The Lost Goats, 48
Aug. 2nd, 2012 02:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerAbelard swung round decisively in his swivel chair.
"He wants you out there as well?"
"Didn't say so," Cesar said. "Problem. Humans have created a drug that's addictive to Nyronds. Probably don't know it yet, but if they found out--consequences possibly disastrous. Need to be on site."
"I see what you mean." Abelard thumped the arm of his chair. It fell off. "Froddit, how much more is this business going to mess things up for me? I don't ask much--"
Cesar reserved his judgment.
"--just a quiet life and a smooth-running homeship, that's all. Is that too much? I mean, is it? Really?"
"Couldn't say." Cesar said, staring into the middle distance.
"All right," Abelard said crossly. "I'll indent for an emergency smallship. It won't be fancy, but it should get you there and back."
"Zander keeps talking about 'rebooting' Soren. Don't know where he picks up this jargon. Florestan, probably. Not machines, Nyronds. People."
"Well, from what I understand from Adhemar, Arioch and Voltimand, this mission has stretched even Zander to his limits," Abelard said, working his console. A string of paper dolls emerged from a slot carved into a grinning mouth. "Here you are. Name it and get going before the computers change what passes for their minds. And get back here quickly. I need this apple compote thing sorted before half the homeship comes banging on my door. It was all right while the fellow was away."
"Trust me," Cesar said, adding automatically, "I'm a Nyrond."
"Aren't we all," sighed Abelard.
*********
The next few hours aboard the smallship "Underwear Is Not The Only Entree" shall be touched on but lightly. As well as the gnawing terror of the thought that some toxin had been invented (accidentally!) against which even the most robust, not to say bloody-minded, metabolism in the galaxy had no defence, Zander was forced to listen as Soren employed every device at his considerable command to compel Zander to release him and/or to procure him Poppo tickets.
He was accused of being "in it" with Snood, of wanting humanity to destroy itself, of wanting Soren personally dead. He was presented with numerous schemes for derailing, subverting or otherwise ending the coup, all of which hinged on Soren acquiring anything from one to a couple of hundred tickets. He was assured that it was in fact possible to win Poppo, that there was a secret combination, which Soren could work out in a few hours given (naturally) a number of tickets to work from. He was offered a half share in Soren's putative winnings, a share in the Poppo empire, any planet or planets he desired to rule, and infallible techniques for securing the favours of any human female he happened to fancy, including several of whom Soren was personally and exclusively fond. He was invited to head up a rebellion on the homeship, deposing the effete and decadent regime of Abelard and taking full control over every homeship in the universe. He was called every foul name in every language that Soren could think of. He was subjected to tears, blandishments, threats, and protestations of affection of a nature Zander had never thought to hear from his comrade.
And eventually, unable to stand any more, Zander programmed the medkit for a maximum safe dose of sedatives, and Soren fell into uneasy sleep. Zander himself sat beside him, open-eyed, wishing himself back in the pit on Natheless. That at least had been simple.
A voice roused him from a sleepless, haunted torpor.
"Cesar Nyrond, aboard the smallship 'Idgy Bidgy Bombo the Ninth and his Marching Merkins,' calling Zander. Incoming. Got some ideas, but it'll be risky."
Zander flew to the console to transmit location co-ordinates.
********
Meanwhile, Jon and her team had not been idle.
A soft mist descended over Otslag, dispersed from a fleet of hastily assembled drone aircraft, and those inhabitants who had fallen victim to the lure of Poppo found themselves, clearer of head, holding pieces of paper for which they felt nothing but a vague repulsion. They tossed them in the nearest waste receptacle, and returned to their business.
"It works," Dik reported. "Bulk synthesis and transport to all Affiliated worlds is under way. Turns out this is the best possible planet to be on if you want to make and ship a drug,"
"What a surprise," Galen said flatly. "What about UnAffiliated worlds?"
"I'm invoking the emergency exception," Jon said. "The Sagittarians have agreed in principle. We just need to get the planetary governments to accept the stuff."
"Let's hope they haven't all got hooked themselves," Dik said. "That is nasty."
"You didn't--" An said, and Dik smiled.
"I'm not that dumb. I might just keep a sample for--"
"No!" Galen said, louder than he had intended. "It all gets destroyed, every nanolitre of it. And if I find the guy who dreamed it up, well, he won't see daylight for a very long time."
"Personal much?" Dik queried.
Imbiss stepped in. "Of course it's personal. Galen's mission is personal, so is any threat to it."
Dik subsided. "All right. I'll burn it."
"He wants you out there as well?"
"Didn't say so," Cesar said. "Problem. Humans have created a drug that's addictive to Nyronds. Probably don't know it yet, but if they found out--consequences possibly disastrous. Need to be on site."
"I see what you mean." Abelard thumped the arm of his chair. It fell off. "Froddit, how much more is this business going to mess things up for me? I don't ask much--"
Cesar reserved his judgment.
"--just a quiet life and a smooth-running homeship, that's all. Is that too much? I mean, is it? Really?"
"Couldn't say." Cesar said, staring into the middle distance.
"All right," Abelard said crossly. "I'll indent for an emergency smallship. It won't be fancy, but it should get you there and back."
