August 15th, 12,006 (actual time frame: 3:48PM, Sunday; July 13th, 2008)___________________________________________________________________
As far as things went for me, my persnonal exploration Stratos City's many levels wasn't a total loss. If there could be something said of the space complex's designers--nothing was ever boring for people like me--visitors from the surface.
Or surface dwellers as we are called.
Calis told me once that we were one and the same people so many centuries ago--before wars and a general caste schism permantly separated us into two groups.
On in space, the other on the surface.
After that? Civilization took a dramatic U-turn for us--while things remained pretty much on the up and up for those residing in Stratos City.
I was never much a racist or a Class One xeno, but I couldn't just look at myself and those I passed by as different.
We were all humans from the same gene pool; cast away from our home world thousands of years ago by an event that I only know as the Fall of Man.
Since then, wars from both sides swallowed us all from the last 600 years--followed by years of an uneasy peace; which still exists today.
Neither the sky dancers nor the surface dwellers had sufficient cause to fight anymore--but that didn't mean that confrontations weren't uncommon where I live.
The Barren Wastelands still had its share of problems with the prairie bandits, leaving me to help defend the homestead out on the Golan Desert.
But up here in the space complex? There didn't appear to be such problems with the sky dancer population. No one I had crossed paths with looked anything like the rough and tumble troublemakers which made up Shark's Bay--my favorite haunt.
As I looked up into an enclosed skylight above my head I found myself marveling at how impressive this layout was--as this part of Level 1774 was the city's main hub complex.
So much technology had gone into the fine construction of the surounding areas, it was often hard to imagine that I was still in space--zipping around my world.
Borne up by simple gravity and an atmospheric envelope.
Leaning against the stone railing, I took in all the sights that a surface dweller could handle at once, before sea-swept vertigo took over after that; forcing me to look away--lest I become too overwhelmed by such heady experiences.
I felt so small and so alone up here. There was nobody here to protect or shelter me.
Not my mom, my youngest brother, Calis, Cara Hastings, or even my...father.
I knew that he had to be up here. Somewhere. Soon after I do what Calis wants--I recalled teling myself--I was going to conduct a search for his whereabouts myself.
But seeing how big this place was, I started wishing that I could just jump off this level and fly.
Free as a bird...
Zpping about on my own, try to experience everything in a whole new different light, before getting down to business of finding dad.
Yes...
There were days when I fantasized about saving him. How could I not. The man was my only true role model. Even Calis couldn't replace him--even though he sometimes dotes on me like the daughter he never had. (He never could explain to me fully why he never got married in his youth. Something about a tragic accident and there was little he could do but to ride that one out to its full conclusion. When I pressed upon him what that was, he said something about a girlfriend dying in Sherman's Pass--before it became part of the Desert Storm's race track. But he never told me her name--not that I blamed him. The old man was a very reclusive and private man. It took me forever just for him to like me and trust me not to get into his tools and spare auto-frame parts! lol)
My father was a special kind of person whom never left your side, never once questioned your curiosity, never did anything to jeopardize things for the sake of personal advancement.
I loved him and adored him so much when I was a little girl. Every time I looked into his eyes...it was like staring into my own personal security blanket. I felt so safe when my father was around. Like nothing in this world could ever cause me personal harm.
But I loved how he always looked at me and held me with such love and affection. I loved how his arms felt around my small body as he held me close. I liked how he smelled to me. I also enjoyed the subtle vibrations his voice made whenever I laid my head against his chest.
Oftentimes, I could see why my mother held my father which such love and devotion. From the times I saw them together, I made a small vow to myself to find a man just like my dad--for when I got older of course.
But as I looked out again at the fantastic panoramic view that the city gave me, I chuckled to myself--thinking back along the years growing up where pickings where slim for me--and most of my visits to Shark's Bay didn't yield a true-to-life boyfriend. (Not that I was looking, mind you.)
Calis told me that my life as an auto-frame pilot would be a lonely one--if I didn't find someone to be with soon. (Because as he put it: "I'm not getting any younger." I swear...! I was ready to kill him for that remark two years ago!)
The sights before me continued to inspire and awe me-leaving nowhere else for me to go.
For the moment.
But when I backed up...?
Someone collided right into me--pushing me forward a bit forcefully. I thought it was nothing more than an apt bump (which I didn't take to very well at first), but it was enough of a jolt to set me off.
I remember turning myself--ready to punch the offender's clock the hard way--for disturbing my peaceful tour of the city.
But what I didn't expect was to run into real dreamboat!
The sight of this older boy took my breath away--by the way he towered over me by at least 4 inches, with a nice amount of nicely touseled long black hair to frame his handsome looks, the freckles mottling his tanned skin--and the most lucid brown eyes I've seen up close and personal.
His face was strong and yet soft at the same time--with a sharp nose and well-defined cheeks, and a smile that just made me forget my anger in a second.
But no matter how I looked into his face (to commit what I saw to memory), I couldn't get past those eyes of his!
I was so weak in the knees and probably gaping at him like some shallow-minded tart.
Well, Calis...? I thought to myself at that point. Here's one guy that I wouldn't mind settling down with and bear his children in a heartbeat!
I know I was laughing inside when I thought about it back then--but Bayen was the kind of guy that most girls my age would kill each other over; just to be near him.
Fortunately--for me--my fortunes were about to change this day.
But getting back to my first encounter with Bayen, I distinctly recall the fog of lust lifting from my mind--giving me a moment to collect and reign myself in. (Could you not blame me for not wanting to jump him right then and there? lol)
Adjusting his tattered black trench coat, my dreamboat asked me if I was from around here. (As opposed to what my sign was? Seriously! I was thinking that!)
But despite my out-of-control hormones and my other teenage impulses, I managed to conduct myself appropriately in his presence. If Bayen ever knew then how I regarded him then--he probably would've been more wary of me back when I was a teen; as opposed to right now.)
I told him I was from the surface and this was my first time visiting Stratos City.
He smiled at me--trying to be as polite as possible (which scored big points with me--by the way!)--and told me to enjoy my stay; apologizing that he had errands to run and couldn't be a more gracious host.
I so wanted to talk to him--talk to Bayen--but as I recalled, I was too paralyzed by my own hormones and conflicting urges; to be of any help.
It was just before he left me for the time being, that I finally got up the necessary courage to ask him his name.
When he told me, I did the same. Heavens knew why I did that. But I guess--then--that I would be seeing him later on.
You know?
I just didn't know how prophetic my own personal intuition would be later that day.
Because my next stop was to be a shop which would forever change the life that I knew from that point forward.
Isis
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
HELP FROM A COMPLETELY UNEXPECTED SOURCE.
August 15th, 12,006 (actual time frame: 5:58PM, Saturday; June 21st, 2008)___________________________________________________________________
Sometimes I wished that I had come better prepared for the long experience at hand; say...a digital readout and maybe my dad's experimental T-117 pulse rifle? I wasn't so sure that my own hand blaster, martial arts training, and my knack for direction, was going to get me far in my ongoing journey up here in Stratos City.
In the couple of hours I had spent walking around different levels, my legs were screaming for relief and my feet were about ready to fall off.
What I wanted more was a relaxing bath and a massage by a certified masseuse. Say...all day maybe?
I had the credits to burn--given what Calis handed me before leaving the surface. I certainly wasn't going to come up here empty-handed; that's for sure.
Gods...I can still recall the pain and stiffness in my joints--before I was desperate to get the heck out of this endless rat maze. While it was beautiful, I was still at a loss as to where I was supposed to go next.
One thing was for certain, I didn't have any clue as to what Calis was having me look for--let alone have a fucking clue as to where it was!
Chalk up my next experience to plain exhaustion--if you will. But I was beat tired by the time I ran across the first person to cross my path in a matter of minutes (or was that hours?).
I asked this guy if all of this was real or imagined, and he wrote me off as a 'spacer' or a net 'e-dict'.
I was too damned tired and miserable to punch this space case's clock the hard way--and so I chose to take a seat at a nearby fountain and just rest.
If I had known how much a pain in the ass this would turn out, I would've bought myself a map-engram generator. Or had the old man loan me his for the duration of the trip.
At any rate, I sat on the stone masonry ledge overlooking the cool fountain parked in the square; trying to recoup some of my spent energy and strength.
This certainly had some advantages for the physically challenged--or those wanting to shed some poundage.
But I still hadn't a clue as to where I was going--or if I was any closer to my objective.
Fortunately--for me--a woman was kind of enough to stop in whatever she was doing to help me out.
She was nicely built for her age--30s I think--sporting a crop of dark brown hair topped off by an oversized brimmed at.
But I think her taste in fashion was a bit loud and too much for my personal tastes--to tell you the truth. She looked like she was readily dressed for one of those high-altitude sky-diving contests often held at the metaphorically named, Sun Blazer Valley.
Loose fitting, billowing pair of orange pants made of the highest grade of synthetically spun cotton and polymer-constructed fabrics. A purple and gold shirt with a Go-Play! logo design on the front, with a slightly flared collar around the neck and tapered sleeves.
I noticed that one of her skinny arms held a manacled bracelet made of silver-tibernium; inlaid with a holocronicon piece.
A quick glance told me all I wanted to know: It was closing in on four in the afternoon.
Her pleasant appearance and soft facial features relaxed me a little as she asked me what was the matter.
I don't know what made me open my mouth to her, but in the span of a few minutes, I told her my plight.
A complete stranger no less! My mom would kill me for doing so!
I sighed then, muttering whether or not this place was just a fabrication of my own mind or a bonifide nightmare.
My comment set the woman into a spazzed laughing fit and she told me that this place was as real as it can get.
I snarled out a response about the last bystanding asshole saying the same thing--but the woman in question was exceedingly patient with me.
“That’s true. He did. But there is no real reason to fake what everyone else sees and enjoys. No reason to be deceptive. It is all how you look at it.” She told me with absolute gentleness.
At this point, I just gave up and sunk down inside myself--not caring what happened next.
“So how come the layouts and buildings keep changing?” I remember asking.
“Because you’re not seeing the truth that’s before you, dear. That’s why. You should try and look up once in awhile.” She had ogled her eyes upwards as a hint to myself. Or was it my innate stubbornness?
I did look up and recieved the shock of my life: There were clouds!
Iron-slate gray; like it was going to rain or something heavy. But as I remember that moment--they didn't do anything but dance to and fro in a graceful ballet--as they were being gently drawn across the skies above my head.
And hugging one of the levels I was on earlier. Though--from this distance--I couldn't pick out any particular features.
When I turned to ask my mystery woman a question, I found that she was no longer there. But others had taken her place along the promenade area and lookout balconies.
However, none of them seemed all that interested in further explaning the finer points of the city to me.
