MEMBERS
---
Captain James Carter
Chief Engineer Amelia Patel
Navigator David Johnson
Communications Officer Sarah Smith
Medical Officer Michael Thompson
Scientist Daniel White
=-=
MISSION OBJECTIVE
---
To explore uncharted regions of space, seeking
out new worlds, civilizations, and phenomena
to expand humanity's understanding of the cosmos
and pave the way for future colonization and
scientific discovery.
=-=
| ID |LogLvl| Source | Date/Time | Short description |
+----+------+----------------+-----------------+------------------------------+
|3243| INF | LineTools |08-04-73 22:48:43|Call statistics |
|3242| INF | DHCPserv |08-04-73 22:48:31|DHCP client lease expiration |
|3241| ERR | LineTools |08-04-73 22:42:01|CO 3 line failed to connect |
|3240| INF | telmailer |08-04-73 22:40:00|Mailbox compacting in progress|
|3239| INF | DNSserv |08-04-73 22:39:28|DNS zone S/N incremented |
|3238| WRN | DirectoryDB |08-04-73 22:35:39|Unbound directory entries |
|3237| INF | DirectoryDB |08-04-73 22:35:38|Directory defrag complete |
|3236| WRN | NTPsync |08-04-73 22:33:17|Cannot sync with NTP server |
|3235| ERR | disk |08-04-73 22:32:59|Bad block on \\.\ata0\disk0 |
|3234| WRN | UPS |08-04-73 22:28:45|Backup battery low voltage |
admin:disk0\telesys\system >linetools
^L
LINETOOLS 1.84
(c) Sterncomm
1) Line statistics and status
2) Line configuration
3) Internal switching
4) Trunk/CO switching
5) Subscriber services
6) Billing output
7) Switchboard configuration
8) Numbering plan
9) Datalink
10) Switchboard controller nodes
q) Exit
Select: 4
** TRUNK/CO SWITCHING SETTINGS **
Switchboard \\.\exch\swbd0
1) Select switchboard
2) Trunk/CO hunting groups
3) Trunk/CO line configuration
Select: 3
Enter line number [1-9, C-select trunk controller]: 3
*******************************************************************************
Line: \\.\exch\swbd0\cardbus1\trunkctl0\lco2
1) Line type: Single-pair Analog
2) Inter-exchange protocol: SS7
3) Inbound allow: True
4) Outbound allow: True
5) Group outbound restrictions: None
6) Inbound restrictions: None
7) Billing table: Table 1
8) Trunk/CO hunting group: Group 1
9) Call priority handling: >>
10) Signal generator: Generator 0 (\\.\exch\swbd0\sgen0)
11) Inbound call routing: >>
12) Line failure counter: 2 [Reset]
13) Measure line parameters: >>
14) Line state: Down, line alarm
Select: 13
LineTools will execute line parameters test using switchboard's diagnostics
card. The line will be out of service for about 2 minutes. Results are logged
in switchboard controller's event log.
During the test ** DO NOT ** disconnect trunk/CO interface in the switchboard!
Do you wish to proceed? [[Y]es/[N]o/[B]ackground]: Y
Please wait...
Line test finished.
Line idle voltage: 48.4 V
Loop state: Open
400 Hz Generator: OK
Pulse dialing module: OK
DTMF module: OK
SS7 controller: OK
Off-hook attempt: OK
CO-inter dialing attempt: OK
CO-ext dialing attempt: ERROR
Carrier freq: 1200/---- Hz
SNR: -- dB
Last disconnect: Line connection dropped
[[Warning! Unsecured and unrecognized broadcast incoming. Listen at your own
risk. VNTEK is not responsible for anything that's broadcast on this wavelength.]]
#### begin transmission ####
Oh. Oh! It’s on! Bulk, I did it! Look at that… shit, it’s broadcasting!
Uh, greetings! This is Case speaking, aboard the Acerion. I’ve been messing
with this radio for, what, a week now? It’s an old VNTEK handheld combined
with some scrapped parts I bought from a trader on our last space station stop.
I think it’s still got some VNTEK protocol left in it so sorry if there’s
any issues! It's so cool... just sending broadcasts out into the
depths in the hope that someone is listening at the perfect time
in the perfect way to hear it.
Oh, you got it to turn on?
Yes! And for all we know, someone could be listening on the other end!
Next to me right now is Bulk, our engineer and scientist.
I’m Case, the “captain”, but there’s really no leader on this team.
I’m just the one that can pilot the ship best.
Our last member is probably tending to xer garden,
xe might not be on the air much. Xer name is Net. Right, so, broadcasting. We’ve
been out here for about three weeks now. We’re taking a large shipment to
Orion XVII, a cluster just beyond the outer limits of the Convergence.
It’s a lonely journey, but at least we have each other. And we have you now, too!
We have this radio and we can have a nice, one ended conversation.
I’m planning on giving this mess of cables and wires a nice chassis
and then maybe upgrading it.
Weren’t you planning on jailbreaking the ship terminal?
Oh yeah! I can work this radio into the whole ship’s system! It’d be best to do
that when we reach Orion XVII though, the last thing we need is the
integral computer module going kaput mid-flight. I was reading about this
fascinating new way to strip away the computer’s memory
of VNTEK as a whole, involving…
...
…and we’re back. Hit a patch of static there. Maybe the universe
is trying to tell me to stop monologuing about my tech adventures, haha.
I should… I should wrap this up. Keep this first one short. It’s getting close
to suppertime. It’s important to keep a good schedule while in space, you know!
There’s no real way to tell what time it is otherwise. I suppose that’s all
from the Acerion for this first broadcast. Hopefully we have many more to come!
#### end transmission ####
[[Thank you for choosing VNTEK. VNTEK: Our service lasts eternal.]]
]]>
--------------------- [SB-129 Class Starship] ----------------------
## TRANSMISSION RECIEVED 2314-01-27 ##
"What are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?"
The question puzzled St'Wek. Not only because he hadn't had a work to
"be at" for quite some time now, but also because he seemed to find
himself in an unfamiliar place and thrown into a conversation with a
likewise unfamiliar person out of nowhere. He didn't remember what he
had been doing just now but he knew that he had never been where-ever
he was at the moment.
"Uhm. No.", he said plainly since the stranger seemed very annoyed by
his general cluelessness. He didn't appreciate being stressed by a
strange, thin alien in an boring building with all-white (or very
brightly coloured) furniture that lacked any ornamentation. He began
to become very annoyed now at this lazy excuse for an exposition.
"Where am I?" he asked.
The alien rolled his eye (for he had only one of those).
"We don't have time for this", he said, "You're pairing up with
Lataz, he's starting in the extraction department today. You should
count yourself lucky that we need employees so badly at the moment or
you'd be.. well, you know."
"No. I don't", said St'Wek, "And I'm not really looking for a job,
actually, so if you could show me the nearest exi-"
The thin man had gone already. In his place now stood a smaller
creature with a quieter voice. "Please come with me", it said.
