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[Out of Milliways: Gardez's reception committee was less than pleasant.

So Voodoo's not terribly trusting right now.]

Voodoo really doesn't care that this was supposed to be the safehouse - again. He just needs somewhere to unwind for a bit.

Those looking for him will find him lounging in a corner booth, his rifle resting on the tabletop - unloaded, of course. His pistol, however, is most assuredly not. He's still wary of the place.

Come say hi.

~~Or mock his beard. Again.~~ Nonono. Bad idea.

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Shephard's been keeping himself busy for a few hours now, and he likes to think he's done some quality work, but it's colder and wetter outside than he really likes for flint-knapping. Hence the damp Marine (who only smells a little like wet dog) strolling in from the back.

The guy in the corner booth gets an odd look; you don't see that kind of getup around here all that often.

That look again.

Voodoo looks right back - it's best to get the Big Reveal over with.

"What? Is there a dick growing out of my forehead or something?"

"Naw, but you got a couple angry squirrels hanging onto your chin," says Shephard after a half-second's recovery. "Long time no see, Voodoo."

Look, no one ever said the man had all his survival instincts.

"Got that right," says Voodoo. "So what's up?"

"Ain't never goin' to bed again without checkin' my boots twice for spiders, for one thing," says Shephard. "Nor the toilet seat, neither. They got shit in Australia you wouldn't believe."

"Been there twice on joint exercises, so I'd probably believe it. You meet your first redback yet?"

"Whole swarm of 'em," says Shephard, who has a pretty good vocabulary that somehow mysteriously does not extend to whatever the hell the collective noun for a group of spiders. "Fuckers'd strung up a goddamn bullsquid between two buildings."

He indicates something easily four or five feet long.

"Seen one of them funnelweb things too- the black ones? Yea long? That bastard coulda bit through my goddamn boot with fangs like that."

"Aussies're tough motherfuckers. Well, tough or too goddamn stupid to move somewhere else." He leans back in the booth.

"So besides getting acquainted with the local wildlife, what else've you been doing? Freeman said you were getting chummy with the locals."

"Yep. Me'n the others found 'em. Ol' mining town called Andamooka. Filmed the Mad Max movies there," says Shephard. "Two hunnert or so people, bunch of 'em from Woomera'n Roxby Downs, some of 'em from further out. They ain't half as hot on blowin' up the Combine pipeline as the folks who met the boat."

(He met up with Alyx here and she told him about that part; Freeman, however, he hasn't seen since he left to track down that signal.)

"Yeah, Alyx told me about the pipeline. You guys honestly considering assaulting it with just 60 swinging dicks?"

All-out assaults aren't so much his specialty as raids are, but he knows a suicidal plan when he sees one. He might be a SEAL, but he's far from stupid.

"Fuck no," says Shephard. "Not last I heard- you musta seen her before I talked to her. The folks at Andamooka want that pipeline left alone. Even if we got enough assbastards on our side to git the job done, we blow that pipeline and Andamooka dies. There ain't enough water left in the ground after the shit the Combine've done."

He starts rummaging through his pockets; he's pretty sure he's still got a scrap paper map on him somewhere....

"Might have an alternative, though."

"And what would that be?"

"Pipeline's major feed's an offshore desalination plant," says Shephard. "It's a ways, but it's nowhere near as fuckin' far as the alternatives, and if we c'n git enough shit together to take the plant we got us a way of starvin' the fuckin' maggots' pet gene worm and makin' sure the humans've got enough water to survive."

Voodoo nods and scratches his beard. "I'd say around 10 to 20 shooters'd be enough. 'course, it depends on how big the place is. That, their training, and a whole shitload of other variables."

"Yeah, we're gonna come up short in that department," says Shephard, "less'n some of the Andamooka crowd's got their dive certs or somethin'. Might be some of the South Americans we got on the crew c'n do it too. Gonna have to get the gear from-"

He gets a thoughtful look for a moment, then grimaces.

"Gonna need real fuckin' good gear," Shephard says. "Damn near forgot. Most parts of the world, there ain't a whole lot of Earth sea life left no more. Fuckin' Xen oogieboogies swept on in like a case of the clap. Ain't like that around Australia, though, on account of the space leeches ain't real good at not dyin' when they get stung. You ever hear of a nasty little bastard called the Irukanji jellyfish?"

That draws a smirk from Voodoo.

"Heard of it? We got swarmed by a whole bloom near an oil rig. Wetsuits kept 'em off us, but those were some vicious little fuckers. Bet your ass I've heard of it."

"Well, that's why we ain't got to worry about the Xen leeches. Fuckin' jellyfish," says Shephard. "From what I hear they make it real damn miserable for the dinosharks, too."

"Hell, the more of the fuckers they can take down, the better. 'less their stingers've mutated or some shit, your guys should be find in wetsuits. Bar'll probably get you some real fast."

Shephard nods. "I'll start lookin' around, see if we got anybody who can dive," he says. "Gonna go out on a limb here and guess if I asked for the Navy's assistance you wouldn't say no? 'Cause I c'n do boats'n regular swimming'n shit, but wetsuits weren't on the training list at Santego."

"Freeman beat you to the punch there, pal. Told him I'd do it. Like you said, though, we're gonna need gear. Lots of it."

A brief look of irritation flashes across Shephard's face; then his expression smooths out and he nods. "I'll see what I can scare up," he says. "One way or another we'll get it."

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