Nor did they seem intent on revealing to me how a city of this magnitude could be concealed.
But how could that be?
From my standpoint, everything about that woman's converstion was just as baffling, and I didn't know if I should put any amount of credibility toward what had been revealed thus far.
I crossed the upper confines of the plaza--seeing that no one was going to be of any help to me--and descended down a flight of stairs.
More people came and went and I saw another fountain on my way down. Apparently, aesthetically-pleasing architecture was the norm around here.
On the surface, only one such fountain existed in Shark's Bay. And that puppy hadn't been used since I could remember.
But I let my confusion and anxiety melt away--after I came upon my first line of shops, a couple of what was called 'window shoppers'; and some catchy musical chimes.
The music faded and my attention soon became riveted by the couple's attire--finding their choice of dress to be more pleasing than that nameless woman's. (lol)
However, I found myself drooling over the woman's partner--forcing me to turn away before I could get caught for openly gaping at him in frank appreciation of his nice form and choice of clothes.
(Just because I didn't have a boyfriend--it didn't necessarily make me dead.)
When I had sufficiently composed myself, I turned around and found them leaving and what I thought was barely restrained laughter.
Were they laughing at me because of my appearance or because I was looking at the stud-muffin of a guy like he was the best thing this side of the surface?
I wasn't 100% sure. I thought it was because of the noisy fountain in my immediate proximity--but it didn't matter.
I still had a lot of exploring to do. And I always never left a place until I fully explored everything in sight.
It was nothing more than a defense mechanism from growing up in the Golan Desert.
Dangers always lurked--no matter what the change in circumstance.
Or in this case?
A change in scenery.
So I carried on with my intended...what was the term Calis once called it...?
Field trip.
Honestly, I couldn't recall how many times the old man had lost me with the way he talked at times. It made me think that he didn't belong here in the present, but entirely in the past.
Like in the last 10,000 years or so.
I still wished I carried a map though. It would make my journey of getting around this city a hell of a lot easier!
Sigh...
Isis
Sometimes I wished that I had come better prepared for the long experience at hand; say...a digital readout and maybe my dad's experimental T-117 pulse rifle? I wasn't so sure that my own hand blaster, martial arts training, and my knack for direction, was going to get me far in my ongoing journey up here in Stratos City.
In the couple of hours I had spent walking around different levels, my legs were screaming for relief and my feet were about ready to fall off.
What I wanted more was a relaxing bath and a massage by a certified masseuse. Say...all day maybe?
I had the credits to burn--given what Calis handed me before leaving the surface. I certainly wasn't going to come up here empty-handed; that's for sure.
Gods...I can still recall the pain and stiffness in my joints--before I was desperate to get the heck out of this endless rat maze. While it was beautiful, I was still at a loss as to where I was supposed to go next.
One thing was for certain, I didn't have any clue as to what Calis was having me look for--let alone have a fucking clue as to where it was!
Chalk up my next experience to plain exhaustion--if you will. But I was beat tired by the time I ran across the first person to cross my path in a matter of minutes (or was that hours?).
I asked this guy if all of this was real or imagined, and he wrote me off as a 'spacer' or a net 'e-dict'.
I was too damned tired and miserable to punch this space case's clock the hard way--and so I chose to take a seat at a nearby fountain and just rest.
If I had known how much a pain in the ass this would turn out, I would've bought myself a map-engram generator. Or had the old man loan me his for the duration of the trip.
At any rate, I sat on the stone masonry ledge overlooking the cool fountain parked in the square; trying to recoup some of my spent energy and strength.
This certainly had some advantages for the physically challenged--or those wanting to shed some poundage.
But I still hadn't a clue as to where I was going--or if I was any closer to my objective.
Fortunately--for me--a woman was kind of enough to stop in whatever she was doing to help me out.
She was nicely built for her age--30s I think--sporting a crop of dark brown hair topped off by an oversized brimmed at.
But I think her taste in fashion was a bit loud and too much for my personal tastes--to tell you the truth. She looked like she was readily dressed for one of those high-altitude sky-diving contests often held at the metaphorically named, Sun Blazer Valley.
Loose fitting, billowing pair of orange pants made of the highest grade of synthetically spun cotton and polymer-constructed fabrics. A purple and gold shirt with a Go-Play! logo design on the front, with a slightly flared collar around the neck and tapered sleeves.
I noticed that one of her skinny arms held a manacled bracelet made of silver-tibernium; inlaid with a holocronicon piece.
A quick glance told me all I wanted to know: It was closing in on four in the afternoon.
Her pleasant appearance and soft facial features relaxed me a little as she asked me what was the matter.
I don't know what made me open my mouth to her, but in the span of a few minutes, I told her my plight.
A complete stranger no less! My mom would kill me for doing so!
I sighed then, muttering whether or not this place was just a fabrication of my own mind or a bonifide nightmare.
My comment set the woman into a spazzed laughing fit and she told me that this place was as real as it can get.
I snarled out a response about the last bystanding asshole saying the same thing--but the woman in question was exceedingly patient with me.
“That’s true. He did. But there is no real reason to fake what everyone else sees and enjoys. No reason to be deceptive. It is all how you look at it.” She told me with absolute gentleness.
At this point, I just gave up and sunk down inside myself--not caring what happened next.
“So how come the layouts and buildings keep changing?” I remember asking.
“Because you’re not seeing the truth that’s before you, dear. That’s why. You should try and look up once in awhile.” She had ogled her eyes upwards as a hint to myself. Or was it my innate stubbornness?
I did look up and recieved the shock of my life: There were clouds!
Iron-slate gray; like it was going to rain or something heavy. But as I remember that moment--they didn't do anything but dance to and fro in a graceful ballet--as they were being gently drawn across the skies above my head.
And hugging one of the levels I was on earlier. Though--from this distance--I couldn't pick out any particular features.
When I turned to ask my mystery woman a question, I found that she was no longer there. But others had taken her place along the promenade area and lookout balconies.
However, none of them seemed all that interested in further explaning the finer points of the city to me.
Nor did they seem intent on revealing to me how a city of this magnitude could be concealed.
But how could that be?
From my standpoint, everything about that woman's converstion was just as baffling, and I didn't know if I should put any amount of credibility toward what had been revealed thus far.
I crossed the upper confines of the plaza--seeing that no one was going to be of any help to me--and descended down a flight of stairs.
More people came and went and I saw another fountain on my way down. Apparently, aesthetically-pleasing architecture was the norm around here.
On the surface, only one such fountain existed in Shark's Bay. And that puppy hadn't been used since I could remember.
But I let my confusion and anxiety melt away--after I came upon my first line of shops, a couple of what was called 'window shoppers'; and some catchy musical chimes.
The music faded and my attention soon became riveted by the couple's attire--finding their choice of dress to be more pleasing than that nameless woman's. (lol)
However, I found myself drooling over the woman's partner--forcing me to turn away before I could get caught for openly gaping at him in frank appreciation of his nice form and choice of clothes.
(Just because I didn't have a boyfriend--it didn't necessarily make me dead.)
When I had sufficiently composed myself, I turned around and found them leaving and what I thought was barely restrained laughter.
Were they laughing at me because of my appearance or because I was looking at the stud-muffin of a guy like he was the best thing this side of the surface?
I wasn't 100% sure. I thought it was because of the noisy fountain in my immediate proximity--but it didn't matter.
I still had a lot of exploring to do. And I always never left a place until I fully explored everything in sight.
It was nothing more than a defense mechanism from growing up in the Golan Desert.
Dangers always lurked--no matter what the change in circumstance.
Or in this case?
A change in scenery.
So I carried on with my intended...what was the term Calis once called it...?
Field trip.
Honestly, I couldn't recall how many times the old man had lost me with the way he talked at times. It made me think that he didn't belong here in the present, but entirely in the past.
Like in the last 10,000 years or so.
I still wished I carried a map though. It would make my journey of getting around this city a hell of a lot easier!
Sigh...
Isis
Monday, May 26, 2008
BRAVE NEW WORLD?
August 15th, 12,006 (actual time frame: 2:00PM, Monday; May 26th, 2008)___________________________________________________________________
Sometimes, I seriously wished that Calis had been kind enough to warn me that I would be traveling in one of my mom's famous spice mixers.
I swear...
The old man has no sense of humor whatsoever.
Traveling upwards so quickly and so fast had both my mind and body reeling. The only thing I was grateful for was a small port window which didn't offer me the vertigo-inducing view of the planet's surface peeling itself away at breakneck velocities--reaching nearly 1,315mph. (In any case. Mmph.)
I could see why the Praetorial Guardsman had me strapped in so fucking tight! No one I knew would've survived the trip intact so carefree.
Not even the suicidal types would go for something like this.
Of course, the majority of my time in suspended transit was spent with my eyes closed and me screaming off and on--especially when there would be an abrupt stop here and there; leaving me to wonder: Would I fall to my death?
But everything transited smoothly and I soon found myself in the gentle grip of the orbiting space complex's tractor-beam system; as it maneuvered me into position for docking and passenger extraction.
My thoughts were awhirl with what I would find within the complex. Stories, myths, and legends...that's all I had to guide me on this trip.
Calis had done his job in the schooling department--filling my head all sorts of nuancing details and information to cover the study equivalent of three discs.
My mom gave me the basics, but that was it.
Calis felt it was up to him to provide the rest, seeing how my father wasn't in the picture. My mother had no objections to the old man giving me a first-rate education--seeing how it was a rarity on the surface.
Through Calis, I discovered that not many people had anything past what he called the '7th grade'. (Based on the ancient measuring system.)
I had no clue what that meant. But the old man assured me that what I would receive would be more than adequate for the road ahead.
"Consider yourself lucky," he told me once--even as the tube car finished its docking procedure. "Not many people are as fortunate as you are, Isis McGowan."
Being seven-years-old at the time, I recall feeling a little guilt-ridden for undertaking the process of being so well-schooled.
"What about my brother?" I recalled asking him in a tiny voice. He was only five at the time, but already showing so much promise. It was hard to believe that it had been a year since my father was taken from us.
And that pain of loss still reverberated deep within me; seeking to fester inside me for all time.
A comm signal interrupted my thoughts for a second--as a voice told me it would be only a few more minutes before they could let me out of my garish imprisonment.
I sighed and nodded nervously, not knowing what to expect.
"What about my brother?" The unanswered question came back to me; allowing me a few precious moments of escape back into a past which I thought I had long since buried under a mantle of premature maturity and wisdom.
I recalled Calis's stern facial expression as he fondled my question with great care.
Which only lasted a few seconds.
"No," he told me. "This is for you, Isis. It's your mother's personal wish."
"And my father's?" I ventured then without thinking. The sudden image of him being led away by the Praetorial Guard left a wound that I knew back then--wouldn't heal.