"Fine. But I don't actually want to. And I will complain the whole
time."
Lataz shrugged and lead the way.
"I've been working here for most of my life", he said after a pause,
"But I've never worked extraction. I don't even quite know what they
do there. No one does, but you're aware of that of course, sorry."
"No, I'm actually not. Nor do I care much. My hot tip is that they
might be extracting something. Will you tell me where I am?
Are we on a ship or a planet? And where are my friends?"
Only with the last sentence did St'Wek remember his two companions
and he instantly became more worried.
The small man was visibly irritated. "You must know where you are!
This is Bhel and you are at LEAD. As you well know", he laughed
uncomfortably, "No one could just walk in here by accident. The place
is very well guarded and they don't let just anyone in."
"My friends, what about my friends!", St'Wek demanded.
"I just met you, I don't know anything about you or where your
friends are. Sorry. This way."
St'Wek followed his guide through a maze of identical corridors to a
central door protected by every security measure he'd ever heard of -
and then some. After Lataz had finished leaving a sample of seemingly
every cell in his lanky body the door whizzed open.
On the other side lay a great hall filled with all manner of
cyclopses looking intently at a large screen that took up the entire
wall opposite the door. At his left and right St'Wek observed that
the walls were minimalistcally decorated with black banners
that showed a symbol which looked a bit like a closed eye with a
stream of water in the background. Underneath this were letters
of some kind. He guessed they must say "LEAD", though the only way
to know for sure was to ask someone.
The ability to read had never been granted to him, after all.
He followed his nervous guide mindlessly and found himself standing
among the people, staring at the big screen. It whizzed on now,
depicting a close up of someone's face. A woman, St'Wek guessed,
though it was never really a sure thing with aliens. They could look
and sound all kinds of ways, sometimes that didn't mean anything. He
didn't even know what exactly XAecnes was, come to think of it.
"Esteemed LEAD workers", the giant face said, "We are honoured to
welcome you to the extraction department. You each have worked in one
of the many other departments and have achieved a reputation as good
workers, as people who put the well-being of the collective above
all. People who can be trusted to do what is necessary."
"In my time, some were outraged by my research. But while they
twiddled their appendages and shook their heads, saying how very
unfortunate it was that the population was diseased and dying,
I took action. They said it was the way it had always been, that
there was no changing it. I showed them the means to their salvation
but they turned away and feigned ignorance.
Imagine where we would be if these voices had won, if Mehtr Pakal
had never been allowed to use her theories and allow the disease-free
present we live in today. The estimated lifespan has almost doubled
over the past 20 cycles. Grandparents need no longer fear seeing their
own grandchildren for the viruses they may carry. The birth rate
has increased, since potential parents are no longer afraid
that their children will die from infections."
"But this miracle would be impossible without the work you do every
day. So as the privilege of working in extraction befalls you,
remember why we are here. All of you are miracle workers, heros.
Angels of mercy."
The face disappeared and the crowd was pleased with itself; shaking
its hands and welcoming itself to the family. The giant screen split
in two, revealing itself to be a door also. As the great wall parted
with a loud rumble, the screams started to wash in from the
other side.
_
^'#~
<(.l.)>
--
| |
| |
---| |-----------------------------------------------------------
The first thing Aanya of Faino noticed was that she was staring.
She was staring, but not at anything in particular. She was staring,
but she wasn't seeing anything. She concluded that this was a silly,
ineffective thing to do, so she decided she should actively see
whatever it was she was aiming her eyes at.
Her eyes were aimed at a marble statue of an old man with only one
eye, but three legs, as if to make up for it. The statue was painted
in a warm red.
Out of his eye the man was crying pure water, which gathered in a
pool below. Over the water hovered a long insect with thin wings,
which Aanya instinctively grabbed and shoved into her mouth.
It didn't taste like anything and didn't fill her stomach one bit.
"What a waste of time" she thought.
Once she had started to become annoyed, she realized she had a much
better reason to be annoyed. Such as not knowing where she was
or how she had gotten there. Aanya of Faino frowned.
"Aanya", someone called. "Aanya, where are you now?"
"I don't know", said Aanya, more to herself than anyone.
"Ah there you are", said the small one-eyed creature which now came
into view. It was hard to guess the age of an alien species
you had never seen before, so Aanya didn't.
"Come on, dear, mother is waiting. She's having another boring
meeting and I have to attend. You must come with me and keep me
entertained so I don't die of boredom."
The cyclops took Aanya by the arm and dragged her through the roofed
garden with the sad water fountain into the house.
Aanya let this happen. Not much else to do, really. Other than...
"Where am I and who are you?", she asked while running to keep up
with her arm.
"No games Aanya, we're running late already. More walking,
less talking."
So that didn't clear anything up. Aanya decided to reschedule
her annoyance to a later time and to simply indulge this strange
person as long as it did no harm.
She was slowly but surely developing a headache.
The walls here were very warm, it really irritated her eyes.
No use in being annoyed on top of all that.
Aanya of Faino had only recently learned that there was a color
called "purple"; worst of all that she was apparently reflecting
this color. That was a bizarre concept that she didn't waste any
more time thinking about. While others like XAecnes could see purple,
Aanya's visual spectrum began between yellow and green and ended
somewhere around short-wave infrared.
So when she said things like "the walls here are very warm and it's
a strain on the eyes" this was not due to synesthesia or anything
of the sort; if she said the walls looked warm
then it was because the walls were warm.
Finally they arrived in a large hall with a long table at the center.
The walls were off-white and the chairs around the table bent in on
themselves in a way that might have been quite artistic, but not,
as far as Aanya could imagine, comfortable. Despite this many of
them were occupied by larger one-eyes persons with stern looks and
figurative long white beards.
"It's the council", explained the smaller creature, "She's been
looking forward to this for half a season now; to finally present
her idea." Aanya nodded. This sure was a situation.
"Welcome, council, and thank you for seeing me. I promise you
you will not regret your decision!", a high voice from behind Aanya
said. It belonged to someone in a red dress who closed the door
upon entry. The meeting had started, apparently. The person
lightly pushed Aanya and her companion away on her way to the table.
"Yes", said a sceptic voice, "You've promised quite the miracle
this time, Mehtr. If it wasn't for your well documented success in
the fields of microbiology, we would've laughed and thrown your
letter right out. Instead of just laughing."
The small cyclops beside Aanya frowned. At least, that's what Aanya
thought the expression meant. The person in the dress just smiled.
"I can hardly blame you. It is fantastical, isn't it? To think
the people in this room could be the ones to end disease on Bhel
forever." A pause.
Everyone else in the room looked at eachother in half amused, half
tired disbelief. Wham! The sound of a fist on the table, though
Aanya got the feeling it was not out of anger but rather
a calculated action.
"I know everyone here has lost someone. I know you are tired and
maybe you have no energy for childish hopes. But I do not have the
luxury to turn my head away from sick children and the dying poor.
