We weren't the first to get there. Not by a long shot. Don't get me wrong, my boat can haul ass, completely smoking most others in her weight class with more authority than she has any right to. But we were a third of the way out to Mars when we got the call, but to quote a certain book , Space is Big! and it takes a little while even with our throttle set to hellride. So people with better positioning and faster boats got there first. Annoyed!
To keep myself occupied, I sat in one of the wannabe barber chairs in the Truths wheelhouse, occasionally grumbling about an increasing trend of crap going down while I'm off doing the crop report in Toledo out loud to nobody and fiddling with my newest toy. Said toy being a ugly looking kludge of what I hoped would be a hovering camera and a wireless hub connecting it back to Galvius' mainframe. After one too many times dropping my Palm Pilot, my camcorder, my digital tape recorder, my cellphone, and my spiral note book down whatever bottomless space station shaft I was walking near on any particular day, Cynthia and Jeremiah had had enough. They staged a sort of intervention for clumsy assholes, and told me in no uncertain terms that I could no longer continue to go through my gear like Honey Bucket toilet paper at a chili cook off. This shit was expensive So, Perry and I spend a couple weeks pirating whatever media we can find of hover cameras in action, then taking screen caps and feeding the printed off results into a bucket of 'wavium. Long story short, it's why I was noodling around with a basketball sized hunk of crimes against engineering aesthetics, doing my best to follows Perry's instructions on how best to not make it explode into fiery shrapnel on the first go.
A two toned chime from the Captain's station brought me out of my tecno-reverie, and I turned to where Perry and Cynthia had been having hushed conversations with Callisto the whole ride over. We there yet?
Cynthia just gave a little head bob out the window while continuing to keep her attention on her computer screen. Perry gaped in awe though, and pointed to starboard. Wow, there she is.
You can have as vivid an imagination as a seven year old tweaking on LSD, but sometimes numbers just don't give you a picture justice till you see it for your own eyes. It was a huge sphere, more than half a mile wide, looming there in space making every other artificial object in its vicinity look meek and anemic in comparison. The lower half was smoothed off soil, obviously liberally treated with 'wavium, which gave it a polished look. The upper hemisphere was transparent in places, like a skylight or green house writ large. I couldn't make anything specific from our distance, but there looked to be a lot of green. I had the sudden fanciful image of a flying snow globe. All and all, one hell of an Unreal Estate.
Callisto popped up on a auxiliary monitor, today dressed up like she was one of the Little Rascals. That's the biggest damn space marble I've ever seen!
I snorted. I was just thinking flying snow globe, but yeah that works too.
Perry looked scandalized. Come on guys, have some respect! Look at the thing, do you know how much 'wave it would take to engineer that thing? In America? Those guys have some serious nerve!
Don't get me wrong! I think its neat! But still... space marble! Callisto made a vague gesture, seeming to signify the importance of her initial impression.
Cynthia, as always, was all business. We're coming up on her y axis, near the southern pole. I'm slowing us down to maneuvering speeds till we figure out where we can park. I assume you and Jeremiah'll be taking Gaye and the L.R.D.?
Yup, makes sense. They're big enough they might have docking for a big gal like the Truth, but might as well start small, I replied.
Perry shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Um, not to rain on your parade or anything, but splish splash. What makes you think they'll let you board? For all they know, we could be Dark Kingdom.
For one thing, we brought beer, a laconic drawl came from behind us, as Jeremiah heaved his tank like build up through the stairwell from the lower deck. The L.R.D.'s loaded up and ready to go whenever you want boss. I even have koozies.
Here Cynthia and I partook in our favorite Olympic sport: Synchronized Eye-Rolling. She might have added a scoffing Texans under her breath. She's sweet like that.
Perry seemed unimpressed by offers of booze, but switched tactics anyway. Well fine fine, sure you'll get on board. But what if they're Dark Kingdom? We don't actually know anything about these guys. Are you guys going to have a shoot out again?
That business out in the Oort Cloud doesn't count. And c'mon, even if we assume these guys are Black Hats (which we shouldn't!) pretty much all of Fenspace is watching them right now. And with as many people buzzing around them after little more than a hour or two? They aren't gonna try anything. Plus, we'll have brought beer. You don't attack bringers of... what are we giving them?
Our last crate of Fat Tires, Jeremiah supplied.