No matter how much time would pass.
"Your father isn't here, now is he, Isis?" Calis shot back, a little too cold for my immediate tastes.
My eyes went wide--as I remember it--and I had to spin up all the strength to fight back the tears welling in them.
"N-no." I answered back in a small voice. Calis's expression softened upon seeing me in such distress.
"It's nothing personal, little one." He said in his best fatherly voice."This is how the world works: It is neither caring nor understanding of your desires or needs."
"I see." I said uncommittedly, the tears receding for now. But I knew that this respite would never last long--for Calis would later introduce me to a world filled with pain, suffering, and agony.
A world I would have to grow tough and resolute in--if I were to ever survive.
***
The door to my improvised cell snapped up with only the barest hint of air--breaking into my reverie.
I recall looking up in disorientation, which only lasted a few seconds--before I caught sight of a good-looking man with dark hair (bearing the rank insignia of a third-lieutenant)--peering inside my tube car.
“How are you doing?” He asked good naturedly, though there was a noticeable hint of awe in his tone.
I stopped for a second in my struggle to get free--to take in the man's disposition.
For a second, I thought the man was high on something; just by the way he stared at me.
"What?" I recall asking. "You've never seen a girl before?"
"Of course I have," the man replied unabashedly. "It's just that--"
"Would you terribly mind letting me out?" I interrupted him.
"Huh?" Then looked embarrassed. "Oh. Sure." Touching a hand-held controller, the restraints snapped free; releasing me onto the deck.
I swayed back and forth then, a little unsteady. The man reached in to grab me, but I waved him off--telling him that I would be okay in a moment.
But that didn't happen--as I had hoped--and when I did pitch forward, the man grabbed me again (this time for real); steadying me.
"What's wrong with me?" I asked, confused. "I can't seem...to stabilize on my own accord."
The guard then told me that it was just the gravity. Since it was one-tenth of what I was normally used to, it would take some adjusting.
My stomach protested and I fought back the urge to zuke--but the queasiness didn't fail to stop me from thinking some rather dark thoughts back down towards Calis himself.
"Okay." I finally managed to tell the guard, but that's all I could muster for the moment. My guts were still wanting to expell themselves the hard way--and I needed some time to compose and steady myself; which the guard allowed me out of both privacy and abject curiosity.
It wasn't all that hard to sense him still staring at me like I was some kind of long lost public exhibit.
"Is there some reason why you have to continuously stare at me?" I asked with unconscious annoyance in my voice.
The guard took a step back, but didn't relinquish his post. Admirable, to say the least.
"Sorry," he apologized right off. "But you're the first surface dweller to come up here in 50 years."
His statement took me off guard.
No way could that be right!
I even said so directly to his face a moment later.
"It's true!" The guard bleated excitedly.
"But what about the others that I saw down at the terminal?"
"Under special circumstances, do we allow anyone from the surface here to the city." The man said. "But usually, the tube cars just crisscross the planet from one point to another--after each positioning."
I knew that to be true, but it still didn't explain how I got here unmolested.
"So how come I'm here and not somewhere like Gorge Run?"
"You carry a special pass card which gives you the highest security clearance. The others have green or blue ones which designates them for point-to-point transport. Red means immediate access to the space complex--no questions asked."
I dug out mine and sure enough, it was red. (Like I didn't know this before? lol)
"Weird." I muttered nonchalantly, then pocketed the item in question. Glancing back at the guard, I asked: "So where do I go from here?"
"Down the hall, then right, and down the staircase." The guard told me.
The guard looked at her silently, but said nothing.
I did as I was told.
“Thank you. You may exit through the doors in front of you. Have a nice day.” Darci called back to me.
I left the terminal and found myself outside.
Outside!
With a gentle breeze blowing past me, I got my first real look around: Seeing nothing but chalk-white/gray walkways--sandstone--with beautifully designed marbled railings and light fixtures which held crystalline gas-light bulbs.
But a look closer at one of them showed that the “light” inside it wasn’t really fire, but a form of high energy plasma that I had never seen before.
Not even in my mother’s (or the old man's) study history discs.
Wonder why neither included that in my schooling? I thought to myself--even though I was still very much impressed by what I had seen so far.
I continued my study of my new digs--approaching one of the railings in the process. But I wasn't...well...prepared for the enormity of the whole place itself.
A literal city in space, but so well defined and kept apart that I couldn’t tell where it ended and where it actually began.
But the brick-red building in front of me told a completely different story, with its eye-level window displays, draped in blinds or curtains, but occasionally a window would be drawn open to allow fresh air to filter through.
But in the distance--in the far distance--I found myself staring at what was perhaps the tallest set of entwined crystal spires I had ever laid eyes upon.
“Holy shit,” I breathed in complete amazement, wondering who would be the first person that I would encounter in this magnificent city.
Isis
Sometimes, I seriously wished that Calis had been kind enough to warn me that I would be traveling in one of my mom's famous spice mixers.
I swear...
The old man has no sense of humor whatsoever.
Traveling upwards so quickly and so fast had both my mind and body reeling. The only thing I was grateful for was a small port window which didn't offer me the vertigo-inducing view of the planet's surface peeling itself away at breakneck velocities--reaching nearly 1,315mph. (In any case. Mmph.)
I could see why the Praetorial Guardsman had me strapped in so fucking tight! No one I knew would've survived the trip intact so carefree.
Not even the suicidal types would go for something like this.
Of course, the majority of my time in suspended transit was spent with my eyes closed and me screaming off and on--especially when there would be an abrupt stop here and there; leaving me to wonder: Would I fall to my death?
But everything transited smoothly and I soon found myself in the gentle grip of the orbiting space complex's tractor-beam system; as it maneuvered me into position for docking and passenger extraction.
My thoughts were awhirl with what I would find within the complex. Stories, myths, and legends...that's all I had to guide me on this trip.
Calis had done his job in the schooling department--filling my head all sorts of nuancing details and information to cover the study equivalent of three discs.
My mom gave me the basics, but that was it.
Calis felt it was up to him to provide the rest, seeing how my father wasn't in the picture. My mother had no objections to the old man giving me a first-rate education--seeing how it was a rarity on the surface.
Through Calis, I discovered that not many people had anything past what he called the '7th grade'. (Based on the ancient measuring system.)
I had no clue what that meant. But the old man assured me that what I would receive would be more than adequate for the road ahead.
"Consider yourself lucky," he told me once--even as the tube car finished its docking procedure. "Not many people are as fortunate as you are, Isis McGowan."
Being seven-years-old at the time, I recall feeling a little guilt-ridden for undertaking the process of being so well-schooled.
"What about my brother?" I recalled asking him in a tiny voice. He was only five at the time, but already showing so much promise. It was hard to believe that it had been a year since my father was taken from us.
And that pain of loss still reverberated deep within me; seeking to fester inside me for all time.
A comm signal interrupted my thoughts for a second--as a voice told me it would be only a few more minutes before they could let me out of my garish imprisonment.
I sighed and nodded nervously, not knowing what to expect.
"What about my brother?" The unanswered question came back to me; allowing me a few precious moments of escape back into a past which I thought I had long since buried under a mantle of premature maturity and wisdom.
I recalled Calis's stern facial expression as he fondled my question with great care.
Which only lasted a few seconds.
"No," he told me. "This is for you, Isis. It's your mother's personal wish."
"And my father's?" I ventured then without thinking. The sudden image of him being led away by the Praetorial Guard left a wound that I knew back then--wouldn't heal.
No matter how much time would pass.
"Your father isn't here, now is he, Isis?" Calis shot back, a little too cold for my immediate tastes.
My eyes went wide--as I remember it--and I had to spin up all the strength to fight back the tears welling in them.
"N-no." I answered back in a small voice. Calis's expression softened upon seeing me in such distress.
"It's nothing personal, little one." He said in his best fatherly voice."This is how the world works: It is neither caring nor understanding of your desires or needs."
"I see." I said uncommittedly, the tears receding for now. But I knew that this respite would never last long--for Calis would later introduce me to a world filled with pain, suffering, and agony.
A world I would have to grow tough and resolute in--if I were to ever survive.
***
The door to my improvised cell snapped up with only the barest hint of air--breaking into my reverie.
I recall looking up in disorientation, which only lasted a few seconds--before I caught sight of a good-looking man with dark hair (bearing the rank insignia of a third-lieutenant)--peering inside my tube car.
“How are you doing?” He asked good naturedly, though there was a noticeable hint of awe in his tone.
I stopped for a second in my struggle to get free--to take in the man's disposition.
For a second, I thought the man was high on something; just by the way he stared at me.
"What?" I recall asking. "You've never seen a girl before?"
"Of course I have," the man replied unabashedly. "It's just that--"
"Would you terribly mind letting me out?" I interrupted him.
"Huh?" Then looked embarrassed. "Oh. Sure." Touching a hand-held controller, the restraints snapped free; releasing me onto the deck.
I swayed back and forth then, a little unsteady. The man reached in to grab me, but I waved him off--telling him that I would be okay in a moment.
But that didn't happen--as I had hoped--and when I did pitch forward, the man grabbed me again (this time for real); steadying me.
"What's wrong with me?" I asked, confused. "I can't seem...to stabilize on my own accord."
The guard then told me that it was just the gravity. Since it was one-tenth of what I was normally used to, it would take some adjusting.
My stomach protested and I fought back the urge to zuke--but the queasiness didn't fail to stop me from thinking some rather dark thoughts back down towards Calis himself.
"Okay." I finally managed to tell the guard, but that's all I could muster for the moment. My guts were still wanting to expell themselves the hard way--and I needed some time to compose and steady myself; which the guard allowed me out of both privacy and abject curiosity.
It wasn't all that hard to sense him still staring at me like I was some kind of long lost public exhibit.
"Is there some reason why you have to continuously stare at me?" I asked with unconscious annoyance in my voice.
The guard took a step back, but didn't relinquish his post. Admirable, to say the least.
"Sorry," he apologized right off. "But you're the first surface dweller to come up here in 50 years."
His statement took me off guard.
No way could that be right!
I even said so directly to his face a moment later.
"It's true!" The guard bleated excitedly.
"But what about the others that I saw down at the terminal?"
"Under special circumstances, do we allow anyone from the surface here to the city." The man said. "But usually, the tube cars just crisscross the planet from one point to another--after each positioning."
I knew that to be true, but it still didn't explain how I got here unmolested.
"So how come I'm here and not somewhere like Gorge Run?"
"You carry a special pass card which gives you the highest security clearance. The others have green or blue ones which designates them for point-to-point transport. Red means immediate access to the space complex--no questions asked."