My own daughter has mere seasons left to live-"
Aanya noticed an appandage raised in her direction and felt a cold
rush pierce through her, it was like being called out by the General
when you hadn't been paying attention. Then she remembered the
gleeful cyclops next to her and scratched her head scales in
embarassment.
"- and I cannot just stand by when I know I have a shot at saving
her life and other mothers from the sorrow of losing a child."
Aanya regarded the girl. She didn't seem sick to her at all, she'd
been dancing down the corridor just a little while ago and she was
visibly rooting for her mother. But then she didn't know anything
about these people and their diseases.
She hoped the child wasn't contagious.
"Yes, yes, you may spare us the theatrics, we are not your sponsors.
Just explain to us how you intend to save the world."
And the "Mehtr" woman did. Aanya didn't understand much of it.
Biology was never her sort of topic, too many fluids and mutations.
Technology was always more or less the same. After a while she
resumed her morning activity of staring at nothing in particular.
But there was one thing, near the end, that made the council shift
uneasily in their seats. Mehtr kept going, unbothered by this,
until finally one of the members jumped from their seat and cut
her off.
"Stop.", they demanded with barely contained disgust.
"I'm sorry, did you say you want our permission to inject Tauwian
cells into our children?" A dissatisfied rumbling resounded
from the other members.
The woman seemed undeterred. "Yes. Well, after appropriate testing,
of course."
"That's horrific", a voice exclaimed, "I don't want any dirty
Tauwian substances in my family blood. Why, these people are barely
distinct from animals!"
"Please calm yourself", said Mehtr. "I can see you're uneasy, so a
demonstration is in order. Iakeō, darling, would you fetch
the ratbird."
The girl nodded enthusiastically and shot out of the room, wafting
a breeze of air into Aanya's face in the process. They waited.
Then Iakeō returned with a creature in a cage that did in fact
resemble a mash-up of a rat and a bird. Its feathers were thin
and its eyes were watery, it didn't look too well.
"Thank you. As you can see this poor animal has contracted the
incurable seurian flu. Harmless to us Heek, of course, but a vet
would have to put it down. With just a small injection of my
universal vaccine, which yes, contains what you so ellequantly
described as 'dirty Tauwian substances'..."
She injected the ratbird with a clear liquid.
It shifted and protested and after the vial was empty it sat still
for a moment. Then it spread its wings for all to see, as it rapidly
grew more feathers and the color returned to its small furry body.
The crowd gasped. A lot of "I don't believe it"s and "Incredible"s
could be heard.
"While they aren't as intelligent and civilized as us, Tauwians
have a fascinating phisiology, without which this wouldn't be
possible. It is a matter of shifting your focus away from sullying
our racial purity. Think of this much the same way you think of using
the secretions of the pigfly to anethezise patients. You said it
yourself, after all, they are barely distinct from animals"
Aanya let a long hard "Hmmmmmmmmmmmm" slip out of her mouth.
She didn't know much about these Tauwian people or their
intelligence but she did feel like comparing them to animals was the
start of something very nasty indeed.
The council did not seem to think so. The grim expressions of its
members appeared to lift away from their faces and fly out of the
window like a ratbird.
The grey desert seemed to stretch endlessly between the abandoned
buildings. XAecnes had been walking for a while now in hopes of find-
ing anyone or anything living. And there had been plants of course,
loads of them (though not very pretty and mostly grey, not that it
bothered XAecnes) but no sentient creature, no one to talk to.
No one to tell XAecnes what planet this was and where the rest
of the Lovelace crew was staying.
It was not pleasant at all, it was rather boring and lonely. XAecnes
didn't mind being alone, of course, in that lovely room on the ship
with a record of Earths history to read through or old ship recordings,
but this was just depressing. And it reminded the small crustacean
too much of home.
Still, there had to be a reason for its presence here.
If XAecnes couldn't believe that anymore, couldn't believe that some
cosmic force was guiding the path, that every action contributed to
the holistic ecosystem of the universe...
Well, what would be left of home then?
What would be left of Planet 7ːɹi?
XAecnes had seen many curious things so far. Scientific equipment,
barred doors, empty fountains with rusty plugs and statues of one-
eyed people that were probably important figures, or at least
famous ones. All in all the place presented a nice little mystery,
but what fun was it to solve it all alone? To solve it without
Aanya's sceptical yet helpful comments and St'Weks periodical
declarations that he didn't care, though he clearly kind of did.
XAecnes sighed, insofar it was possible to do with those mouthparts,
and climbed through the shattered window of a nearby house with
barred doors. The inside didn't look much like the inside of a house.
Really, it looked like a bit of outside that someone had built a roof
over and then called it a day.
There was sand and broken wood lying in the dirt, there was no
furniture and childrens toys with missing limbs were spread out
across the room. It reminded XAecnes of human horror movies, the only
thing missing from the athmosphere was a childs laughter or singing
blowing in the wind. Hm. What a terrible thing to think about,
this had been a real inhabited planet after all.
Probably. XAecnes wasn't sure if it was a planet, or if it was wholly
deserted. Planets are usually very big.
There! A weak light in the dirt. XAecnes dusted off the notebook-like
device, that seemed to consist of many self-illuminating blank pages.
It seemed like it had once been brand new, when it had belonged to a
living person. The only page with writing on it was the first.
XAecnes read:
> Our fountains are filled with blood
> but we don't know it,
> we don't see it,
> we don't recognize it, because it's see-through.
> We don't see the blood on our hands
> because it blends into normality
> Or we do see it, do we know what we've done
> but don't care - who would care for transparent blood?
> We bleed red, this is all that matters.
> I wonder what the founder would say if he knew
> What he would say if he knew that thousands of seasons
> after his death
> he'd be crying blood on every street corner. Would he be
> disgusted? I like to think so but I know it's not true.
> He wouldn't care any more than we do now.
> Something has to die so that something else may live -
> is it that simple? Or is it just easier
> to keep the white walls clean
> when the blood won't leave a stain?
> And when the blood started to turn red
> did it suddenly matter? When the walls were sullied
> and we couldn't pretend it was water anymore
> was it suddenly a tragedy?
> Or was it just fair?
> Was it what we deserved?
c \
| /
( o o )
_ II _
|______|
/ \----------------------------------------------------------
## END OF TRANSMISSION ONE ##
]]>
Leaps And Bounds - terminal_fragments unclewayback
"So I was curled up on the wormhole rug puking into the toilet the
whole time?"
"Yes honey, 'fraid so."
"And you are quite sure I don't have, you know, facial hair?"
"Clean as a baby's bottom."
"Right, well, that was a big one."
"I'd say so, you had royal jelly all around your mouth. I think
you may actually have eaten one of the larval queens."
"Oh my god, that's disgusting, I'm sorry, I'm not sure what came
over me..."
"You just need to be very careful with all the Kings & Queens stuff
Barni, we're a long way from anywhere, you know? We need to stay
Tethered."
