of a sympathetic ear."
    Adam sat there in silence for a while, not moving, just
staring off into the distance.  Father Cleary waited patiently,
for he could tell that he'd said enough.  Any additional prodding
would only insure Adam's silence.
    "Father..." Adam said at last.  "Did you hear about the
Industrial Revolution?"

    As the evening wore on, Adam found himself pouring out the
entire story, as he knew it, to the clergyman.  He held back
little, and found that once the tale began, he couldn't stop it.
It simply poured out of him as if someone had turned a spigot.
There were no tears, even when he described the horrible
atrocities he had witnessed, and his memory of his mother's
death.  All his tears were gone--they'd been exhausted a long,
long time before.
    All through the tale, Father Matthew Cleary listened
attentively, nodding in all the right places.  He hung on every
word, and was at once fascinated and repelled by what he was
hearing.  This did not match the story that had been on the
national news that day, about Dave Ross and his Daleks, but it
made much more sense when you thought about it.
    And it was terrible.  It was the Inquisitions, the Third
Reich, and the Ku Klux Klan all over again.  Cleary could imagine
how Adam might feel with all this on his conscience.
    "That's quite a story," the priest said when Adam had
finished.
    "Isn't it though?" Adam replied, looking up to where the
stars were starting to show themselves.  "So, what do you say?"
    "Well, this is the place where I would normally impose
penance," the cleric said.  "As you said, catechisms or 'Hail
Maries'.  But for what you've done, I can only think of one thing
you can do to make up."
    Adam looked at Father Cleary.  "What's that?" he asked.
Despite his professed disbelief in Cleary's faith, his heart had
begun to beat faster, as if whatever this man said could hold the
key to his redemption.
    "Make up," Cleary said.  "Go to the people you have wronged
and apologize to them.  If they can forgive you, then surely you
can then forgive yourself."
    "But--" Adam protested.
    "And one more thing," Father Cleary continued.  "You may not
be in quite as much trouble with the law as you think."
    "What do you mean?" Adam asked suspiciously.
    "It seems that the government has dropped all charges
relating to the Industrial Revolution."
    "What, all of them?!" Adam gasped.  "But--people were killed!
All that fighting...how could they?"
    "Well, it seems that they chose to believe the account of a
hero named 'Space Moose,' about how some fellow named Dave Ross
was trying to invade the earth, and all of earth's heroes and
mages joined together to fight him off."
    Adam slapped himself in the forehead.  "Oh, no...
He--they--Space Moose?!  How on EARTH could they believe that
buffoon.  Geez..."
    "Sometimes people want to believe something so much that they
will," Father Cleary suggested.  "It might happen to governments,
too."
    Adam had to admit that was as good an explanation as any.
Shortly afterward, they adjourned back to the church and Adam
went to bed.

    The next day, as Adam rode a westbound DefenseCo bus toward
the next state, he had occasion once more to think about his
past.  It was still there, still haunting him, and it probably
would for a long, long time.  Nothing different in that.
    However, he had more to think about in what Father Cleary had
told him.  "Apologize," he had said.  What made him think that
the others from Team M.E.C.H.A. would even listen to his apology?
For all he knew, they might want to shoot him on sight.
    But Sarah Conner's face still haunted him, and he knew he
still loved her.  But he couldn't go back yet.  He couldn't ask
for forgiveness until he felt worthy of it.  And when that would
be, he still couldn't tell.
    But at least he was off the hook legally.  Maybe something
could happen, maybe redemption was closer than he thought.  He
had to keep his optimism, even in the face of self-doubt.  "The
sound upon the roof is only water," he told himself.  "And the
rain falls down without my help, I'm afraid, and my lawn gets wet
though I withheld my consent..."


              WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO ADAM DOUGLAS NEXT?

            WHAT FURTHER ADVENTURES WILL HE RUN INTO?

           WILL TEAM M.E.C.H.A. BE ABLE TO FORGIVE HIM?

           WILL ARIELLA CONNER BE ABLE TO FORGIVE HIM?

    WHEN WILL HE DISCOVER THAT TEAM M.E.C.H.A. HAS BROKEN UP?

         IS THE SOUND UPON THE ROOF *REALLY* ONLY WATER?


          FURTHER DETAILS, COMING SOMETIME SOON, ONLY ON

                             SUPERGUY

--
Chris Meadows/Robotech_Master // chm173s@nic.smsu.edu // GEEK CODE V2.0:
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