I dug out mine and sure enough, it was red. (Like I didn't know this before? lol)
"Weird." I muttered nonchalantly, then pocketed the item in question. Glancing back at the guard, I asked: "So where do I go from here?"
"Down the hall, then right, and down the staircase." The guard told me.
I mulled it over in my head, pretty sure that I got his directions down pat--and then left with a smile in place; making sure I thanked him as I left.
A quick glance back told me that him and his friend at the receiving terminal had a lot of news to discuss in my absence.
I smiled--thinking and imagining what the result of that would be.
***
It didn't take me long to find my way around this giant terminal. The few pluses in my book were that this place was even more sparsely populated than any terminal (or small hamlet on the Barren Wastelands), and on top of that?
I had a whole babygrand to myself.
No crowds. No pushing. No long lines.
I could see why Stratos City was such an idyllic jewel which so many people on the surface sought to chase after all this time.
Still the impulse to act childish didn't escape me and I spent the next few minutes taking in the sights and just acting like a complete goof.
Like a kid in a candy store. I remember my mom telling me once--upon the very first time I laid eyes on my own personal auto-frame: The Viper X-1.
This was no different.
It was huge. It was gargantuan in size--with its open spaces and skylights...everything which spoke of the highest possible opulence imaginable.
Naturally, it didn't take me long to find the exit. But I was still plenty wound up by my experiences--so I did my best to not appear so flustered as I approched the card reader and the guard manning it.But what stopped me was the sanguine voice asking me to slide my card into the reader--before I could be granted with an audience from the city itself.
"Why?" I asked, looking around, but finding that no one spoke to me.
The guard tapped me on the shoulder and directed me towards the reader's HUD display.
There was this pleasant face of a woman in a strange red get up, with a cap on top of some equally blonde hair of hers.
"Oh-kay..." I bit out in confusion. "And who are you supposed to be?"
"I am the terminal's computer. You may call me Darci." The gen'd image told me.
"So--Darci--" I asked politely.
"The reason why I am asking for you to slide your card through, is so that
we have you registered here as a visiting civilian. If you wish to fill out a permanency residential claim form, they are located at the Information Center on Level 2057.” There was a momentary pause in the terminal's programming. "Would you like me to show you were that is?"
"No," I quickly (and politely) declined. "That won't be necessary." The stupid thing buzzed me three seconds later--when I didn't move.
"What did I do now?"
“Please move forward and swipe your card.”The guard looked at her silently, but said nothing.
I did as I was told.
“Thank you. You may exit through the doors in front of you. Have a nice day.” Darci called back to me.
I left the terminal and found myself outside.
Outside!
With a gentle breeze blowing past me, I got my first real look around: Seeing nothing but chalk-white/gray walkways--sandstone--with beautifully designed marbled railings and light fixtures which held crystalline gas-light bulbs.
But a look closer at one of them showed that the “light” inside it wasn’t really fire, but a form of high energy plasma that I had never seen before.
Not even in my mother’s (or the old man's) study history discs.
Wonder why neither included that in my schooling? I thought to myself--even though I was still very much impressed by what I had seen so far.
I continued my study of my new digs--approaching one of the railings in the process. But I wasn't...well...prepared for the enormity of the whole place itself.
A literal city in space, but so well defined and kept apart that I couldn’t tell where it ended and where it actually began.
But the brick-red building in front of me told a completely different story, with its eye-level window displays, draped in blinds or curtains, but occasionally a window would be drawn open to allow fresh air to filter through.
But in the distance--in the far distance--I found myself staring at what was perhaps the tallest set of entwined crystal spires I had ever laid eyes upon.
“Holy shit,” I breathed in complete amazement, wondering who would be the first person that I would encounter in this magnificent city.
Isis
Saturday, April 12, 2008
UPWARDLY MOBILE.
August 15th, 12,006 (actual time frame: 1:14PM, Saturday; March 12th, 2007)___________________________________________________________________
With all things, chaos always has a habit of descending upon these sky tubes of ours. Like the stories of old, people here found themselves waiting for the next available slot--sometimes lasting hours on end.
'Camping out'--as the old term implies--was a common sight in some of the busiest terminals lining the Western Gulf--adjoining the southern borders of the Barren Wastelands.
Terminal #323 was no exception. Most of the travelers I saw would be stuck here well after dark--with their needs attended to by the Praetorial Guardsmen stationed here. (Reiken included.)
But I was hoping (and praying) that I wasn't going to be amongst those unfortunate not to secure a berth before the day was out. I had no intention of staying the night here. The last time I had to go 'terminal surfing'--I was encroached upon by a couple of guys whom thought I would be easy prey.
I guess no one told them that I wasn't. (chuckling here)
Naturally, I took extra 'precautions' against such future encounters--but out here in the middle nowhere "squared"--as Calis calls it--one always had to keep his or her wits about them.
The desert, the surface...any place on this Earth that you can run your hands across--or set your eyes on...?
It was always smart never to underestimate your immediate surroundings.
Especially myself.
I stayed with the fascinating mural for a few more minutes before a chime sounded through the overhead comm system--announcing that a new berth was open.
So I went and stood in line--only to be set upon by many other eager travelers whom were hoping for the same thing I was: A way up and out of this burgeoning rat trap.
Unfortunately for me, I was soon to be in the middle of the line and not at the front--to be of any use to me.
Not only was I pissed about my misfortune, but I was also becoming quite claustrophobic--being so close to everyone present. The heat of the bodies, the rising tension, and this insatiable itch which I could not scratch.
I needed out and badly.
Looking for a way out, I spied what first thought was an unoccupied bench lining the wall--beneath the line of expanse windows jutting out; creating small alcoves with their little glass shelves.
But to my dismay, a family was already sitting there--waiting out the time as I was.
The father was passed out, the mother sitting there with her young son nestled soundly in her lap--and sleeping as well.
My unintended intrusion caused a disturbance in their quiet neck of the woods--which we both took in stride: I left her be, and she was free to go about her own business.
Myself? I was searching for another bench to take a snooze on. The day was tiring as it was. And I did not believe I was going to get another clear shot at my own personal berth.
So I went up the flight of stairs and into another branching corridor--thinking that there would be some empty benches (or even an acceleration couch would be bliss to my tired feet) for me to sleep.
But in my haste, I had gone to the wrong floor. I was at Terminal 130 and my card had been issued for #127.
And it left me wondering: Did these things go by numerological order?
I decided to find out by doing a bit of exploring. First, I checked the wall schematics and found that I was going in the wrong direction.
Scratch that off my list of "Things Gone Wrong Today"...
I needed to get up to the third floor. And the only way I was going to do that...? Was the hard way.
One thing about terminals was not only were they immense in size, but they sometimes ran themselves like a maze on the inside--making it impossible for a person such as myself to find my way around.
Each terminal on the planet was built differently--according to the area in question. Some were more rugged than others. While some were spartan and utilitarian in nature.
This knowledge forced me to turn myself around--going back the way I came--turning left instead of right. I then traversed another endless corridor filled with an equal number of people seen before in other terminal berths.
The plus side to all this running around was that I was finding so many empty benches were I could easily stake a personal claim to--without any complaints.
But the upcoming staircase escalator was a beckoning lover to myself and I needed to get to my next destination.
I bolted upwards as fast I could--hoping that the odds were with me that the number of people would be smaller than the current crowds within the terminal itself.
I kept my focus on the task at hand while running the numbers through my head: Once I got my berth, it would be an incredible 6 minutes up--the tube car powered by a varied gravitational field itself.
Passenger safety was of little concern. Each car was designed to operate in the vacuum of space and had its own self-contained life-support system.
Getting to the top, I found to my own delight that there were no people here and the berth ahead was empty!
What luck! I thought to myself--thinking that nothing could go wrong.
The placard above my head read 130--and I knew then that I had found my target. But immediately, suspicion set in.
If this was a tasteless joke...? I thought further, somebody here was going to find out just how irritated I could get!
But there was no one that I could see--just a lone Praetorial Guardsman manning the terminal console.
I couldn't tell what he was doing--not with the small bank of monitors and the large console in front of him--but the closer I got, the more revealing things became.
But I stopped within feet of him and my overall destination. But I decided tha nothing more could be had by not going through the motions; startling the man when I asked him where everyone was.
After he had recovered, he gave me the answer that I didn't want to hear: Nobody had arrived yet--with the time pointing past two itself.
I was in such despair myself over the news because I really needed to get up to Stratos City!
This in turn had a confusion effect on the guard--whom in turn asked me what my problem was.
I whined to him that I needed access to that berth and couldn't stomach the idea that I would have to wait much longer than usual--just so one could be made available to me.
The guard inquired if I needed access to one and I told him that I did. After checking his list to see if anyone had pre-registered this particular berth--the guard informed me that no one had made any appointments for use of the terminal-except for someone at 2:15PM.
In a blind hurry, I dug out my card and shoved it in the guard's face; prompting him to make it quick. I was willing to do almost anything to make sure that I could gain free access to the sky car. And I mean anything.
Was I desperate? Yes. Was I foolish? Yes.
Was I a born idiot? Naturally. But when you're faced with no other options in life, what else would you do in my place?
I wasn't about to let this opportunity escape me hand over foot.
But I was lucky this time: The guard accepted my card without protest and ran it through a portable reader.
He also let me know that he was waiting for someone else to show up--and he (like me)--was surprised at the end when he discovered that it was me he was waiting for!
Elation and relief flooded through me like an overpowering sand storm, but I was also puzzled as to how I could've registered for full access to the terminal--but soon discovered that it was Calis McGraff whom made all the arrangements for me.
After the reader ejected the card, the guard in question wished me success up at Stratos City--before getting up and leading me to the berthing compartment of the sky tube car itself.
Tapping a flat-paneled button, the guard motioned for me to go inside and get into the padded acceleration seat--which I did--but I soon found out that I was facing the wrong way!
"Turn around and strap yourself in." The man said patiently. I did--to my embarrassment; settling in without any further problems.
I managed to stuff my pack into an open cubicle stand next to me--which immediately rose and then meshed itself into the wall noiselessly.
I spied the mesh body webbing in my acceleration seat and began attaching them together with the guard's help.
Afterwards, he stepped out to do something at the terminal. Suddenly, the chair around me reconfigured itself around my body--to provide even more stability and comfort; meshing with my lines in the process. This would prevent any bodily injury while the car was in shunt mode.
But I felt like an expensive child's toy--encapsulated in some kind of foam material with little wiggle room.
The guard came back to make some final adjustments and closed the cubicle's door holding my pack.
Despite my noticeable anxiety, the guard assured me that everything would be fine. After some further conversation, the man left to completely seal me inside the lift car.
I was quaking with fear about what was going to happen. Never, had I had to endure this all by myself. I always had someone in the past accompanying me.