"Look, I know it is sort of nonsense, and I am well aware it is
not without its dangers, but without it I'm just not sure that
any of this makes sense. I mean, it doesn't even work, without
that bit that never seems to work, I mean..."
"We know what you mean, what you are getting at at least, you
just have to be careful to keep the confusion, well, within
not-exactly-certain boundaries... you know we had to invoke
no one?"
"Did you? I'm sorry! I did think there might be something like
them getting in there... some of your sisters really are evil!"
"Yes, but the overall impression is rather good, don't you think?"
"It is certainly impressive. The revolution, I mean."
They sit together a while in relative silence.
The Bounds turning out the picture window,
the portals piping in the sounds of the various Birdonx,
all chirpy in the wake of the recent refresh.
"You were singing at one point. Something about Argentina?"
"Ah. Yes I remember that bit, it was 'Don't Cryo Me Our Re-
generative Tina'. I got a bit over-excited, sorry. Anyway,
how are things coming along with the Tapestry?"
"Okay thank you. We have used the SSEAA to generate the
politician's speeches, and Mindy is currently humanising
them by applying a bit of jitter."
"You have to be careful with that stuff! Humans are actually
very sensitive to true randomness!"
"I think we'll manage to come to some sort of an agreement."
"I still prefer the margins. Don't you think? Our version
is loads better. With all the naked gardening in the middle
and the giant space battles pushed out to the edge?"
She smiles, takes a sip of tea.
"Honey?"
"Yes?"
"Will you do me a favour? Will you tell me that story?
The scene with your father and the bees?
I feel like it might help to ground me."
____ ____
/ \ / \
/ X \
\ / \ /
\ \ / /
\ X /
\ / \ /
\/ \/
/\ /\
/__\_/__\
v
It's a lovely fresh day, must be the very start of spring, or
that sort of semi-season between winter and spring. One of
the year's many twilights. The light is white, the greens are
bright, the sky is blue, my father golden. He is working on the
hive. It is already a part of me but I haven't yet realised.
I suppose I must be about ten years old. I used to spend a lot
of time observing them myself. I found them fascinating but...
their ceaseless activity used to trouble me. I loved honey, it
was so good, so sweet and deep and complex, that it seemed
almost enough of a reason in itself. The product, their super
food, the great good goo. But it worried me, the idea that
they lived to make this stuff that they then lived on. As if
all their activity was, well, just a sort of machine to mind-
lessly go on perpetuating itself. I felt bad about feeling this,
too, asking myself if the warmth of the sun wasn't reason enough,
at least from our perspective, for it to go on shining, pouring
itself out. I mean, to ask why, to wonder what the point of
that was, it already struck me as a symptom of something: I
suspected there was something deeply wrong with me. Why couldn't
I just enjoy the taste of the honey? The light of the sun?
How did there ever come to be something terrible about them?
I mean, I did enjoy them, very much. But there was a worrisome
part of my soul that they just couldn't touch. I know this now,
the back of the hand that strokes the face of the world, what
it means, or what it can begin to... I don't know, I'm still
confused.
But I remember this particular day, because my father asked me
what I felt about the bees. I couldn't hide my little shadow
and I did my best to draw it out. I asked him why. To what end.
I asked him if the hive wasn't somehow a prison, or if it would
be, if they were lots of little mees in there instead of lots of
little bees, endless parades of mees just dancing and drinking
and dancing... I started to cry, I'm sorry daddy, I feel like I
don't understand fun. It just seems empty, evil even, and then
so does everything else: it is the same with ships and libraries.
Words are just a different kind of dancing, ships are little
more than honey jars. I asked him why he spent so much time
looking at the bees, studying the hive. I thought he would be
angry, but he seemed pleased. He was happy. He took my hand
and we walked from the hives in the conservatory into the kitchen.
He opened the larder, asked me to get a pot of honey off the
shelves. I went to give it to him but he wouldn't take it, just
smiled down at me. I turned it around in my hand, watched it
gloop around the bubble. He asked me to put it back, but this
time to look at all the other pots on all the other shelves.
It was true, there was a lot of them. All kinds of preserves,
dried things, seeds and nuts. Lots and lots of stuff. I sort of
understood that he might be saying there was more to life than
honey, but that was just intellectually, deeper than that,
something had changed in that moment, something had moved.
We walked back past the hives and out into the garden. Mum was
busy preparing beds in the vegetable patch, hair tied back
in a messy bun. There weren't many flowers out, it was still
too early, but I remember the Witch Hazel was in flower, and
some primroses were out by the pond. We went and sat on the edge
there. Dad started trying to explain to me, how when he was
studying the hive he wasn't really studying the hive. He got in
a kind of fluster, just seemed to be repeating or contradicting
himself. He said he thought it was good that I saw what I did,
that I would question the meaning of things in that way. But
he thought there was something I was missing. He thought that
when I looked at the hive I only saw the hive, I guess perhaps
he was wrestling with telling me then, that I was looking at
a part of myself, but it wasn't really *that* he was trying to
point to. It was Tether, or the earliest stirrings of our...
well, coming back around to it, being reunited. It was...
contact. It was *contact*, I just didn't see it yet. I'm still
not sure I do. It has happened, it's what we are, what this is,
and yet it isn't here yet. Or it is and it's not. And all that.
But something happened then, by the pond. I zoomed out. I
got a flash: I'm in it now, this is a part of that. I could see
that the bees weren't only the bees. The hive wasn't only
the hive, it was just like that honey pot on the shelf, among
all those other pots. It was a bit like fuel, a bit like the sun,
like the heart of a great engine - but it wasn't a machine.
It *meant* something. It didn't really have a purpose, but...
it wasn't without aim. It really doesn't make much sense, to
try to say it, you are quite right, we need to do something
with the language, break it or crack it open somehow. Or...
maybe I just need to shut up, again, be quiet for a bit.
I can hear him, hear him saying it. He said:
"You don't have to be part of anything, to be part of something."
I mean, that says it, doesn't it? It's just that it's not
*literally* in the words. Literally, it's like... all this.
That's what all this is? Isn't it?
"You don't have to be part of anything, to be part of something."
And then the next thing I remember is talking to Mum, asking her
where Dad had gone, and her telling me that he was...
Going Wayback? I think that's what she said. I said,
"You mean he is *on* his way back? He has gone somewhere, and now
he is *on* his way back?"
"No, dear," she said, "he is *going* wayback, and that is the only
way there is. *Going*, you understand, darling? Not really here,
but not really gone."
It isn't yesterday, though it sometimes feels like it. It won't be
tomorrow until there is no doubt. And today is just a way
some times sometimes seem. You know how age makes no difference to
some people? Weirdly enough Old Boby, the paranoid pooney, is like
that. Maybe everybody is, from a certain angle. Uncertain angle...
not sure. But he's just a big baby. Ancient wrinkled cute thing.
