The Mini-burger

FanFic in the Birmoverse

Two Letters To the Royal Society – Savo

And so it is gentlemen, that I come to the last and greatest mystery of our voyage.  One that has lasted these 20 odd years and still perplexes our greatest minds and fills me with a sickening foreboding of what may be.

We found the three on a hill set within the links of Rose Bay Golf Course.  A rolling piece of well manicured lawns and greens established near to its’ namesake and enclosed by stout fencing.  A place where it was anticipated the transportees may be allowed to roam unmolested by the Scourge to  set camp and tend for themselves.

The crosses the three were mounted upon were crude affairs, hurriedly constructed and poorly erected.  The art of wood-working seems terribly lost upon those modern surviving souls.

The all of the deplorably disfigured denizes of the so called Calgary Paradox, were affected by the contagion we know as the Scourge.  All were exhibiting the same countenance as all of the many, many others we had come across.  So many others in fact, we were seriously in peril of stripping our ball ammunition.  And as such His Excellency proclaimed all ball shot, which had been provided by Eley Brothers Ordinance, of London, to be used in exigent circumstances only, otherwise curtelace, cudgel, pike, gaff and halberd would have to suffice.

It was this standing order that serendipitously resulted in the discovery.

The two outer wretches exhibited all of the ferocious violence and lustful appetite for human flesh as the others tainted with the Scourge.  One was even able to wrench both its nailed arms from the crux commissa in an effort to feast upon us.  It’s feet however, remained nailed to the upright stauros as it leapt, and we were able to set upon it with enthusiasm. 

We finished off the outer pair and were about to take to the centre crucifixee.  The central rough cross impaled a thin, bearded man of about 30 years of age, whom appeared to be similarly affected by the Scourge, milky white eyes, the smell of death, ragged, unbleeding wounds.  However when first struck, a crude blow I must say, by one of the Marines accompanying us, he called out in the odd inflection used by so many of the survivors and is a hallmark of their conversation, almost as much as their blasphemy and irreverence.   We were taken aback.  The eyes of the man remained clouded, but fixed upon whoever’s voice was louder.  He did beseech assistance in a most heartfelt and pitying manner.  The Marine went to clobber him again but I quickly stayed his hand.  It was clearly an unusual situation to say the least, and me without the good Doctor by my side.

I was unwilling to release this man, prophetically as we know, named Benjamin ‘son of the south’, at least until Surgeons’ White or Worgan had examined him or Major Ross ordered his dispatch.  The trip back to the landing site was uneventful but strange, with the impaled Benjamin who was being carried by several convicts, singing about looking upon the ‘bright side of life’.

As you all know, there was never an order given to euthanase Benjamin, and his condition flummoxed the Surgeons and remains inscrutable to this day. 

Benjamin still does not bleed, still has no colour in his eyes, and has not appeared to have aged a day since I found him.  He is in good spirits, complains of little and is allowed all of the freedoms Norfolk Island can provide.  He is, apart from external appearances and mircoscopical examinations, unaffected by the Scourge.

Gentlemen of the Royal Society, I come here today not so much as a good example of  military potency, scienficial inquiry or personal fortitude but as a dire warning of the Sword of Damocles hanging over our heads.  I implore you not to undertake any further experimentation upon the eukaryotes, kromosomes, cistrons and other microscopical parts of Benjamin nor of the contagion that caused the variance of the Scourge within him.


Watkin Tench

Lieutenant-General HM Royal Marines (HMS Portsmouth)

We finished off the outer pair in quick time.   The central rough cross impaled a thin, bearded man of about 30 years of age, whom appeared to be similarly affected by the Scourge, white eyes, the smell of death, torn, unbleeding wounds.  I see some of you smiling, for yes, all in Christendom have heard this story.  One of my Marines, poor Private Tunks, thrust a gaff through the side of the remaining crucifixee.   It was then we heard that immortal cry “God, haven’t I suffered enough!” uttered from the lips of the man upon the cross, Benjamin of Sydney.

If I may add, without being at all sacrilegious, that when the Good Benjamin first uttered the peoples rally cry, he made use of that odd inflection exploited by so many of his countrymen, which is a hallmark of their conversation, almost as much as their blasphemy and irreverence.

Private Tunks was stunned to say the least, along with the rest of the Command.  I must admit to being momentarily put out and with Lieutenant Tench not having the good Doctor by his side, it was some little time before I realised the decision he had to make.

Here was a compos victim of the Scourge.  What were we to do with him?

After Private Tunks gingerly withdrew the gaff, Benjamin’s condition became more apparent, the chest wound insisted on not bleeding but differently to the massed mobs we had previously dispatched, the gaping hole in his chest began to knit back together almost whole.  This was the first of many wonders, nay miracles exhibited by the Man from Rose Bay.

Gentlemen, I speak to you from the perspective of a hardened military man whom has seen and caused more than his fair share of havoc.  I am not a dandy with pretensions nor, to use the modern vernacular, a God botherer.  And so, I feel my word has a perspective more aligned to the real world, not the aerified levels populated by ‘quality persons’ or those in sanctuaries peopled by Ones of The Cloth.  The compassion and wonders I have witnessed within the presence of Benjamin are beyond the concepts of this day.  When I say I believe we have experienced the Second Coming, I do not recite it with theological dread, I declare it with heartfelt hope.

I urge your scientific scrutiny to support the masses, the people who follow Benjamin and call out ‘God, haven’t I suffered enough’.

James Scott Senior Lecturer  The House of Benjamin of Syndey (former Sgt Royal Marines)

Transcription of evidence from RS meeting Apr 1804 “Investigations into The Calgary Paradox”


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