"Zander keeps talking about 'rebooting' Soren. Don't know where he picks up this jargon. Florestan, probably. Not machines, Nyronds. People."
"Well, from what I understand from Adhemar, Arioch and Voltimand, this mission has stretched even Zander to his limits," Abelard said, working his console. A string of paper dolls emerged from a slot carved into a grinning mouth. "Here you are. Name it and get going before the computers change what passes for their minds. And get back here quickly. I need this apple compote thing sorted before half the homeship comes banging on my door. It was all right while the fellow was away."
"Trust me," Cesar said, adding automatically, "I'm a Nyrond."
"Aren't we all," sighed Abelard.
*********
The next few hours aboard the smallship "Underwear Is Not The Only Entree" shall be touched on but lightly. As well as the gnawing terror of the thought that some toxin had been invented (accidentally!) against which even the most robust, not to say bloody-minded, metabolism in the galaxy had no defence, Zander was forced to listen as Soren employed every device at his considerable command to compel Zander to release him and/or to procure him Poppo tickets.
He was accused of being "in it" with Snood, of wanting humanity to destroy itself, of wanting Soren personally dead. He was presented with numerous schemes for derailing, subverting or otherwise ending the coup, all of which hinged on Soren acquiring anything from one to a couple of hundred tickets. He was assured that it was in fact possible to win Poppo, that there was a secret combination, which Soren could work out in a few hours given (naturally) a number of tickets to work from. He was offered a half share in Soren's putative winnings, a share in the Poppo empire, any planet or planets he desired to rule, and infallible techniques for securing the favours of any human female he happened to fancy, including several of whom Soren was personally and exclusively fond. He was invited to head up a rebellion on the homeship, deposing the effete and decadent regime of Abelard and taking full control over every homeship in the universe. He was called every foul name in every language that Soren could think of. He was subjected to tears, blandishments, threats, and protestations of affection of a nature Zander had never thought to hear from his comrade.
And eventually, unable to stand any more, Zander programmed the medkit for a maximum safe dose of sedatives, and Soren fell into uneasy sleep. Zander himself sat beside him, open-eyed, wishing himself back in the pit on Natheless. That at least had been simple.
A voice roused him from a sleepless, haunted torpor.
"Cesar Nyrond, aboard the smallship 'Idgy Bidgy Bombo the Ninth and his Marching Merkins,' calling Zander. Incoming. Got some ideas, but it'll be risky."
Zander flew to the console to transmit location co-ordinates.
********
Meanwhile, Jon and her team had not been idle.
A soft mist descended over Otslag, dispersed from a fleet of hastily assembled drone aircraft, and those inhabitants who had fallen victim to the lure of Poppo found themselves, clearer of head, holding pieces of paper for which they felt nothing but a vague repulsion. They tossed them in the nearest waste receptacle, and returned to their business.
"It works," Dik reported. "Bulk synthesis and transport to all Affiliated worlds is under way. Turns out this is the best possible planet to be on if you want to make and ship a drug,"
"What a surprise," Galen said flatly. "What about UnAffiliated worlds?"
"I'm invoking the emergency exception," Jon said. "The Sagittarians have agreed in principle. We just need to get the planetary governments to accept the stuff."
"Let's hope they haven't all got hooked themselves," Dik said. "That is nasty."
"You didn't--" An said, and Dik smiled.
"I'm not that dumb. I might just keep a sample for--"
"No!" Galen said, louder than he had intended. "It all gets destroyed, every nanolitre of it. And if I find the guy who dreamed it up, well, he won't see daylight for a very long time."
"Personal much?" Dik queried.
Imbiss stepped in. "Of course it's personal. Galen's mission is personal, so is any threat to it."
Dik subsided. "All right. I'll burn it."
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no subject
Date: 2012-08-03 06:45 am (UTC)"So -- what's the situation ?"
"Not much changed," Zander told him: "Every so often, he wakes up, apparently clear, and then within minutes he's doo-lally again."
"I hear the humans have found a cure."
"The humans have," Zander replied, voice heavy with irony "Galen confirms that it's as deadly to us as the toxin."
"All right -- let me tie in to the diagnostic systems and .... Great Cosmic Essence !! How old is this smallship ? I haven't seen these subroutines since -- "
Soren moaned, and his eyes flickered open.
"It hurts. I'd like some water, please." Zander obliged, extending a squueze-bottle (in a gloved hand, just in case).
"Where, exactly, does it hurt ?" Cesar asked.
Soren glared, balefully: "That would be the places where I'm tied down." He enunciated the words with the air of a martyr.
"It's all -- " Zander said, and Soren chorussed the rest with him: " -- for your own good."
"Ah," Cesar said: "I think I see the -- " He broke off as Soren moaned again, and his hands began to grasp at empty air.
"And there he goes again," Zander said: "The hypnotic's taken over again, and he's dreaming of Poppo, and riches and -- "
"Snap out of it " Cesar said sharply. Zander shook his head, like a well-furred sheepdog, and focussed.
"I need to find out what the exact checmical mix is -- "
"Doctor Morganstern's team will have the analysis -- I'll get it for you as quick as ninepence."