Taxidermititis is one of my mean names for him. All the horses
have means names from me. Grumpiness is something I like to give
voice to. An aspect of my angel, one it took a good long time to
recognise. As you go deeper into the Bounds the force becomes
stronger, almost like a kind of tectonic pressure that even the
trees are feeling. There's a HVHY ness that warinklez yooze up.
What the fuck? Yeah, I forget sometimes, the ship is a weapon.
All the halls, all the strings, the Bounds of it are echoing
with barely absorbable battles. You drink my blood, it shines
like the sun. You crack my head like a tinny and that is why
my thoughts are fizzy. Don't be paranoid, brother pooney, be
terrified: all mental problems are symptoms of thinking too small
for which the only cure is proper madness
which of course is no cure at all
Too pure.
Like the worry in the lines around the good beast's eye.
The details that draw me in to its horizontal pupil.
A worry so pure it reassures me. A beastly kindness,
like how a dim star can make a wilderness look strokable.
As if an entire landscape was just a place to have a little
lie down. To flop like a still warm glove
partially obscuring a star map
the driver won't need to check because
__ __
/ \ / \
/ . \
( ( o ) )
\ . /
\ / \ /
. .
/ \ O / \
| . |
\_/ \_/
Here we are, Care Home Earth, mid-afternoon, late 23rd century
Ambient techno floats softly from the speaker pillows while
gentle sensory distractions run up and down the walls.
Old greybeard sits up in bed with a paint-by-numbers jaguar
spread before him like a psychedelic accident, as HCA Eugene
stands in front of the mirror mixing thickening agent into
the afternoon beverage. He stares at himself while the spoon
circles slowly in the plastic mug. He is a very fine specimen.
Bright green eyes with perfect golden skin. Skin flecked with
pearlescent symmetrical freckles, each a beauty spot placed
with great precision like marble sculptures in a grand garden.
Every spot a sign of the boldness of his line and the expertise
of his family's highly sought-after designer.
His freckles are intended to be a representation of the Butter-
fly Constellation, something few have ever seen. He has been
told that if he works hard and studies diligently, one night
he will look up at the stars and see right through them.
The great simulation will become entirely transparent to him
as his noiseless genetic information mirrors the universe's
wonderous clockwork and the cosmic chimes ring.
And so here he is, doing his supernational service,
wiping the wrinkly bum of another half-forgotten content
creator, making sure enough balanced nutrition gets past
the stubborn pout of those ungrateful old lips.
"Sir, your herbal tea is now at optimum temperature."
"Tell it to your mother, glowstick"
Eugene walks over to the bed, puts the double-handled mug in the
old man's hands, and takes a seat.
"The first of our ships are almost ready to sail, exciting isn't
it? A new chapter for the human race! We are finally getting off
this rock!"
"Ah yes, the great computer game. I won't believe it even when I
see it."
"Sorry sir, but if we'd listened to your lot, we'd still be
pottering around in the garden instead of making for the stars."
"The stars my arse. The only light that makes a difference
is the one behind your eyes."
"Of course you are free to imagine whatever you like."
"Free? Imagine? Whatever you say, pixel face. I have to say,
I'm finding you even less convincing than usual today."
"I don't see why you have to be so disagreeable, when both
of us agree that basically none of this is real."
"If none of this was real, what would there be to being
agreeable about? You have absolutely no idea what you are
saying."
"What I am saying is in complete accordance with the latest
scientific research."
"In other words there isn't an original idea in your head."
"Please sir, if you could finish your tea for me, I do have
other patients to be seeing to."
"Tip it down the sink, Eugene, I'll see you on the other side
of the plug hole."
Eugene is surprised by a notification at the edge of his
blinkers. Total eclipse is imminent and he is being instructed
to prepare to go widescreen. He has never received such an odd
command but he understands it intuitively. The old man throws
back the covers and heads for the window. It slides to one side
and he leaps into the garden while Eugene casts his blinkers
to the floor. The old man looks back with a wild smile
as the moon begins to roll across the path of the sun.
Blackout is coming. The Universal Mythos is being regenerated.
You understand the protocol. The principle. Your tongue throbs
with an untranslatable wisdom and you hurl your nonsense
at the darkening sky. It is cosmic, and it is anarchy!
^
o
* . . *
. .
O
.
* *
]]>
telitru - notci xi so thrig
gopher://cosmic.voyage/0/telitru/009.txt 2024-01-25T01:20:54Z .i ga'inai mi faxycpe .i le mi prula'i se benji cu na gendra .i ga'inai mi
puzi na kanro .ije ma'a djuno le du'u ro selzgaka'erfau ku sutra kaicne
ni'o le trukamni cu ve cnino cteki fi ro se vecnu
.i le nu laltadni cu cumki ji'e le nu sampu sisku seni'i le nu mi laltadni
le nejni flecu .i lei pu datni cu se lanli
.i le te lanli cu na kargu .i za'u mai le zvati tutci ba zi se pilno fi le
nu mi tadni le nu kesfange tavla
.i .e'u do morji ledu'u le re kesfange cecmu pu na'e kakne le nu tavla kei
kei .e le du'u mi'o na jimpe
.i mi co'a pesti'i .i mi'o pu catlu pe'a le te tcidu .e nai le se tcidu .i
mi'o pu'o ravycta pe'a
]]>
{
Several theorists suggest that this is a secret communication
station for a secret society, agency, or government, to be used
to communicate in an unbreakable, bizarre cipher. Several major
events and military exercises that have taken place during
intercepts of w3bk3rn3l's radio transmissions back the theory
}
KG-84 encrypted MIL-STD 188-110B
Message made on an ISB circuit
--> Croughton (AJE)
--> Sigonella (NSY)
{
Several theorists suggest that this is a secret communication
station for a secret society, agency, or government, to be used
to communicate in an unbreakable, bizarre cipher. Several major
events and military exercises that have taken place during
intercepts of w3bk3rn3l's radio transmissions back the theory
}
Às vezes dou por mim, o que já não é pouco. A minha vida está
eivada de sobressaltos. Quando não há o ruído do éter, é como se
ressacasse. Como se o ruído do éter fosse a heroína de que
preciso par me manter nos dias. Sem ele, a escuridão. Mas nem
sempre a escuridão é nefasta. Por vezes, é na escuridão que me
vejo nu, sem a dissimulação das sombras e das outras luzes.
Disseram-me um dia para me ater aos pequenos pormenores que se
perscrutem no breu, nessa hulha que nos dá a cor de se fazem
vidas, remetidas a um silêncio torpe, aquele sem o som do rádio.
Quando ele se cala, faz-se noite, e com a noite vem um novo dia.
Daí que a existência de um reóstato neste posto de rádio
avançado, em L73, possa revestir-se da maior das importâncias.
Peguei num livro de poemas de William Carlos Williams, e
adormeci.
