Making the Best, continued
Oct. 12th, 2005 11:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerStoneship Age, if I remember rightly, had a population of about ten, all of whom arrived out of nowhere, if Atrus’s journal is to be believed. Like all the Ages of Myst, it was empty when the Stranger arrived. It was his first attempt to Write an artifact into an Age, and he slightly miscalculated the spatial co-ordinates; an easy enough mistake to make, as anyone who’s tried to park a car in a confined space can testify.
I can’t recall how old the boys were when he first went there. That would have been a good index to how early in his development as a Writer it was. I wish whoever it was hadn’t nicked all the books. With Mechanical they were old enough to help him with the fortress. In Channelwood he decided they were old enough to be left on their own.
Not that the question is of any importance right now. Stoneship has power sources. There are pumps somewhere that may run on the same fuel as the generators, and there’s that hand-cranked Wimshurst machine or whatever and the battery. I can use those. I have one source of electricity now, but the voltage is way too high, and I don’t know how to get it to deliver in a steady stream rather than one big burst. Had to take it, though. I do not believe in cages, especially electrified ones.
There must be another way to get to those generators. I really don’t like the idea of smashing that window. Every time I look at the big gear I feel guilty. Besides, I’ve tried and my lever didn’t even put a dent in it. It doesn’t make sense that Atrus couldn’t get at them to service them. I think he had his own way round this island, a D’ni way. I think there are tunnels.
Just got to find them.
Stoneship first, though. If I can heave the bit of mast on the dock back round, I think I can still use it as a ladder. Failing that, I may consider pole-vaulting.
Later.—Well, that took a few years off my life.
I stripped off (who’s going to see?) and left my clothes in the relative dry, and wandered down to the dock. After some groaning and heaving, I managed to get the broken mast positioned so that, had I been Burt Lancaster or someone, I could have strolled along it and leapt nimbly to the deck. Being me, I crawled along it with my eyes shut till I thought I was over the deck and then fell off. In a controlled fashion, of course, and being aware that the deck was forty-five degrees from the horizontal.
I wasn’t expecting the entire concern to start sliding further into the water.
As I scrabbled for something to brace myself on, I had time to wonder if D’ni Books were waterproof. I suspect they’re jolly resistant, but prolonged immersion would almost certainly start to remove the ink, or else what did Catherine ever do with Atrus’s cuffs? The water was creeping up around my knees. I stood in a sort of Colossus of Rhodes posture, one foot on the deck, the other on the rail, and flopped forward till I could reach the knob of the door with the Book behind it.
Yahvo, or whoever, was with me. The Book was on a chair, which was floating serenely upright. Not even damp. I grabbed the Book and threw it on to the path above the dock, grabbed the chair as an afterthought and threw that too, and started swimming as the ship slid none too gracefully beneath the waves and the fish-beasties started to close in. I just made it. And again with the groaning and the heaving.
When I felt a little better, I went up to the gear and grabbed the Mechanical Book too, and stashed them both on the shelf in the Library. Then I took the chair back to my haven in the generator hut, made up the fire and sat warming myself till I felt dry enough to put my clothes back on. Silly affectation really, as I get soaked whenever I go anywhere on this island, but habits are hard to break. Besides, I keep feeling as if someone’s watching me.
There was another little tremor today as well. So far they’re fairly infrequent, and quite light: I could almost have put this one down to my imagination. It was, however, a sharp reminder that I don’t have infinite time here: maybe only weeks, or days.
There’s a fun thought.
I can’t recall how old the boys were when he first went there. That would have been a good index to how early in his development as a Writer it was. I wish whoever it was hadn’t nicked all the books. With Mechanical they were old enough to help him with the fortress. In Channelwood he decided they were old enough to be left on their own.
Not that the question is of any importance right now. Stoneship has power sources. There are pumps somewhere that may run on the same fuel as the generators, and there’s that hand-cranked Wimshurst machine or whatever and the battery. I can use those. I have one source of electricity now, but the voltage is way too high, and I don’t know how to get it to deliver in a steady stream rather than one big burst. Had to take it, though. I do not believe in cages, especially electrified ones.
There must be another way to get to those generators. I really don’t like the idea of smashing that window. Every time I look at the big gear I feel guilty. Besides, I’ve tried and my lever didn’t even put a dent in it. It doesn’t make sense that Atrus couldn’t get at them to service them. I think he had his own way round this island, a D’ni way. I think there are tunnels.
Just got to find them.
Stoneship first, though. If I can heave the bit of mast on the dock back round, I think I can still use it as a ladder. Failing that, I may consider pole-vaulting.
Later.—Well, that took a few years off my life.
I stripped off (who’s going to see?) and left my clothes in the relative dry, and wandered down to the dock. After some groaning and heaving, I managed to get the broken mast positioned so that, had I been Burt Lancaster or someone, I could have strolled along it and leapt nimbly to the deck. Being me, I crawled along it with my eyes shut till I thought I was over the deck and then fell off. In a controlled fashion, of course, and being aware that the deck was forty-five degrees from the horizontal.
I wasn’t expecting the entire concern to start sliding further into the water.
As I scrabbled for something to brace myself on, I had time to wonder if D’ni Books were waterproof. I suspect they’re jolly resistant, but prolonged immersion would almost certainly start to remove the ink, or else what did Catherine ever do with Atrus’s cuffs? The water was creeping up around my knees. I stood in a sort of Colossus of Rhodes posture, one foot on the deck, the other on the rail, and flopped forward till I could reach the knob of the door with the Book behind it.
Yahvo, or whoever, was with me. The Book was on a chair, which was floating serenely upright. Not even damp. I grabbed the Book and threw it on to the path above the dock, grabbed the chair as an afterthought and threw that too, and started swimming as the ship slid none too gracefully beneath the waves and the fish-beasties started to close in. I just made it. And again with the groaning and the heaving.
When I felt a little better, I went up to the gear and grabbed the Mechanical Book too, and stashed them both on the shelf in the Library. Then I took the chair back to my haven in the generator hut, made up the fire and sat warming myself till I felt dry enough to put my clothes back on. Silly affectation really, as I get soaked whenever I go anywhere on this island, but habits are hard to break. Besides, I keep feeling as if someone’s watching me.
There was another little tremor today as well. So far they’re fairly infrequent, and quite light: I could almost have put this one down to my imagination. It was, however, a sharp reminder that I don’t have infinite time here: maybe only weeks, or days.
There’s a fun thought.