Awesome sauce. See? Who'd turn down Fat Tires? Nobody that's who. Washingtonians are famous for taking our coffee seriously, but what we're less known for but take equally seriously is our micro-brews. You can walk into any Safeway or QFC in the state, and where in other parts of the country they'll have a huge isle filled with rack after rack of Bud Light and Coors, half our damn shelve space is dedicated to smaller, expensive ales and lagers and seasonal beers from dozens of small companies. Fat Tires is a brand of beer brewed by the New Belgium Brewing Company, one of more well known brewers.
I dunno, a couple of beers...
And vodka! Toni shouted up from the galley. Bottles of it!
See, we're the welcome wagon! They'll love us, Calli said, now looking like an extra from the a grocery in the Wonder Years.
You want to hail them, or sit around talking about talking to them? Cynthia dead panned from where she was steering.
Right, gimme the radio. We'll broadcast first then video link if they've got it, I cleared my throat and lifted the head set. Attention unidentified... uh giant space marble... I made a face. Not my smoothest of hellos. This is the Inelegant Truth, can you guys hear me. Blink once for yes.
Perry was outraged! You can't hail them like that! What kind of impression are you trying to establish!
Well what's he supposed to call her? She doesn't have an IFF, Calli said coming to my defense.
Perry: I don't know, unidentified vessel! Or unknown ship! Not a vague simile to a kids toy!
Me: It's an Unreal Estate, they usually aren't ships.
Perry: That's besides the point! What if they hailed us as 'Hey there, large rusting hulk of a crabber, what's up?
Callisto: I am not rusting! Good luck getting hot water for the next week, Percival!
Perry: Er...
Cynthia: Too late now, he's already made them mad. Better mention the Fat Tires quick, or you'll never get to talk to them
Me: Good idea. Bribery is the best way to make new friends.
Jeremiah: You do know that you're fingers been on the button the whole time and they can hear us?
Me: Dammit!
Toni (from the galley): Nevermind about the vodka, Dieter just took it all back. And he's pissed. I told him Jon made me.
Me: Shit, now I have to check my food for crude oil for the next month.
Jeremiah: You're still broadcasting.
Me: Dammit!---------------
-Jon
Being the Mariner hitting coach is like being the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts.
-Poster on USSMariner.com
---
Jon
"And that must have caused my dad's brain to break in half, replaced by a purely mechanical engine of revenge!"
To keep myself occupied, I sat in one of the wannabe barber chairs in the Truths wheelhouse, occasionally grumbling about an increasing trend of crap going down while I'm off doing the crop report in Toledo out loud to nobody and fiddling with my newest toy. Said toy being a ugly looking kludge of what I hoped would be a hovering camera and a wireless hub connecting it back to Galvius' mainframe. After one too many times dropping my Palm Pilot, my camcorder, my digital tape recorder, my cellphone, and my spiral note book down whatever bottomless space station shaft I was walking near on any particular day, Cynthia and Jeremiah had had enough. They staged a sort of intervention for clumsy assholes, and told me in no uncertain terms that I could no longer continue to go through my gear like Honey Bucket toilet paper at a chili cook off. This shit was expensive So, Perry and I spend a couple weeks pirating whatever media we can find of hover cameras in action, then taking screen caps and feeding the printed off results into a bucket of 'wavium. Long story short, it's why I was noodling around with a basketball sized hunk of crimes against engineering aesthetics, doing my best to follows Perry's instructions on how best to not make it explode into fiery shrapnel on the first go.
A two toned chime from the Captain's station brought me out of my tecno-reverie, and I turned to where Perry and Cynthia had been having hushed conversations with Callisto the whole ride over. We there yet?
Cynthia just gave a little head bob out the window while continuing to keep her attention on her computer screen. Perry gaped in awe though, and pointed to starboard. Wow, there she is.
You can have as vivid an imagination as a seven year old tweaking on LSD, but sometimes numbers just don't give you a picture justice till you see it for your own eyes. It was a huge sphere, more than half a mile wide, looming there in space making every other artificial object in its vicinity look meek and anemic in comparison. The lower half was smoothed off soil, obviously liberally treated with 'wavium, which gave it a polished look. The upper hemisphere was transparent in places, like a skylight or green house writ large. I couldn't make anything specific from our distance, but there looked to be a lot of green. I had the sudden fanciful image of a flying snow globe. All and all, one hell of an Unreal Estate.