By myself...? I was scared.
But there was little I could do--as the car rocketed upwards at fantastic speeds.
Isis
With all things, chaos always has a habit of descending upon these sky tubes of ours. Like the stories of old, people here found themselves waiting for the next available slot--sometimes lasting hours on end.
'Camping out'--as the old term implies--was a common sight in some of the busiest terminals lining the Western Gulf--adjoining the southern borders of the Barren Wastelands.
Terminal #323 was no exception. Most of the travelers I saw would be stuck here well after dark--with their needs attended to by the Praetorial Guardsmen stationed here. (Reiken included.)
But I was hoping (and praying) that I wasn't going to be amongst those unfortunate not to secure a berth before the day was out. I had no intention of staying the night here. The last time I had to go 'terminal surfing'--I was encroached upon by a couple of guys whom thought I would be easy prey.
I guess no one told them that I wasn't. (chuckling here)
Naturally, I took extra 'precautions' against such future encounters--but out here in the middle nowhere "squared"--as Calis calls it--one always had to keep his or her wits about them.
The desert, the surface...any place on this Earth that you can run your hands across--or set your eyes on...?
It was always smart never to underestimate your immediate surroundings.
Especially myself.
I stayed with the fascinating mural for a few more minutes before a chime sounded through the overhead comm system--announcing that a new berth was open.
So I went and stood in line--only to be set upon by many other eager travelers whom were hoping for the same thing I was: A way up and out of this burgeoning rat trap.
Unfortunately for me, I was soon to be in the middle of the line and not at the front--to be of any use to me.
Not only was I pissed about my misfortune, but I was also becoming quite claustrophobic--being so close to everyone present. The heat of the bodies, the rising tension, and this insatiable itch which I could not scratch.
I needed out and badly.
Looking for a way out, I spied what first thought was an unoccupied bench lining the wall--beneath the line of expanse windows jutting out; creating small alcoves with their little glass shelves.
But to my dismay, a family was already sitting there--waiting out the time as I was.
The father was passed out, the mother sitting there with her young son nestled soundly in her lap--and sleeping as well.
My unintended intrusion caused a disturbance in their quiet neck of the woods--which we both took in stride: I left her be, and she was free to go about her own business.
Myself? I was searching for another bench to take a snooze on. The day was tiring as it was. And I did not believe I was going to get another clear shot at my own personal berth.
So I went up the flight of stairs and into another branching corridor--thinking that there would be some empty benches (or even an acceleration couch would be bliss to my tired feet) for me to sleep.
But in my haste, I had gone to the wrong floor. I was at Terminal 130 and my card had been issued for #127.
And it left me wondering: Did these things go by numerological order?
I decided to find out by doing a bit of exploring. First, I checked the wall schematics and found that I was going in the wrong direction.
Scratch that off my list of "Things Gone Wrong Today"...
I needed to get up to the third floor. And the only way I was going to do that...? Was the hard way.
One thing about terminals was not only were they immense in size, but they sometimes ran themselves like a maze on the inside--making it impossible for a person such as myself to find my way around.
Each terminal on the planet was built differently--according to the area in question. Some were more rugged than others. While some were spartan and utilitarian in nature.
This knowledge forced me to turn myself around--going back the way I came--turning left instead of right. I then traversed another endless corridor filled with an equal number of people seen before in other terminal berths.
The plus side to all this running around was that I was finding so many empty benches were I could easily stake a personal claim to--without any complaints.
But the upcoming staircase escalator was a beckoning lover to myself and I needed to get to my next destination.
I bolted upwards as fast I could--hoping that the odds were with me that the number of people would be smaller than the current crowds within the terminal itself.
I kept my focus on the task at hand while running the numbers through my head: Once I got my berth, it would be an incredible 6 minutes up--the tube car powered by a varied gravitational field itself.
Passenger safety was of little concern. Each car was designed to operate in the vacuum of space and had its own self-contained life-support system.
Getting to the top, I found to my own delight that there were no people here and the berth ahead was empty!
What luck! I thought to myself--thinking that nothing could go wrong.
The placard above my head read 130--and I knew then that I had found my target. But immediately, suspicion set in.
If this was a tasteless joke...? I thought further, somebody here was going to find out just how irritated I could get!
But there was no one that I could see--just a lone Praetorial Guardsman manning the terminal console.
I couldn't tell what he was doing--not with the small bank of monitors and the large console in front of him--but the closer I got, the more revealing things became.
But I stopped within feet of him and my overall destination. But I decided tha nothing more could be had by not going through the motions; startling the man when I asked him where everyone was.
After he had recovered, he gave me the answer that I didn't want to hear: Nobody had arrived yet--with the time pointing past two itself.
I was in such despair myself over the news because I really needed to get up to Stratos City!
This in turn had a confusion effect on the guard--whom in turn asked me what my problem was.
I whined to him that I needed access to that berth and couldn't stomach the idea that I would have to wait much longer than usual--just so one could be made available to me.
The guard inquired if I needed access to one and I told him that I did. After checking his list to see if anyone had pre-registered this particular berth--the guard informed me that no one had made any appointments for use of the terminal-except for someone at 2:15PM.
In a blind hurry, I dug out my card and shoved it in the guard's face; prompting him to make it quick. I was willing to do almost anything to make sure that I could gain free access to the sky car. And I mean anything.
Was I desperate? Yes. Was I foolish? Yes.
Was I a born idiot? Naturally. But when you're faced with no other options in life, what else would you do in my place?
I wasn't about to let this opportunity escape me hand over foot.
But I was lucky this time: The guard accepted my card without protest and ran it through a portable reader.
He also let me know that he was waiting for someone else to show up--and he (like me)--was surprised at the end when he discovered that it was me he was waiting for!
Elation and relief flooded through me like an overpowering sand storm, but I was also puzzled as to how I could've registered for full access to the terminal--but soon discovered that it was Calis McGraff whom made all the arrangements for me.
After the reader ejected the card, the guard in question wished me success up at Stratos City--before getting up and leading me to the berthing compartment of the sky tube car itself.
Tapping a flat-paneled button, the guard motioned for me to go inside and get into the padded acceleration seat--which I did--but I soon found out that I was facing the wrong way!
"Turn around and strap yourself in." The man said patiently. I did--to my embarrassment; settling in without any further problems.
I managed to stuff my pack into an open cubicle stand next to me--which immediately rose and then meshed itself into the wall noiselessly.
I spied the mesh body webbing in my acceleration seat and began attaching them together with the guard's help.
Afterwards, he stepped out to do something at the terminal. Suddenly, the chair around me reconfigured itself around my body--to provide even more stability and comfort; meshing with my lines in the process. This would prevent any bodily injury while the car was in shunt mode.
But I felt like an expensive child's toy--encapsulated in some kind of foam material with little wiggle room.
The guard came back to make some final adjustments and closed the cubicle's door holding my pack.
Despite my noticeable anxiety, the guard assured me that everything would be fine. After some further conversation, the man left to completely seal me inside the lift car.
I was quaking with fear about what was going to happen. Never, had I had to endure this all by myself. I always had someone in the past accompanying me.
By myself...? I was scared.
But there was little I could do--as the car rocketed upwards at fantastic speeds.
Isis
Sunday, March 9, 2008
WHALES AT WEASEL RIDGE.
August 15th, 12,006 (actual time frame: 5:28PM, Sunday; March 9th, 2007)______________________________________________________________________
It didn't take me long to get to Weasel's Ridge Maze. The place was more like a canyon embedded with twisting and confusing passages than an actual transit terminal.
Why the Praetorial Guard built such an installation here in the first place...? I never could figure that out.
I suspected because of its nearly impregnable location--made up entirely of walls of solid rock and a few overhanging mesas.
The center of the "maze" was the heart of Transit Terminal #323. Carved out by particle beams and heavy digging equipment, the building was much larger than most terminals I had frequented and visited often in the past.
Only six such giants existed on the entire planet. This one sat 224 miles from Shark's Bay and was just as much a challenge to navigate as it was a headache for someone like me.
High winds sometimes enjoyed playing havoc with me and my ride--sometimes I would be riding at an easy clip--spurred on by gentle buffs--others...? It felt like I was going at a snail's pace--even though my engines were at full burn.
I looked past the few uninviting entrance points and focused on the internal structure of the terminal--the easy slope of the causeway and found the parking terminal to be extremely packed.
Today was certainly a busy day.
The five-story building reflected the day's sunlight; illuminating the three transit tube apertures as it went. And these three polymer-tritanium fixtures were critical to the continued function of the sky tubes.
They also could be retracted and moved elsewhere--in case of an emergency.
I caught sight of a car going straight up inside the tube and I had a real sense of foreboding then surge right through me. Primarily because I didn't know what to expect.
I had never ridden in one of these things before in my life.
But I had nothing to lose by not going. And sighed; knowing that I was only doing this because the old man wanted me to.
Despite all the horror stories dredged up about Stratos City, I promised myself one way or another--I would not fall victim while I was starside.
Sitting back on my bike, I chose the most direct route into the terminal and gunned my bike's engines for effect; vowing to make it in one piece.
***
Okay...
So the place was more packed than it looked up from the top of the hill. It took me more than 15 minutes to find a good place to park my hog. But the trek back to the terminal was much longer in my opinion, but it gave me a chance to scope out some other visitor's machines and parked vehicles--including a garbage hauler transport.
The thing was so massive, I felt immediately humble and small--somewhat scared if you want to get personal. These haulers reminded me of the same storybook monsters my mom used to read to me about as a little girl.
The effect then was no less frightening and I certainly didn't want to stick around in case the driver came back and found me gaping at his monstrous machine.
But my overriding fear couldn't be kept contained for very long--as an ample amount of curiosity surfaced and made me wonder just what it was doing here?
Garbage bags no doubt. I told himself then; smiling as I said it.
I continued my journey towards my destination--towards a flight of stairs which proved itself to be more of an obstacle than I originally gave credit for.
I have no idea why Calis left this part of my trip out--but a hike isn't what I had in mind when I came to Weasel's Ridge Maze. But I managed my ascent without any trouble. But the look down had me panicked.
No one said this thing would be this far up! I felt a wave of vertigo and I had to lean up against the protective safety barrier before I somehow fell off and ended up taking a nose dive into the vastness of space itself.
I certainly didn't like this moment--as breathtaking as it was to the naked eye.
300 feet up didn't readily appeal to the normally adventurous side of me; leaving me to look for the entrance way as fast as possible.
I darted inside the spacious double-doors as soon as I was able--only to be confronted with a world that was unlike any other I knew first-hand.
This one had plush red carpeting, beige and gold-colored walls, portraits, charts, and varied diagrams along with the checkered black and white floor tiling.
