The hail is automated; inquires whether we’re prepared to begin docking. But it’s not a rote message: it referenced the ship’s callsign.
The hail is automated; inquires whether we’re prepared to begin docking. But it’s not a rote message: it referenced the ship’s callsign.
The Station then asks if we have any pie. Oh. I see, I’m still asleep. This is some kind of dream.
I sit down and start randomly punching nav buttons. Dangerous, but if I’m dreaming, who cares? Answer: Deirdre, who slaps my hand. Hard. Ow.
Pain from the hand-smack indicates (a) not a dream (b) the pre-history, duo-dimension space station’s docking protocol just asked for pie.
Do we *have* any pie? Jon says we don’t; do I… want him to make one? The station isn’t armed, and he’s not a great cook, so I decide ‘no’.
I get on comms and inform the station we have no pie. The station asks for confirmation of last. I do. We are denied docking access.
I open comms and say ‘Please?’ out of habit. No reply. I look at Jon and Deirdre. The comm squawks; a new, sterner system-vox grants access.
I don’t know which idea is more disturbing: an automated system with a baked goods fixation, or one gated via politeness.
Deirdre doesn’t care; she’s working the ship in toward the station. Propelled by the jump drive, so… moving at -i toward a fixed point.
At 500 meters from the station, coming in at full power, I start wondering what being broken into my component atoms will feel like.
Jon says, “You wonder if *what* will tickle?” I start to answer, when my ears pop. Hard. Golden light floods the bridge, followed by song.
It’s not a “song”, exactly. Harmonics? Everything is moving slowly, even the light – it pours over us like a barrel of spilled honey.
[You might want to know I'm writing Adrift (part 1) for NaNoWriMo. And podcasting it as I go. More info, when I have some, on @doycet.]
Couldn’t follow it well enough on Twitter (or, come to that, Facebook)?
Couldn’t follow it on a newsreader?
Couldn’t go to the website and read it one month at a time?
Fiiiiine.
Just for you (yes, you), I used my infinite internet powers and commanded Tweetbook to grab the whole “part one” one of the Adrift story and munge it into a single, somewhat ugly PDF. (Said document will, I should point out, effectively act as my outline for my NaNoWriMo project this year.)
The page numbering is screwed up, and it ain’t pretty, but it’s all in one place, all one story, in all it’s original Twitter-formatted glory, for your leisure scanning. Adrift: Tweet-Book. Assume the CC license for this version is NC-SA-Attribution. Don’t be a dick.
Enjoy.
The pie-voice is back – coalescing out the harmonic hum, vibrating from out of the ship hull – it says we’re within the ‘reduction field’.
Not sure what a reduction field is. Best guess? It reduces the likelihood we vaporize when we dock. I’m suddenly very fond of this field.
Dierdre coaxes us into the GDR – I hear the seal lock from two decks away and start down. Jon catches my arm; points out the /other/ ship.
Hard to see in the weird light, but yes: several hundred yards down the universal docking ring, there’s another ship. A familiar ship.
I thought I was still at least a step behind Kaetlyn. She left the Drift a month ago, yet there’s her ship. S’possible that’s not good news.
Deirdre asks if she’s staying on the ship. Again. The tone of her voice… she’s not one to show emotion – ever. I tell her to come along.
The ‘lock sensors tell me the air inside the station is good. Better than the air in the Binturong, actually; or any world in our logs.
The airlock cycles. We step through. Sweet, fresh air puffs in our face. Turret mounted particle projection cannon pops out of the ceiling.
Figured it was too good to be true; every enviroment has hostile elements. Though in this case, the hostile element /is/ the environment.
The ‘do you have pie’ voice reassures us this is basic security – a formality. Step through the scanner. I step thr[PROTOCOL INTERRUPTED]