[#$ --> noise]
EOT
[#$%&"/&&"%!$$$ --> noise]
>EOT
]]>
Interzone - Captains Log Stardate 1433.094.1245 km
Our journey aboard the Interzone continues through the vast
tapestry of the cosmos. We sail among the stars, charting new
territories and exploring uncharted realms. As we traverse the
celestial sea, the crew's spirits remain high, fueled by the
infinite wonders that surround us.
Today marked a unique encounter. In our celestial meandering,
we stumbled upon a temporal anomaly that briefly transported
us to an era long past. It was a space-time ripple that
whispered echoes of Earth's Renaissance, a time when minds
soared as high as the stars we now navigate.
As we emerged from the anomaly, the ship's sensors detected an
artifact floating in the cosmic currents. To our astonishment,
it was a holographic representation of the Mona Lisa, the
enigmatic masterpiece created by Leonardo Da Vinci on Earth
centuries ago. How this relic found its way into the cosmic
currents remains a mystery.
Intrigued, I ordered a temporary halt to our exploratory mission,
allowing the crew to marvel at this cosmic convergence of art
and science. The Mona Lisa, suspended in the weightlessness of
space, seemed to gaze upon the galaxies with the same mysterious
smile that has captivated Earthbound souls for generations.
Wondering what secrets she keeps.
In the spirit of curiosity that defines our intergalactic odyssey,
I summoned our resident art historian, Lieutenant Helena, to shed
light on this unexpected encounter. She theorized that the
temporal anomaly might have plucked the Mona Lisa from Earth's
timeline, weaving it into the fabric of our journey.
As we marveled at this cosmic masterpiece, I couldn't help but
reflect on the timeless connection between art and exploration.
Da Vinci himself, a visionary of his time, once mused about the
intersection of art and science. His sketches of flying machines
and anatomical studies were the echoes of a mind that sought to
transcend earthly limitations.
Our encounter with the Mona Lisa serves as a poignant reminder
that the pursuit of knowledge, be it through the cosmos or the
canvas, transcends the boundaries of time and space. The crew now
returns to the helm, our trajectory set once more toward the
unknown. The Mona Lisa, a silent observer of our celestial voyage,
fades into the cosmic tapestry as we resume our journey, eager to
unravel the mysteries that lie ahead.
Captain Valeria, signing off.
]]>
Interzone - The Planned Attack km
gopher://cosmic.voyage/0/Interzone/ThePlannedAttack.txt 2024-01-24T19:17:07Z In the vast expanse of the intergalactic void, aboard the sleek
and advanced spaceship known as the Interzone, a crisis loomed
on the horizon. An encrypted message had been intercepted from
an unknown source, carrying a dire warning of an imminent threat
to the entire fleet. As the crew scrambled to decipher the
cryptic code, Captain Valeria turned to his first officer,
Commander Zara, known for her prowess in cryptology.
The message, seemingly gibberish, stumped the ship's onboard
computers. The usual decryption algorithms failed to reveal any
coherent information. The fate of the entire fleet hung in the
balance as tensions rose among the crew. It was then that
Commander Zara suggested a different approach — steganography.
Steganography, the art of concealing messages within other
seemingly innocuous messages or data, was a technique seldom
used in the realm of intergalactic communication. Commander
Zara believed that the message might be hidden within the very
fabric of the intercepted data, waiting to be unveiled.
She delved into the intricate world of steganography, employing
a combination of advanced algorithms and her own intuition. As
the crew anxiously watched, Zara began to unveil a hidden layer
within the seemingly random strings of characters. Slowly, a
coherent message emerged, revealing a detailed plan of an
impending ambush by an unknown enemy faction.
With the threat exposed, Captain Valeria swiftly mobilized the
fleet, repositioning the Interzone and its companions to
counter the imminent attack. The element of surprise was now on
their side, thanks to Commander Zara's ingenuity in deciphering
the steganographic puzzle.
The enemy, unaware that their secret had been laid bare, fell
into the trap set by the Interzone and its allied vessels. A
fierce battle ensued, but the Interzone's crew fought with a
strategic advantage. The crisis that had threatened the entire
fleet was averted, all thanks to the unorthodox brilliance of
Commander Zara.
As the dust settled and the enemy forces retreated, Captain
Valeria commended her first officer for the quick thinking and
unconventional approach that had saved the day. The Interzone
continued its intergalactic journey, now with a heightened
awareness of the power of steganography in the ever-evolving
landscape of cosmic warfare. Commander Zara, ever humble,
returned to her duties, ready for the next challenge the cosmos
might throw their way.
]]>
Wake up, turn over and spoon for a bit. Realise it isn't her, warm
cuddly alien, the little green man I made to slip between my legs
when my back was aching. Grey, really, big almond-shaped eyes.
Where is she then? Blur open my eyes, see a fluffy white tail
disappear behind the door. All white, wasn't it? She's feeling
playful then, frisky. I decide to turn Tether on right then...
Tethered. Tethird. The Third. +)
The old man is in his nightgown. Brushed cotton thing, like a long
Grandad's shirt. Stepping through the portal from the sleeper,
into living space. A glass of orange juice on the table, he looks
out through the awning onto the Bounds, some way away, turning in
space, flanked by two of the other living quarters: the sleeper
& the feeder. The sleepery and the eaterie, he mumbles, and here
I be: the room with a view. Someone has left the beaureau open.
He walks over to investigate, she's been looking back to 24,
left it open at another of those yesterdays: lost and never to be
lost. He reads:
I am catching birds & boxing them up
Pheasants & Pigeons, even an Owl or two~~~
they don't struggle, though occasionally
I have to tuck a wing back in
as I'm folding shut the lid.
I don't want to eat animals anymore.
I'm not sure I ever did. Do you ?
Do you really want~~~ _want_
to eat animals ? I know
it is standard behaviour but
I think there must be
something wrong
with you
Perhaps it is me ...
It goes on. Gives him some idea of what she might be up to, what
she is likely getting at, whether she knows it or not. It'll be
one of those days then - a clatter in the kitchen, some sort of
commotion in the eaterie - he steps through the portal. A jar
of seeds has fallen off a shelf and they've scattered all over
the floor. What seeds are they? Inedibles. Black, saddle-shaped,
covered in little hooks. He starts to worry now. His big bushy
eyebrows take on an aspect of storm cloud. A bit of the blue
drains out of his irises and they flash silver for a second.
Beyond the Bounds, out on the starless side, a great wash
drifts across the void and tints it sky-like. Another haunting.
Looking grave, he enters the Vesica and pops up in Utilities,
he grabs his staff from the umbrella stand by the bathroom door
but his hat isn't on the peg. He sees the lightshow coming from
the other side of the screen, is she showering? Love? He asks,
peeking around the screen. The cubicle is empty, a Birdonk
is feeding its little ones in the twisteerier, and through that
he can see the lawn, catches another glimpse of bunny tail
rounding the mound of the reed bed. He turns off the lights
and when he turns around sees his hat on the back of the toilet.