I craned my neck for a better view of the nicely scoped ceiling with its majestic center piece skylight. One that allowed for natural light to come pouring in unobstructed.
There was no doubt in my mind that this place was to die for.
To complete the picture from my perspective, there was a baby grand staircase with its own moving escalator in front of me, inviting newly arrived visitors to explore the terminal’s upper levels.
On each side of the staircase stood clearly marked restrooms. But at the moment the lines in front of them weren’t emergency-related, but rather a conglomerate of people–each person waiting patiently for their turn at a sky tube car.
Everyone here appeared to be in good spirits. No agitation, kids playing amongst the crowded lines in varied levels of excitement here and there…?
The tension inside me left as quickly as it had appeared since leaving Shark's Bay.
Then I recall being bumped into and my indignation made itself known right then and there!
I screamed out at the offending person in question, but the assault continued without question.
At that point, I was ready to let him have it with my personal side arm--an HT-909 Brasner blaster. But the second I had it partially pulled free from its holster, a stern voice stopped me from going any further.
"Don't." I remember him telling me.
Why wasn't I surprised? Some idiot schmuck decides to take the fun out of a little personal confrontation and thinks that they are some kind of god or something--by preventing me from doing what came natural?
This time, I decided to play it safe and let whomever was behind me have the upper hand. The last thing I wanted was a firefight in the middle of a crowded terminal.
Especially with the Praetorial Guard.
That's the face of my worst enemy. The one whom put my father away for something that wasn't his fault.
My scowl deepened--more than a match for the serious expression on this guy's face. Everytime I looked into the eyes of these creeps, it was more of a reminder of my own humiliating failure of not being able to stop them from taking my dad.
Eight long years...
The Guardsman asked me what my business here was. I was tempted to say something else but admirably refrained.
Not when six more Guardman were just behind him--all armed, all meaning business--should the situation warrant it.
But unlike the guy I was dealing with, these guys all appeared to be bored.
I could see why a little trouble on the surface was enough to alleviate any kind of lax activity.
So when the guy prodded me again with his rifle, I calmly devised a way to keep my cool and keep these guys from suspecting anything.
I went through the motions like any other surface dweller. When I was asked again why I was here I said:
"I’m just here on business."
The guard studied me intently, clearly suspicious.
After a moment, he asked: "What kind?"
"Educational." Was my cryptic response.
"ID?" He requested out of habit--letting a moment of exasperation get past my better judgment.
With a sigh, I handed him my piece
"Here. You wanna frisk me to while you're at it?" I asked him bluntly.
The man snatched the card from my hand and read what was printed on the ingrained plastic surface.
"Isis McGowan?" He muttered out loud in surprise.
"Yes." I said, feeling defensive.
"You were the pilot of the Viper X-1 which won last year’s Desert Storm, is that correct?"
When I realized that he wanted nothing more than a personal confirmation of something, I calmed down.
Nodding, I answered, "Barely." But I was also distracted from this line of questioning. Pressed for time, I didn't want to drag this out any longer than necessary.
Thankfully, the guard seemed to sense that and handed back my ID card.
"Very well." He told me emphatically. "You may continue unhindered. But remember: You will be monitored until you leave."
I had no doubt that was going to happen. These creeps were like the worst voyeurs imaginable. Always dogging you no matter what you did--even if you had to take a leak.
Privacy was something of a luxury when you dealt with the turtleheads. (A nickname I gave them because of the way they looked to me in their armored shells.)
The guard stepped back to let me pass, but it didn't stop me from giving the rest of his crew a neutral look. I so much wanted to kick their armored butts!
But I knew that the act wouldn't get me very far.
The armor of a single Praetorial Guardsman consisted of a heavily layered shell molded to the wearer’s specifications in an instant while broken down into segments for each portion of the human body–arms, legs, torso and so forth.
Once on, each part acted like quicksilver, linking up with each other, solidifying completely. This way, there would be no inherent weaknesses to exploit at all.
Another aspect of the armor was its unique durability. Being a next generation design, it was programmed with a mnemonic interface which allowed the armor to react instantly to any given circumstance, changing its molecular density when needed–becoming either malleable and extremely soft to the touch (like velvet) or as hard as any known material or substance in all the universe.
Hence the nickname 'turtlehead'.
I stepped onto the moving escalator and rode my up to my next destination, but my thoughts weren't on the present, but the past. Memories of Trell as a little boy and my father!...
Oh how I missed him terribly!
The escalator dumped me into a much wider corridor--wide enough to accomodate several lines of people if need be.
Looking down, I found the same color schemes in the carpet and walls. Nothing ever changed in these terminals. The construction and paint schemes almost remained the same--in one form or another.
However, that's where the similarities always ended.
But what got my attention here was what appeared to be intricate murals of some kind. Holographics was the word for them. Interactive imagining surfaces which displayed something of interest, either personal or of a historical nature.
In this case, I was witnessing something I have never seen before:
A gigantically smooth-blue skinned creature with a large tail and small flippers arching through one display, plying its way through a holographic representation of what appeared to be a large body of water--and appearing out into another companion panel.
The magnificent creature pierced the surface and used all its muscles to propel itself through the air, before coming down hard–sending up a mind-blowing spray of holographic water in my general direction. The sound of its impact adding to the noise of the water shook me to the bone; leaving me awed by what I had just witnessed with my own eyes.
The blue whale disappeared from view, leaving behind a trail of disturbed sunlight and bubbles. Seconds later, a mournful cry erupted from the display.
Then it seamlessly restarted again a minute later.
I was so totally beside myself; feeling more humble and more awestruck. Such power and beauty was being represented and no one could tell me what it was that I had just witnessed.
I remember placing my fingers up against the panel--wishing there was some way I could communicate to this magnificient animal, but I knew it was nothing more than a silly girl's fantasy.
I could feel the depth and power of the creature itself as it went through its motions--the subtle vibrations tingling my skin. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was being exposed and drenched by this whale's presence--my hair all wet from the spray it exuded in another shot; even as it made another mournful cry--calling out to whatever brethren still remained buried in the depths of this simulated ocean.
I sighed then...feeling strangely at peace with myself.
Isis
It didn't take me long to get to Weasel's Ridge Maze. The place was more like a canyon embedded with twisting and confusing passages than an actual transit terminal.
Why the Praetorial Guard built such an installation here in the first place...? I never could figure that out.
I suspected because of its nearly impregnable location--made up entirely of walls of solid rock and a few overhanging mesas.
The center of the "maze" was the heart of Transit Terminal #323. Carved out by particle beams and heavy digging equipment, the building was much larger than most terminals I had frequented and visited often in the past.
Only six such giants existed on the entire planet. This one sat 224 miles from Shark's Bay and was just as much a challenge to navigate as it was a headache for someone like me.
High winds sometimes enjoyed playing havoc with me and my ride--sometimes I would be riding at an easy clip--spurred on by gentle buffs--others...? It felt like I was going at a snail's pace--even though my engines were at full burn.
I looked past the few uninviting entrance points and focused on the internal structure of the terminal--the easy slope of the causeway and found the parking terminal to be extremely packed.
Today was certainly a busy day.
The five-story building reflected the day's sunlight; illuminating the three transit tube apertures as it went. And these three polymer-tritanium fixtures were critical to the continued function of the sky tubes.
They also could be retracted and moved elsewhere--in case of an emergency.
I caught sight of a car going straight up inside the tube and I had a real sense of foreboding then surge right through me. Primarily because I didn't know what to expect.
I had never ridden in one of these things before in my life.
But I had nothing to lose by not going. And sighed; knowing that I was only doing this because the old man wanted me to.
Despite all the horror stories dredged up about Stratos City, I promised myself one way or another--I would not fall victim while I was starside.
Sitting back on my bike, I chose the most direct route into the terminal and gunned my bike's engines for effect; vowing to make it in one piece.
***
Okay...
So the place was more packed than it looked up from the top of the hill. It took me more than 15 minutes to find a good place to park my hog. But the trek back to the terminal was much longer in my opinion, but it gave me a chance to scope out some other visitor's machines and parked vehicles--including a garbage hauler transport.
The thing was so massive, I felt immediately humble and small--somewhat scared if you want to get personal. These haulers reminded me of the same storybook monsters my mom used to read to me about as a little girl.
The effect then was no less frightening and I certainly didn't want to stick around in case the driver came back and found me gaping at his monstrous machine.
But my overriding fear couldn't be kept contained for very long--as an ample amount of curiosity surfaced and made me wonder just what it was doing here?
Garbage bags no doubt. I told himself then; smiling as I said it.
I continued my journey towards my destination--towards a flight of stairs which proved itself to be more of an obstacle than I originally gave credit for.
I have no idea why Calis left this part of my trip out--but a hike isn't what I had in mind when I came to Weasel's Ridge Maze. But I managed my ascent without any trouble. But the look down had me panicked.
No one said this thing would be this far up! I felt a wave of vertigo and I had to lean up against the protective safety barrier before I somehow fell off and ended up taking a nose dive into the vastness of space itself.
I certainly didn't like this moment--as breathtaking as it was to the naked eye.
300 feet up didn't readily appeal to the normally adventurous side of me; leaving me to look for the entrance way as fast as possible.
I darted inside the spacious double-doors as soon as I was able--only to be confronted with a world that was unlike any other I knew first-hand.
This one had plush red carpeting, beige and gold-colored walls, portraits, charts, and varied diagrams along with the checkered black and white floor tiling.
I craned my neck for a better view of the nicely scoped ceiling with its majestic center piece skylight. One that allowed for natural light to come pouring in unobstructed.
There was no doubt in my mind that this place was to die for.
To complete the picture from my perspective, there was a baby grand staircase with its own moving escalator in front of me, inviting newly arrived visitors to explore the terminal’s upper levels.
On each side of the staircase stood clearly marked restrooms. But at the moment the lines in front of them weren’t emergency-related, but rather a conglomerate of people–each person waiting patiently for their turn at a sky tube car.
Everyone here appeared to be in good spirits. No agitation, kids playing amongst the crowded lines in varied levels of excitement here and there…?
The tension inside me left as quickly as it had appeared since leaving Shark's Bay.
Then I recall being bumped into and my indignation made itself known right then and there!
I screamed out at the offending person in question, but the assault continued without question.
At that point, I was ready to let him have it with my personal side arm--an HT-909 Brasner blaster. But the second I had it partially pulled free from its holster, a stern voice stopped me from going any further.
"Don't." I remember him telling me.
Why wasn't I surprised? Some idiot schmuck decides to take the fun out of a little personal confrontation and thinks that they are some kind of god or something--by preventing me from doing what came natural?
