The Magnus Archives - The Magnus Archives ... in Spaaaace

Episode Date: December 26, 2019

Statement of T. Geistman regarding the circumstances of his assignment to, and later dismissal from, the Sales Department of Stellar Firma Ltd.Thanks to this week's Patrons: Jay Grace, Lena, Noj Strebor, handlebarlan, Green-nosed Mule, Charles Lambing, anajinn, Justine Silving, Zach Hoffman, Potato, Nikki Bee, Kayleigh Banyard, Jessica Witt, Geo, Maria, Laura Toh, Bethany King, Birdy Nelson, Patricia Keith, & Hall of Mirrors ArtworksIf you would like to join them, be sure to visit www.patreon.com/rustyquillIf you'd like to hear more of Trexel and David 7's space adventures, check out Rusty Quill's semi-improvised show, Stellar Firma, at https://aca.st/7017b2'With us, you're on firm ground'Editing this week by David DevereuxCheck out our merchandise at https://www.redbubble.com/people/rustyquill/collections/708982-the-magnus-archives-s1You can subscribe to this podcast using your podcast software of choice, or by visiting www.rustyquill.com/subscribePlease rate and review on your software of choice, it really helps us to spread the podcast to new listeners, so share the fear.Join our community:WEBSITE: rustyquill.comFACEBOOK: facebook.com/therustyquillTWITTER: @therustyquillREDDIT: reddit.com/r/RustyQuillEMAIL: [e-mail] Magnus Archives is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill Ltd. and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Sharealike 4.0 International Licence Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

This is the first radio ad you can smell. The new Cinnabon Pull-Apart only at Wendy's. It's ooey, gooey, and just five bucks with a small coffee all day long. Taxes extra at participating Wendy's until May 5th. Terms and conditions apply. As women, our life stages come with unique risk factors, like high blood pressure developed during pregnancy, which can put us two times more at risk of heart disease or stroke. Know your risks. Visit heartandstroke.ca. Hi everyone, Alex here. I'd just like to take a

moment to thank some of our patrons. Jay Grace, Lina, Noyce Trebor, Handel Barlan, Green Nosed Mule, Charles Lamming, Anna Yin, Justine Silving, Zach Hoffman, Potato, Nikki B, Kaylee Banyard, Thank you all. We really appreciate your support. If you'd like to join them, go to www.patreon.com forward slash Rusty Quill and take a look at our rewards. Hi, Tim here, co-creator and captain big time of Stella Firma. When I first decided to pay tribute to the wonderfully successful podcast, The Magnus Archives, with an episode of Our Humble Show, I felt it was important to get the blessing of The Magnus Archives creator, Jonathan Sims. When I asked him, and I will never forget this,

he turned to me and said, No. Under no circumstances will I allow you to do this, and I will never give you my permission. Now, leave me here in my haunted castle of screams. That's not what I wanted to hear, so I turned to angry bureaucrat and CEO of Rusty Quill, Alexander J. Newell. He said, what's it worth to you, whilst gesturing to a burlap sack with swag written across the side.

At least, that's what I think he was saying, through his mouthfuls of foie gras and swigs from a flask of orphans' tears. So, with the full support of some of the Rusty Quill family, I present to you The Statement of T. Geistman, a tribute to the Magnus Archives. Oh, I just got back in here, do I? Is there anything that happens now? Oh, I just go back in here, do I? Is there anything that happens now? Oh, God help me, I'm alive.

Oh, and Trexel saved me, in a way. Idiot. Oh, oh, it's a package. Maybe it's a well-done-or-not-being-recycled present. Maybe it's a guide to getting out of here. And, oh, oh, it's just some sort of speaker box thingy whoa now what's this doing why is the lighting so moody in here stop that stop that you can't fool me you swirling eyed demon take that and that and how about one of these? You're a tough old thing, aren't you?

What's this now? A note. Make your statement. Okay, I was never there, Your Honour. At the time of the offence, I was committing another more serious fire elsewhere on the station, so it could not possibly have been me. And anyway, you can't prove a thing, and I should know because I broke into the prosecutor's quarters and read their notes.

I'm not corrupt. You're corrupt. The defense rests. No further questions. Case dismissed. Oh, wait. There's more. Make your statement.

Face your fear. Fear. Fear. Well, I don't have any fears. Nope. Nope. Not me. I've never had a fear.