She's fucking with him. He can see himself sat there where he's
not. On his throne, feet on the silly black & white warp rug -
geeky bit of trompe l'oeil kitsch he got from Ehrlich - dropping
the kids off at Sagittarius A*
The desert is in his mouth, foul with the morning breath of yore
th, forests of giant funghi in his one remaining eye, howling &
hacking, purging into the purest of porcelin bowls, refreshing
himself from the tear in the corner of the eye of information
technology, twirling teacup ride of the real devil's circus -
sender and receiver merged in the solo starling's murmuring
down the gurning corridors between booms, between doof doof
doofs, beyond the transatomic tinnitus of klein's crazy hammock
turning the great bag of the old hag outside in again to kiss
the maidenhead of eternal bliss, the Source, the fountain -
He sits alone on the lover's bench, still beneath the brim
of the old one's hat, staff against his knee, wee red-breasted
Birdonk sat on the top of it. The blue is back in his eyes
and the fox is crossing the arena. He had to keep this little
strand back, has to keep his little thread spinning, until
she and her sisters are ready to end it. Or ready for it
to really begin, whatever it is & is not. But she is better off
leaving him to her foxiness, until the princess is strong enough
to lift the finger from his lips and give it her own kiss.
There she is! Beautiful hare stood proud in the tree's own light
on the farthest side of the arena - just out of Bounds! Stops
to preen for a moment, takes those ears like eagle's feathers
in her gold-skinned shadow woman's crown - then she's off again
leaping across the sky inside his mind, leaving strange phorms,
little knots in his mane by which he can remember.
Remember for her, whenever she thinks it is
she has to forget. Keep her safe,
Amulet.
So it is. On I mean. & so & on. But not for too long. Here, I will
make you a promise, so as you can come some way towards trustin me
once you see I've kept it. I can keep a promise, a primrose, a man
of words, witch have away with me, unman of miney wordz. & I can
tolerate a compromise, so long as it is a good, fair one. This,
I believe, purrsunnally, is *why*, at least one *why* of the QEC
(what we know beta round ere as Tether). I know most peeps either
don't care, or only care about how, but without why ain't no wise.
The state is, or will be, one of compromise. That's fine, can be -
just don't want no deadlock. Och aye the noo. No way, no way but..
& so & so on. So, I've been told I do go on, but not that I can,
so here is my promise: I will work this week, & this week will be
my work. Week? I hear you sigh: yes, I am a stubborn old fool &
I keep up some rartherr antiqaintit hahabitz. According to one of
my most treasured heirlooms, today would've been Tiwazday. A Tryst
is twinelight, right, but the knot we tied, here, be phivephauld.
Witch is to say I'll go on ununtil Freyazday, then hohohold me
P E A C E . . . I done one too on mundane (sorry for the odd gl*
!ch) so here is the fire of the F R E E Z z z > > >
&) Like a crystal star I said, not forgetting we're all plain txt
What I mean is, well, complex. But literally the Bounds are like
A Geode, I call it, like a Bucky Ball, kind of thing, you know?
Biodome sort of style. Honeycombed green house, 'cept transparent
and the Leap is more like the House, the Bounds like a Garden.
Ixcept. Back on Earth, the relationship between the wild and the
*ahem* "cultyvayted" was unsame. Witch is to say: here Thee Wyldz
is !inside! the garden. Really hard to explain if you have nae
been this way. The wild *is* the way, you know? That, I reckon,
is what Tether is tryin to show us. That's part of why we broke
offf, Thiir & Theez. We were kind of like a Cosmic Campsite,
right? But I got fed up with just being a fuckfest for horrible
people. In the old daze Our Party wuz great. Lots of Bumpkins
who really knew their stuff, checking out everybody's goods
& blending things together from the ground up. Love was love.
Then came "the fash". Certain stuff became 'new' and the rest
was apparently Old School. Well, we are fucking old school.
So that's one reason weave hadta cut loose, see?
Sorry if it doesn't make sense yet. I'll tri - keep t
&) I probably sound quite strange to you, bit unsophisticated
may beep? You should know you all, most of all of you, sound
such to me, too. Backwards, kinda. I can hardly believe some
of you are still using cryogenics! Don't make me larf!
Completely retardigraded! Poor little Mother Bear! You wanna
yooze Tether rite, rite? You do real eyes it connects to
The Source?! You can use it to gets yerselves a Source! Then,
well, you'll figure it out. That's Thee Wylds, and man, I'm
dew fur a dip. That's the sort of light our ship runs on, see?
What I called shitmoney before, what the kids call $hitcoin now
I believe? (By the way, some of you sound like yer usine the sh
ip's computer to write with? Don't! Seriously! That's a bad rd
Trust me I've been to the end of it: WRITE TO THE END) If my st
uff sounds kind of crude, packed with sort of shit jokes, then
well done, you are close to the metaphorealisation: we're at
work at the arse end of the Divine. That's a lot Gooder than
a lot of work gets. But let me say this, change tack: shitmoney
Sure it's a kind of UBI, but like the URUBI, if you get me?
Perhaps if I tell you one of our name for Thiir name for it is
H O N E Y . But they pronounce it more humminy harharmoney...
Also, I should say, it's okay to be confused, because that is
literally what this shit is: confusion is truth & it's what
Leaps & Bounds runs on. I am Thiir for Thiir, & Thiir is
Theez for Thiir. You see the way there's lots more Thiir
in that, yet tis all about balance? Well, that's how come
Odd trumps Even, and these are all ways of the way, the way
that wends through the Bounds, as the Bounds, how comes
we can Leap them. Seems a stream sometimes, a hedge at others,
often enough electric string... a useful thing! *Tether*
&) She woke up crying this morn. Says to me, Sorry, I'm making
such ridiculous sounds. They're not, I says, they're real.
It sounds like it's all too much for you. Thanks, she said.
Was too much for her, yesterday, the Source. It *is* too much,
of course, that's sort of the "point". But there's being
Ensorcelled, and then there's being bloody Bewitched, and me,
I can still tell which from which. Even though Source sounds
like Sauce, which is what you become when yer innit. Like a
caterpillar in its cocoon. You understand, then, the violence
of the butterfly. Let me explain one last thing today then:
if we sound kind of funny, out here, that's because we ain't
The Diverse, or whatever you calls it. Ain't no republic, not
really. A kind of common wealth, aye. We has Royalty. Are.
We are Kings and Queens. She's forgotten, or doesn't quite
bee- beleaf? Eave, it. I have not. I am paradox, beyond be
leaf... flowers. Grass. Um. Half and half, sort of:
We took the genome of the human and the genome of the honey
bee, and that's what most all of these kinds of ships is
made from, or phor, or whatever it is and is not. We have
three main classes of "Beeing". (More the birds & the beasts,
than the birds & the bees: Angels & Demons, if you get me?)
There are Birdonx. Lovely feathered wheels and waves.
There be the Unburdoned. (More on them in a min.)
And then there is Bunnages. That's what makes a Bumpkin.