This time, I decided to play it safe and let whomever was behind me have the upper hand. The last thing I wanted was a firefight in the middle of a crowded terminal.
Especially with the Praetorial Guard.
That's the face of my worst enemy. The one whom put my father away for something that wasn't his fault.
My scowl deepened--more than a match for the serious expression on this guy's face. Everytime I looked into the eyes of these creeps, it was more of a reminder of my own humiliating failure of not being able to stop them from taking my dad.
Eight long years...
The Guardsman asked me what my business here was. I was tempted to say something else but admirably refrained.
Not when six more Guardman were just behind him--all armed, all meaning business--should the situation warrant it.
But unlike the guy I was dealing with, these guys all appeared to be bored.
I could see why a little trouble on the surface was enough to alleviate any kind of lax activity.
So when the guy prodded me again with his rifle, I calmly devised a way to keep my cool and keep these guys from suspecting anything.
I went through the motions like any other surface dweller. When I was asked again why I was here I said:
"I’m just here on business."
The guard studied me intently, clearly suspicious.
After a moment, he asked: "What kind?"
"Educational." Was my cryptic response.
"ID?" He requested out of habit--letting a moment of exasperation get past my better judgment.
With a sigh, I handed him my piece
"Here. You wanna frisk me to while you're at it?" I asked him bluntly.
The man snatched the card from my hand and read what was printed on the ingrained plastic surface.
"Isis McGowan?" He muttered out loud in surprise.
"Yes." I said, feeling defensive.
"You were the pilot of the Viper X-1 which won last year’s Desert Storm, is that correct?"
When I realized that he wanted nothing more than a personal confirmation of something, I calmed down.
Nodding, I answered, "Barely." But I was also distracted from this line of questioning. Pressed for time, I didn't want to drag this out any longer than necessary.
Thankfully, the guard seemed to sense that and handed back my ID card.
"Very well." He told me emphatically. "You may continue unhindered. But remember: You will be monitored until you leave."
I had no doubt that was going to happen. These creeps were like the worst voyeurs imaginable. Always dogging you no matter what you did--even if you had to take a leak.
Privacy was something of a luxury when you dealt with the turtleheads. (A nickname I gave them because of the way they looked to me in their armored shells.)
The guard stepped back to let me pass, but it didn't stop me from giving the rest of his crew a neutral look. I so much wanted to kick their armored butts!
But I knew that the act wouldn't get me very far.
The armor of a single Praetorial Guardsman consisted of a heavily layered shell molded to the wearer’s specifications in an instant while broken down into segments for each portion of the human body–arms, legs, torso and so forth.
Once on, each part acted like quicksilver, linking up with each other, solidifying completely. This way, there would be no inherent weaknesses to exploit at all.
Another aspect of the armor was its unique durability. Being a next generation design, it was programmed with a mnemonic interface which allowed the armor to react instantly to any given circumstance, changing its molecular density when needed–becoming either malleable and extremely soft to the touch (like velvet) or as hard as any known material or substance in all the universe.
Hence the nickname 'turtlehead'.
I stepped onto the moving escalator and rode my up to my next destination, but my thoughts weren't on the present, but the past. Memories of Trell as a little boy and my father!...
Oh how I missed him terribly!
The escalator dumped me into a much wider corridor--wide enough to accomodate several lines of people if need be.
Looking down, I found the same color schemes in the carpet and walls. Nothing ever changed in these terminals. The construction and paint schemes almost remained the same--in one form or another.
However, that's where the similarities always ended.
But what got my attention here was what appeared to be intricate murals of some kind. Holographics was the word for them. Interactive imagining surfaces which displayed something of interest, either personal or of a historical nature.
In this case, I was witnessing something I have never seen before:
A gigantically smooth-blue skinned creature with a large tail and small flippers arching through one display, plying its way through a holographic representation of what appeared to be a large body of water--and appearing out into another companion panel.
The magnificent creature pierced the surface and used all its muscles to propel itself through the air, before coming down hard–sending up a mind-blowing spray of holographic water in my general direction. The sound of its impact adding to the noise of the water shook me to the bone; leaving me awed by what I had just witnessed with my own eyes.
The blue whale disappeared from view, leaving behind a trail of disturbed sunlight and bubbles. Seconds later, a mournful cry erupted from the display.
Then it seamlessly restarted again a minute later.
I was so totally beside myself; feeling more humble and more awestruck. Such power and beauty was being represented and no one could tell me what it was that I had just witnessed.
I remember placing my fingers up against the panel--wishing there was some way I could communicate to this magnificient animal, but I knew it was nothing more than a silly girl's fantasy.
I could feel the depth and power of the creature itself as it went through its motions--the subtle vibrations tingling my skin. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was being exposed and drenched by this whale's presence--my hair all wet from the spray it exuded in another shot; even as it made another mournful cry--calling out to whatever brethren still remained buried in the depths of this simulated ocean.
I sighed then...feeling strangely at peace with myself.
Isis
Sunday, February 17, 2008
THE ROAD AHEAD
August 15th, 12,006 (actual time frame: 4:45PM, Sunday; February 17th, 2007)______________________________________________________________________
It didn't take long for me to get my brother and go. The day was going to be a long one as it is--and I didn't have the luxury to fart around and take in the scenery along the stretch.
I needed to get to Shark's Bay as quick as possible.
I burned the engines as hot as they could get--using my afterburners for most of the journey. But--in under and hour--I got there dirty and happy; but I had pushed my bike to its absolute limits and knew that--when I pulled in...?--Calis would be giving me an earful about what went down.
Later--as it turned out.
After parking my machine on the side of the workshop, I dragged my brother inside and immediately asked Calis for some Viraxain.
At first, he thought that it was me which needed it--but I quickly put his fears to rest by pointing to my brother; as the culprit in question.
I explained to him what happened and the revelation hit him like a brick. He elected to get the medicine while I was left behind with my brother. I felt an immediate wave of sympathy for him--knowing that what he's going through was something I first went through three years ago; during my training on the Viper X-1.
Eleven years old at the time, I had burned in long hours on Calis's training sim and was in desperate need of something to keep me going.
The first thing you have to realize about the world I live in is that kids like me have to grow up very fast. Moment to moment is spent learning about the world we live in on the surface. Schooling and education comes from things passed down to each family member from the previous generation--where we don't get graded on our aptitudes or how well we did in one subject or another.
We just learned.
And one of the things I learned on that day was a painful lesson in moderation. Being the growing girl that I was--I had come across a box of the same rations my brother currently inhaled in one or more sittings--and grabbed a handful of the delicious-looking bars and began tearing into them ravenously.
I was lucky that Calis had the common sense to install some life-monitoring equipment--because hours later; he had to pull me out after I had completely collapsed.
Stupid ol' me didn't realize what I had done either. I was doing a crash-course in body recaliberation and several energy dumps to force my metabolism back to normal. Only afterwards did Calis manage to acquire some energy-ration paks that were attuned to my growing metabolism.
Looking at my brother, I saw then that he didn't mean what he did. He was just simply fulfulling his role as the second oldest member of the family.
And as a man yet to be.
But I was doing the right thing--because I wanted him to be around when I grew up to be the person I was destined to be.
Calis returned with a vial and a hypo--explaining what it would do and then injecting it into my brother. He would need to stay the night.
While I...?
I was going someplace else. A place that I only dreamed about in days past--fantasized about in dreams future.
As much as I wanted my brother to accompany me to the space complex, we both knew that he couldn't go. The station's boarding system would deny him access due to the fact that it would flag him as an addict.
He would have to wait until his system was clensed and then he could come up. (Though that wouldn't happen until much later--after everything had transpired.)
So Calis offered to take him home on the hauler transport--since his own hoverbike was in storage and needing a new engine manifold. Mine was simply too powerful for him to handle on his own; without the necessarily instruction and supervision.
I was about to take off when he halted me--telling me that I would need a pass card to gain access. It was the same one he had used so many years before; to hunt for the errant shard belonging to the Source of Chaos. (Though from what he regaled to me years down the road--he could never find it. It was simply 'out of sight, out of mind'; as he had put it.)
But the thing had a three-hour limit and I would need all the speed I could get getting to Weasel's Ridge Maze, and not Crater Lake. (Like I always did in the past at Transit Terminal #114.)
And it only worked for that specific terminal.
Calis shooed me off and I told him that I would be back.
Little did I know what lay in store.
Isis
It didn't take long for me to get my brother and go. The day was going to be a long one as it is--and I didn't have the luxury to fart around and take in the scenery along the stretch.
I needed to get to Shark's Bay as quick as possible.
I burned the engines as hot as they could get--using my afterburners for most of the journey. But--in under and hour--I got there dirty and happy; but I had pushed my bike to its absolute limits and knew that--when I pulled in...?--Calis would be giving me an earful about what went down.
Later--as it turned out.
After parking my machine on the side of the workshop, I dragged my brother inside and immediately asked Calis for some Viraxain.
At first, he thought that it was me which needed it--but I quickly put his fears to rest by pointing to my brother; as the culprit in question.
I explained to him what happened and the revelation hit him like a brick. He elected to get the medicine while I was left behind with my brother. I felt an immediate wave of sympathy for him--knowing that what he's going through was something I first went through three years ago; during my training on the Viper X-1.
Eleven years old at the time, I had burned in long hours on Calis's training sim and was in desperate need of something to keep me going.
The first thing you have to realize about the world I live in is that kids like me have to grow up very fast. Moment to moment is spent learning about the world we live in on the surface. Schooling and education comes from things passed down to each family member from the previous generation--where we don't get graded on our aptitudes or how well we did in one subject or another.
We just learned.
And one of the things I learned on that day was a painful lesson in moderation. Being the growing girl that I was--I had come across a box of the same rations my brother currently inhaled in one or more sittings--and grabbed a handful of the delicious-looking bars and began tearing into them ravenously.
I was lucky that Calis had the common sense to install some life-monitoring equipment--because hours later; he had to pull me out after I had completely collapsed.
Stupid ol' me didn't realize what I had done either. I was doing a crash-course in body recaliberation and several energy dumps to force my metabolism back to normal. Only afterwards did Calis manage to acquire some energy-ration paks that were attuned to my growing metabolism.
Looking at my brother, I saw then that he didn't mean what he did. He was just simply fulfulling his role as the second oldest member of the family.
And as a man yet to be.
But I was doing the right thing--because I wanted him to be around when I grew up to be the person I was destined to be.
Calis returned with a vial and a hypo--explaining what it would do and then injecting it into my brother. He would need to stay the night.
While I...?
I was going someplace else. A place that I only dreamed about in days past--fantasized about in dreams future.
As much as I wanted my brother to accompany me to the space complex, we both knew that he couldn't go. The station's boarding system would deny him access due to the fact that it would flag him as an addict.