What's fear? That's what I say. Old no-fear geistsmen. That's what they call me. Well, there was one night. This was years ago, you understand. I was a young consultant. Skin raw from the academic fluid of the private education tanks and just so full of hopes and dreams for the future. I had it all back then. Freshly minted sales license, a membership to all the executive clubs in a liver you could bounce micro asteroids off. I was, well, I suppose you would say naive. Young and naive. Young, naive and stupid and drunk. I'd been celebrating my graduation. Don't judge me.

Oh, and sleep deprived. Look, the point is that even then I wasn't conforming to the web of rules and regulations and basic safety measures that society wanted to chain me down with. But despite all of that, I knew that sales is where I wanted to be. The rush of the pitch. The thrill of the deal. The glee of the double invoice.. The rush of the pitch. The thrill of the deal. The glee of the double invoice. The ritual hunt of the client.

And the retainers. Oh, my bored the retainers. But, as my mother always said, Who are you and why are you in my office, you short idiot? Wait, sorry, not that one. She always said, Nothing in this universe comes without a price, you short

idiot. And no matter how much taller I got, that never changed. So after I arrived at my new office that evening, it was late, far later than work hours, but I just wanted to see where it was all going to happen, where my domination would begin. The halls were dark, just the dim lights of the instructional propaganda notice board glowing with the words, don't even think about it, buddy. There was the door. In bold letters, T. Geistman, sales consultant. A tear crept to the eye. All mine. Finally, it's all mine. I pressed my tongue to the fluid identification panel, the taste of success. I pressed my flesh onto the print reader, the touch of victory.

And I whispered into the sonic identificator, Geistman, the sound of justice. The door glid open. Glid. Is that right? Glided. Gloated. Glade. The door opened, and I stepped in and it was dark. Far darker than the vast inky void outside showing through the viewport on the opposite wall. That had stars picked out across its surface like a sparse carpet of diamonds spilled by a careless debutante or a clumsy jeweller. And there. There on the desk, something terrible. Something unimaginable.

I tried to look at it closely, but my mind spiralled and refused to focus. My understanding slid over this thing like a slimy clone across a steel floor. What was this, this hideous thing, warping the space around it with malevolent force? Was I mad?

Had my sanity been ripped away from me in that instant and cast out into that void? Had the end come? A promising life cut short without care? Without reason? No. No. Because I'm exaggerating.

But on that desk was... It was... A timetable... Oh, jailer of time. Oh, cruel foreman of the clock. Segmenter of moments in the ever-changing now. Oh, was this the end of my hopes, my dreams, trapped in a desolate future of turning up to things

at the time I had previously stated that I would arrive. My vision was swimming, my chest tight. I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was being buried alive under a mountain of mild responsibility. I couldn't stay there. The hunger for freedom overwhelmed me and my legs worked automatically. I ran for, I don't know how long I ran for or how far, but I ran and ran until my strength gave out. My ears ringing and pounding in my chest, every part of me aching and burning. I looked about for anyone.

Friend. Stranger. Someone I could talk to. Maybe persuade to buy me a drink. But there was no one! In that moment I felt so... lonely. Just me and my thoughts.

It was like the education tanks all over again. Except I wasn't upside down, being flushed from blame-shiftonomics to introductory arithmetrics. I look back on that day now and think that maybe that was the first time things... Maybe things weren't going to be smooth sailing for old Trexel Geistman. Old Geisterino. The Geisterator! Things weren't going to be as easy for old Trexel Geistman. Old Geisterino. The Geisterator!

Things weren't going to be as easy as I thought. Well, story ends. Or statement, or whatever. What happens now? Oh, a trophy! Or a nice side table for my living quarter. Something in dark wood. Bored I could slaughter a flaxen whisk right now.

Wait. Who is that? Who is there? Reveal yourself! Oh, David, is that you? Why are you looking at me like that? And what's that in your hand? Is that my length of pipe? What are you doing with my length of pipe?

Wait, me? With a pipe? I've never approached anyone threateningly with a pipe. That's not David. I'm David. Oh, it's made me feel all tinkly. Oh, I don't like this audio. What's it at all?

Maybe I should... There we go. Right into the chair hole with you. Bye-bye, spooky speaker box. Hello, it's Kareem, the voice of Simon Fairchard from the Magnus Archives, letting you know about our sponsor, Audible. For fans of heart-racing, bone-chilling and mind-bending stories, Audible has everything you need. Audible is the leader in audiobooks, so you'll always find the best and freshest selection of mysteries and thrillers to choose from. Sometimes you just want to get lost in a classic whodunit,

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This is the first radio ad you can smell. The new Cinnabon Pull Apart, only at Wendy's. It's ooey, gooey, and just five bucks with a small coffee all day long. Taxes extra at participating Wendy's until May 5th. Terms and conditions apply.