Callisto popped up on a auxiliary monitor, today dressed up like she was one of the Little Rascals. That's the biggest damn space marble I've ever seen!
I snorted. I was just thinking flying snow globe, but yeah that works too.
Perry looked scandalized. Come on guys, have some respect! Look at the thing, do you know how much 'wave it would take to engineer that thing? In America? Those guys have some serious nerve!
Don't get me wrong! I think its neat! But still... space marble! Callisto made a vague gesture, seeming to signify the importance of her initial impression.
Cynthia, as always, was all business. We're coming up on her y axis, near the southern pole. I'm slowing us down to maneuvering speeds till we figure out where we can park. I assume you and Jeremiah'll be taking Gaye and the L.R.D.?
Yup, makes sense. They're big enough they might have docking for a big gal like the Truth, but might as well start small, I replied.
Perry shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Um, not to rain on your parade or anything, but splish splash. What makes you think they'll let you board? For all they know, we could be Dark Kingdom.
For one thing, we brought beer, a laconic drawl came from behind us, as Jeremiah heaved his tank like build up through the stairwell from the lower deck. The L.R.D.'s loaded up and ready to go whenever you want boss. I even have koozies.
Here Cynthia and I partook in our favorite Olympic sport: Synchronized Eye-Rolling. She might have added a scoffing Texans under her breath. She's sweet like that.
Perry seemed unimpressed by offers of booze, but switched tactics anyway. Well fine fine, sure you'll get on board. But what if they're Dark Kingdom? We don't actually know anything about these guys. Are you guys going to have a shoot out again?
That business out in the Oort Cloud doesn't count. And c'mon, even if we assume these guys are Black Hats (which we shouldn't!) pretty much all of Fenspace is watching them right now. And with as many people buzzing around them after little more than a hour or two? They aren't gonna try anything. Plus, we'll have brought beer. You don't attack bringers of... what are we giving them?
Our last crate of Fat Tires, Jeremiah supplied.
Awesome sauce. See? Who'd turn down Fat Tires? Nobody that's who. Washingtonians are famous for taking our coffee seriously, but what we're less known for but take equally seriously is our micro-brews. You can walk into any Safeway or QFC in the state, and where in other parts of the country they'll have a huge isle filled with rack after rack of Bud Light and Coors, half our damn shelve space is dedicated to smaller, expensive ales and lagers and seasonal beers from dozens of small companies. Fat Tires is a brand of beer brewed by the New Belgium Brewing Company, one of more well known brewers.
I dunno, a couple of beers...
And vodka! Toni shouted up from the galley. Bottles of it!
See, we're the welcome wagon! They'll love us, Calli said, now looking like an extra from the a grocery in the Wonder Years.
You want to hail them, or sit around talking about talking to them? Cynthia dead panned from where she was steering.
Right, gimme the radio. We'll broadcast first then video link if they've got it, I cleared my throat and lifted the head set. Attention unidentified... uh giant space marble... I made a face. Not my smoothest of hellos. This is the Inelegant Truth, can you guys hear me. Blink once for yes.
Perry was outraged! You can't hail them like that! What kind of impression are you trying to establish!
Well what's he supposed to call her? She doesn't have an IFF, Calli said coming to my defense.
Perry: I don't know, unidentified vessel! Or unknown ship! Not a vague simile to a kids toy!
Me: It's an Unreal Estate, they usually aren't ships.
Perry: That's besides the point! What if they hailed us as 'Hey there, large rusting hulk of a crabber, what's up?
Callisto: I am not rusting! Good luck getting hot water for the next week, Percival!
Perry: Er...
Cynthia: Too late now, he's already made them mad. Better mention the Fat Tires quick, or you'll never get to talk to them
Me: Good idea. Bribery is the best way to make new friends.
Jeremiah: You do know that you're fingers been on the button the whole time and they can hear us?
Me: Dammit!
Toni (from the galley): Nevermind about the vodka, Dieter just took it all back. And he's pissed. I told him Jon made me.
Me: Shit, now I have to check my food for crude oil for the next month.
Jeremiah: You're still broadcasting.
Me: Dammit!---------------
-Jon
Being the Mariner hitting coach is like being the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts.
-Poster on USSMariner.com
---
Jon
"And that must have caused my dad's brain to break in half, replaced by a purely mechanical engine of revenge!"