He would have to wait until his system was clensed and then he could come up. (Though that wouldn't happen until much later--after everything had transpired.)
So Calis offered to take him home on the hauler transport--since his own hoverbike was in storage and needing a new engine manifold. Mine was simply too powerful for him to handle on his own; without the necessarily instruction and supervision.
I was about to take off when he halted me--telling me that I would need a pass card to gain access. It was the same one he had used so many years before; to hunt for the errant shard belonging to the Source of Chaos. (Though from what he regaled to me years down the road--he could never find it. It was simply 'out of sight, out of mind'; as he had put it.)
But the thing had a three-hour limit and I would need all the speed I could get getting to Weasel's Ridge Maze, and not Crater Lake. (Like I always did in the past at Transit Terminal #114.)
And it only worked for that specific terminal.
Calis shooed me off and I told him that I would be back.
Little did I know what lay in store.
Isis
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Angst and Improvision
August 15th, 12,006 (actual time frame: 9:35AM, Saturday; January 26th, 2007)______________________________________________________________________
I didn't want to disappoint my mother by not showing up for breakfast. I wolfed down what was given to me that day, but the problems with my hovercycle still persisted and I didn't know what to do next.
I remember telling my mother this and she suggested that I improvise on the lining issue; as her experience with faulty and stubborn equipment (namely the T-17 Firefly) had given her plenty of insight into how to deal with this particular problem.
And hers was quite simple: "Fix it."
Sure mom! I recall thinking to myself. Easy for you to say! You don't have to travel the 450-mile corridor each day to Shark's Bay!
"So improvise." She followed up--after I tried to explain to her that I did not have a spare. But knowing how moms operate, Maye wasn't about to give up on me.
She knew that I was much more smarter and intelligent than this--and I found myself kicking myself in the head silently for trying to back out of this problem; and let my mother come to my rescue like she had a few times in the past.
Maye only did that because she wanted to show that she loved me, but she soon discovered that I had more potential growing up--and starting allowing me to tackle my own problems; without any adult supervision.
This was was one such moment in my life where I had the power to make my own solutions.
But technology was still a pain in the ass and I wasn't known for my patience. Last time my bike gave me this much of a problem, I ended up by putting a blaster bolt into the engine block--costing me my ride for three weeks while Calis pissed up and down Repair Bay #4 fixing the problem and cursing teenagers (and me), in general.
Mom grounded me for 2 months following that incident last year. But I learned my lesson.
No...
This time, I was going to solve the liner problem. I was stupid last year. This year, I was going to use my head rather than my standard impulsiveness.
Good ol' mom...she wouldn't take no for an answer. She told me to use something for a substitute for the damaged liner and then fix it.
Staring down at my now empty plate, I tried as hard to picture what the damned thing looked like inside my head and then tried to come up with a passable replacement.
It needed to be something that would act as a filter; allowing for the fuel and air to come together without interruption--but trap any foreign elements like dirt and sand particles.
But there was too much sand, which caused the compressor to jam on its own accord. I told my mom this and she threw out the notion that their might be a hairline crack somewhere--which would account for the excess build up.
But I disagreed with her openly--telling her that I had already run a diagnostic. Nothing was found.
Mom wouldn't accept that as a final answer and told me to check again.
I told her that I did, but didn't want to fight with me again on this front. She could tell that I was getting steamed and quietly put the dishes in the sink.
Coming back, she told me in no uncertain terms that I would have to look again.
I sat there and stewed. I'm sure that smoke was pouring out of my ears then.
Mom had proven me wrong on this front and I was forced to accept the fact that I may have overlooked something important. After all, technology wasn't impervious.
I relented and told her that I was going to check--just to humor her. Even if I didn't like it.
***
I returned to the outshed while my brother was busy fighting the effects of ration addiction. He was a brave little boy--but he needed to be shown the errors of his ways.
I wished that mom hadn't been so cold in showing mine. I wished she hadn't. But I knew that in the world we all lived in never afforded such luxuries.
I ran an integrity scan on the bike and watched as a pencil-thin beam of light washed over my hovercycle--before shutting off. After a moment or two of ingesting the collected data, I was finally given the results of the scan.
It wasn't good.
Naturally, I expected this. But I wasn't expecting a four-inch hairline crack underneath the engine compartment; which ran lengthwise and stopped shy of the aft hover control matrix.
Of course, I wasn't expecting to see this. The damage was practically invisible when I stood back up from personally inspecting the site in question.
I went back to my tool box and retrieved a special sealent which would instantly bond with the crack and fuse it temporarily together. A cosmetic improvision at best. But repairs would have to wait another time.
I thought about asking Calis for a favor. But given my track record, I was sure that this wouldn't count! (laughing)
After applying the sealant and tossing it back into the tool chest--I sat there and waited for the bonding agents to do their thing while I did mine.
The lining problem was going to be a real bitch--primarily because I didn't have anything from which to work with that could be used as a replacement. (A point I made to my mom--but once she was set in her ways, nothing short of a hovertram accident could shake her resolve loose.)
I thought about calling it quits and finding another fuel pump--complete with brand-new filter linings--while telling the old man that I had failed.
That would certainly make his day, all right. I thought to myself then. This setback didn't sit well with me at all.
I absently dusted the sand off the front of my shirt and noticed how the sand particles didn't stick to the fabric at all.
It was then that inspiration struck me.
My shirt!
I could use it as a substitute!
Running back to the work bench, I fished out an old pair of scissors that were a gift from my grandmother and began to cut into my shirt.
I carefully excised a small patch of fabric from the lower half of my garment--knowing my mom was going to have a fit when she found out. But it was much better than complaining all day.
I reassembled the fuel pumps in record time afterwards--and within 15 minutes--and prayed that this jury-rigging would work. I had nothing else left to give if it were to fail outright.
Installing the pump, I ran the bike through its startup sequence and found everything read green across the board.
It was ready to go and so was I.
Isis
I didn't want to disappoint my mother by not showing up for breakfast. I wolfed down what was given to me that day, but the problems with my hovercycle still persisted and I didn't know what to do next.
I remember telling my mother this and she suggested that I improvise on the lining issue; as her experience with faulty and stubborn equipment (namely the T-17 Firefly) had given her plenty of insight into how to deal with this particular problem.
And hers was quite simple: "Fix it."
Sure mom! I recall thinking to myself. Easy for you to say! You don't have to travel the 450-mile corridor each day to Shark's Bay!
"So improvise." She followed up--after I tried to explain to her that I did not have a spare. But knowing how moms operate, Maye wasn't about to give up on me.
She knew that I was much more smarter and intelligent than this--and I found myself kicking myself in the head silently for trying to back out of this problem; and let my mother come to my rescue like she had a few times in the past.
Maye only did that because she wanted to show that she loved me, but she soon discovered that I had more potential growing up--and starting allowing me to tackle my own problems; without any adult supervision.
This was was one such moment in my life where I had the power to make my own solutions.
But technology was still a pain in the ass and I wasn't known for my patience. Last time my bike gave me this much of a problem, I ended up by putting a blaster bolt into the engine block--costing me my ride for three weeks while Calis pissed up and down Repair Bay #4 fixing the problem and cursing teenagers (and me), in general.
Mom grounded me for 2 months following that incident last year. But I learned my lesson.
No...
This time, I was going to solve the liner problem. I was stupid last year. This year, I was going to use my head rather than my standard impulsiveness.
Good ol' mom...she wouldn't take no for an answer. She told me to use something for a substitute for the damaged liner and then fix it.
Staring down at my now empty plate, I tried as hard to picture what the damned thing looked like inside my head and then tried to come up with a passable replacement.
It needed to be something that would act as a filter; allowing for the fuel and air to come together without interruption--but trap any foreign elements like dirt and sand particles.
But there was too much sand, which caused the compressor to jam on its own accord. I told my mom this and she threw out the notion that their might be a hairline crack somewhere--which would account for the excess build up.
But I disagreed with her openly--telling her that I had already run a diagnostic. Nothing was found.
Mom wouldn't accept that as a final answer and told me to check again.
I told her that I did, but didn't want to fight with me again on this front. She could tell that I was getting steamed and quietly put the dishes in the sink.
Coming back, she told me in no uncertain terms that I would have to look again.
I sat there and stewed. I'm sure that smoke was pouring out of my ears then.
Mom had proven me wrong on this front and I was forced to accept the fact that I may have overlooked something important. After all, technology wasn't impervious.
I relented and told her that I was going to check--just to humor her. Even if I didn't like it.
***
I returned to the outshed while my brother was busy fighting the effects of ration addiction. He was a brave little boy--but he needed to be shown the errors of his ways.
I wished that mom hadn't been so cold in showing mine. I wished she hadn't. But I knew that in the world we all lived in never afforded such luxuries.
I ran an integrity scan on the bike and watched as a pencil-thin beam of light washed over my hovercycle--before shutting off. After a moment or two of ingesting the collected data, I was finally given the results of the scan.
It wasn't good.
Naturally, I expected this. But I wasn't expecting a four-inch hairline crack underneath the engine compartment; which ran lengthwise and stopped shy of the aft hover control matrix.
Of course, I wasn't expecting to see this. The damage was practically invisible when I stood back up from personally inspecting the site in question.
I went back to my tool box and retrieved a special sealent which would instantly bond with the crack and fuse it temporarily together. A cosmetic improvision at best. But repairs would have to wait another time.
I thought about asking Calis for a favor. But given my track record, I was sure that this wouldn't count! (laughing)
After applying the sealant and tossing it back into the tool chest--I sat there and waited for the bonding agents to do their thing while I did mine.
The lining problem was going to be a real bitch--primarily because I didn't have anything from which to work with that could be used as a replacement. (A point I made to my mom--but once she was set in her ways, nothing short of a hovertram accident could shake her resolve loose.)
I thought about calling it quits and finding another fuel pump--complete with brand-new filter linings--while telling the old man that I had failed.
That would certainly make his day, all right. I thought to myself then. This setback didn't sit well with me at all.
I absently dusted the sand off the front of my shirt and noticed how the sand particles didn't stick to the fabric at all.
It was then that inspiration struck me.
My shirt!
I could use it as a substitute!
Running back to the work bench, I fished out an old pair of scissors that were a gift from my grandmother and began to cut into my shirt.
I carefully excised a small patch of fabric from the lower half of my garment--knowing my mom was going to have a fit when she found out. But it was much better than complaining all day.
I reassembled the fuel pumps in record time afterwards--and within 15 minutes--and prayed that this jury-rigging would work. I had nothing else left to give if it were to fail outright.
Installing the pump, I ran the bike through its startup sequence and found everything read green across the board.
It was ready to go and so was I.
Isis
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