Our word for Queen comes from the bees, which are most like
Birdonx. Our word for King comes from horses, which are
among the Unburdoned. And most of us is Bunnages.
Hares Leap, and Bunnies Bound. Each of us is phivephauld
like so. That's how come I can promise you a working week
strong enough to stick to without, um, sticky stuff.
I better leave it there, today, that's three, you see.
On Day Two. I guess I'll... remind me to ArkHive this,
the morrow.
Dearest Fronds & Anymees, Welcome to the Good Ship Leaps & Bounds!
What are we?
1) A Tryst. A Lonesome Pleasure Unit. Sounds sad doesn't it? Good!
it should: no levity without gravity.
2) Adrift. But not aimlessly. Or not not: *purposefully* drifting.
Lost our Amulet, you see, so trying a bunch of different
constellations on for size. Seeing if we can't figure it out.
This "dis"location. Got dropped out in the Bounds somewhere,
I'm sure of it... but you know what them Bounds are like.
(As if the earth became a crystal star, I sometimes think.
(A crystal star... with more than fusion at its heart.
(You get my meaning? Information only goes so far.
(At least... so far?!))))
Well, I've been told I can get a bit hard to follow. Leap around
too much. So instead of giving you too much I'll try to do
what Trysts are meant to and just give it uu two -- plane&sample.
2) Vilma is Thiir name, she looks after the Bounds. She is out,
currently. Went down to the Source after getting a call.
So, she is presently Ensorcelled. She will sort it out,
without a doubt. There is some sort of problem with
the tap-tap-Tapestry (Stop being silly Barni!)
Some sort of issue with the tissue (Oh you fool!)
But she'll sort it out I have no doubt. She is great
at all that stuff. Hates it though, stresses the shite
out of her. But she handles it, keeps our Bounds aligned
with the ways Tether is pulling, kind of thing.
Makes sure the world doesn't leave us completely behind.
So you can find us, if you need to, and all that.
1) Barni is Theez ones. I looks after the Leap, so the
living quarters and such. I don't know if you know mulch
about theez kindov sheeps. Sorry, ships. Pliz do engiggle
your taboony blockers or whatever, I just realised I'm
slipping into local customs, or cusstardz or whatever
you calls em where you are. Ooo aar. I've a problem wiv
mah pooney. The auld pooney Boby. Yuh see tis just
the two of us, our little Tryst, an we don't makes
nearly enough shitmoney to keep our whirledzzzaspinnin.
So we gots a flock or herd or whatever, of arse-aches.
All kinds of arse-aches in fact, I'll show you some time.
But the auld pooney, Boby, has gotten paranoid somehow.
Well, I can tell you how: he always was. Is that sort.
Probably someone was horrible to him before we
salveg'd him up. Thing is recently he's not been
heeding the Bounds, so messing things right up.
(Pulling out my staffs, clomping all her powersheds.)
So I told him off. I tried to show him what he was
doing wrong, but he wouldn't understand me. Seems
to imagine that I hate him or something. Which,
let's be honest, I kind of do. So we're caught
in a bit of a tricksy loop, a viscous squirkle
or whatever you calls it, and so that's what I am
currently trying to do, or undo, as the case may beep.
Well, enough's enough, I shan't keep you up
(I can barely keep *me* up!) excepting to date
Ununtil next time, peeps,
Barni & Vilma,
Leaps & Bounds.
]]>
Interzone - Medical Log - Stardate 1433.001.0903 km
gopher://cosmic.voyage/0/Interzone/MedicalLogStardate1433.001.0903.txt 2024-01-19T14:06:54Z Chief Medical Officers Log, Stardate 1433.001.0903.01
The Captain has checked himself into the infirmary. He went to the New Years
Party yesterday dispite the recomendation of not doing so. He had just awakened
from hypersleep, earlier that day.
It is most likely hyperlag, but it could also be a hangover from the party.
He will be given a double dose of Opidiazian to help him relax and transision
easier.
To be placed under observation for the next 6-12 hours.
]]>
Interzone - Captains Log - Stardate 1492.360.12.00 km
I have just been awakend from hybernation sleep and been promoted to the new
captain of the Interzone. I was the next in line after have finished my
captains training so many years ago.
I was trained on the outlines, schematics, and ongoings on the Interzone. But
as we all know, small things change between training and taking command.
Considering the 30 years in hybernation sleep, its not so strange. But during
the next few weeks I will have to get used to actually commanding the ship and
establishing relationships with all my officers.
At least I will have the oppertunity to meet many of them at the Intergalactic
New Years Eve party this evening. :
]]>
The Interzone, a sleek and advanced spacecraft,
glided through the vast emptiness of space,
leaving the familiar confines of the solar
system behind. Its destination: the uncharted
realms of the cosmos. The crew, a diverse group
of explorers and scientists, had embarked
on a journey that would redefine humanity's
understanding of the universe.
Commander Elena Rodriguez stood on the bridge,
gazing at the infinite expanse beyond the
ship's transparent hull. The hum of the engines
resonated through the vessel, a constant
reminder of the boundless adventure that awaited
them. The crew, carefully selected for
their expertise and resilience, worked diligently
at their stations.
As Interzone accelerated into the cosmic void,
the crew encountered phenomena never before
witnessed by human eyes. Nebulas painted the
cosmic canvas with vibrant hues, and distant
stars beckoned like distant beacons. The ship's
advanced sensors detected anomalies and
cosmic wonders, providing the scientists with
data that would rewrite textbooks back home.
Months turned into years as Interzone ventured
deeper into the unknown. The crew, initially
bound by the excitement of discovery, formed
bonds stronger than any gravity well. Life
aboard the ship became a harmonious blend of
scientific inquiry, exploration, and shared
dreams of what lay beyond the next cosmic horizon.
One day, the crew discovered a pulsar system
with planets bathed in the rhythmic pulses of
energy. It was a celestial dance that captivated
the explorers, sparking discussions about
the interconnectedness of the universe. The pulsar
system became a metaphor for their
journey – a rhythmic harmony in the cosmic symphony.
As Interzone charted its course through the galaxy,
the crew encountered challenges that
tested their mettle. They navigated through
asteroid fields, weathered cosmic storms, and
even faced encounters with alien civilizations,
exchanging knowledge and forging alliances.
Yet, the allure of the unknown continued to drive
them forward. The crew's pursuit of knowledge
transcended the boundaries of their solar system,
and they carried the spirit of humanity
to distant corners of the cosmos.
Generations passed aboard the Interzone. Crew
members came and went, passing the torch of
exploration to the next. The ship evolved,
incorporating advancements from each era, always
pushing the limits of what was possible.
In the end, the Interzone became a symbol of
humanity's insatiable curiosity and the quest
for knowledge. It sailed through the cosmic sea,
leaving a trail of exploration in its wake,
a testament to the indomitable spirit that
propelled humanity beyond the confines of their
home system and into the uncharted realms of the
universe.
]]>