Log of the Cambric, continued
Feb. 1st, 2006 11:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerThat would have been a perfect landing if frodding Palinurus hadn't distracted me by coughing just at the most difficult part. Fortunately I only knocked off one of the landing legs, and it only took me two hours to get it propped up on a box from the hold. Every time I looked through the viewport, there he was, grinning and waving at me. At least he stayed away from the controls. I hate to think what would have happened if he'd turned off the manoeuvring field while I was under there struggling. The fact that I would be taking him with me was surprisingly little consolation. Probably wouldn't even realise what had happened. Just sit there waiting for me to come back till the planet decayed.
Anyway, I eventually got the ship stable and cloaked, and sat down at the computer to hack into planetary communications and see what people were wearing these days. Homeship data is always out of date to some degree, and I was pleased to see that men no longer went around with their navels displayed in all weathers, as I had been led to believe. Mighty hardy navels they must have had in those days.
The fabricator hummed, belched and disgorged a strong smell of burnt circuitry and two outfits in the local style. The better of the two was too small for me, but there was no point haggling with the thing, so I tossed it at Palinurus and donned the other one. When we were both dressed, we could pass without comment in any Wereki city...but Palinurus would have porters opening doors for him, and I would be directed gruffly round the back. Ah well. Face-to-face contact will be at a minimum for this operation. I think.
I moused into the government database and cooked us up three or four identities each. We'd need more costumes, but I wanted to have a look inside the fabricator first. Then, after a few choice words to Palinurus on such things as style and how not to cramp it, toes and how not to step on them, and the general keeping of stumm, we ventured forth into an alien world.
Well, not that alien. Nyronds are quite at home on human-occupied planets, and they do tend to be much of a muchness, apart from a few trivial cultural differences. I'd selected an ideal landing site, a big patch of grass, completely empty except for two dilapidated wooden frames with ratty old netting hanging from them, one at either end. It was one of these I had collided with. Palinurus had been nattering on about seeing white lines as we made our final approach, and I'd had to speak quite sharply to him; there were a few smears of paint on the grass, but nothing that looked important to me.
The smallship came with a type of cloak I hadn't seen before: apart from the usual visual and EM refraction, it also lowered the temperature and slightly denatured the oxygen in the air the closer you got. Not enough to harm anyone, but enough to be offputting unless you knew what was happening. When humans feel unexpectedly cold and breathless, they tend to think they're having some kind of presentiment of evil and run away. I may have got off to a fairly shaky start, but at least I know there's zero chance of anyone discovering my smallship.
Anyway, I eventually got the ship stable and cloaked, and sat down at the computer to hack into planetary communications and see what people were wearing these days. Homeship data is always out of date to some degree, and I was pleased to see that men no longer went around with their navels displayed in all weathers, as I had been led to believe. Mighty hardy navels they must have had in those days.
The fabricator hummed, belched and disgorged a strong smell of burnt circuitry and two outfits in the local style. The better of the two was too small for me, but there was no point haggling with the thing, so I tossed it at Palinurus and donned the other one. When we were both dressed, we could pass without comment in any Wereki city...but Palinurus would have porters opening doors for him, and I would be directed gruffly round the back. Ah well. Face-to-face contact will be at a minimum for this operation. I think.
I moused into the government database and cooked us up three or four identities each. We'd need more costumes, but I wanted to have a look inside the fabricator first. Then, after a few choice words to Palinurus on such things as style and how not to cramp it, toes and how not to step on them, and the general keeping of stumm, we ventured forth into an alien world.
Well, not that alien. Nyronds are quite at home on human-occupied planets, and they do tend to be much of a muchness, apart from a few trivial cultural differences. I'd selected an ideal landing site, a big patch of grass, completely empty except for two dilapidated wooden frames with ratty old netting hanging from them, one at either end. It was one of these I had collided with. Palinurus had been nattering on about seeing white lines as we made our final approach, and I'd had to speak quite sharply to him; there were a few smears of paint on the grass, but nothing that looked important to me.
The smallship came with a type of cloak I hadn't seen before: apart from the usual visual and EM refraction, it also lowered the temperature and slightly denatured the oxygen in the air the closer you got. Not enough to harm anyone, but enough to be offputting unless you knew what was happening. When humans feel unexpectedly cold and breathless, they tend to think they're having some kind of presentiment of evil and run away. I may have got off to a fairly shaky start, but at least I know there's zero chance of anyone discovering my smallship.
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Date: 2006-02-01 05:26 pm (UTC)And gee, I can just see it coming: footballs bouncing of nothing... ;)