Giant Transdimensional Shitkicker (Part 1 of a Story)
Copyright © 2006 TWM. All rights reserved.
The globule drifted forward through glowing clouds. Amnin sat in his bunk, staring at black and orange wisps on the monitors. He felt the globule shudder and shrink slightly, perhaps passing through a galaxy. Amnin felt a chill. He curled himself about his hands and slept, after a fashion.
When Amnin awoke the monitors were filled with violet and blue whorls, for some reason all turning rapidly counterclockwise. He was hungry, but he sat glaring at the monitors until a call of nature forced him to rise.
A rippling sprite reminded Amnin to take out the vessel’s checklist and test the corresponding oblations. One of his peripherals had collapsed into an awkward subspace of dimension nineteen-fourths, but all “mission-critical systems” – the weapons – seemed to be in order. The violet whorls weighed on Amnin’s mind and the globule had become uncomfortably compressed, so he organized himself and spun through the skin of the globule.
As Amnin gained the exterior, dim pinpoints dug into his face, spitting iron-smelling vapors. His nose itched; one arm and leg slowly windmilled under some impulse of their own. Extravehicular activity tended to be hit-or-miss at best. It didn’t help that the operating manual (consisting of stored constructs of the globule’s senior designers) remained unenthusiastic about the simplistic definitions of “inside” and “outside” that informed the sprites.
In any event, long after the time for his evening absorptions had passed, Amnin finally identified the problem. As he had suspected, the globule had become distorted and confined near the edge of a galaxy. As he worked to extract the vessel, fourteen of its axes stubbornly precessed away from the sprites’ consensus course correction estimates. Meanwhile, a clique of sprites splintered, the loudest contingent demanding a seemingly absurd set of redesign steps, as well as streamlined procedures for voting among the sprites themselves. Amnin felt less than certain about the strength of the arguments on either side. Eventually, baffled and paralyzed by the debate, he damped the ringleaders of the offending faction of sprites, using a technicality in the voting system to radiate their vibrations, effectively exhausting them into space. The remaining sprites seemed pensive but approved a simple eversion.
(To Be Continued!)
The globule drifted forward through glowing clouds. Amnin sat in his bunk, staring at black and orange wisps on the monitors. He felt the globule shudder and shrink slightly, perhaps passing through a galaxy. Amnin felt a chill. He curled himself about his hands and slept, after a fashion.
When Amnin awoke the monitors were filled with violet and blue whorls, for some reason all turning rapidly counterclockwise. He was hungry, but he sat glaring at the monitors until a call of nature forced him to rise.
A rippling sprite reminded Amnin to take out the vessel’s checklist and test the corresponding oblations. One of his peripherals had collapsed into an awkward subspace of dimension nineteen-fourths, but all “mission-critical systems” – the weapons – seemed to be in order. The violet whorls weighed on Amnin’s mind and the globule had become uncomfortably compressed, so he organized himself and spun through the skin of the globule.
As Amnin gained the exterior, dim pinpoints dug into his face, spitting iron-smelling vapors. His nose itched; one arm and leg slowly windmilled under some impulse of their own. Extravehicular activity tended to be hit-or-miss at best. It didn’t help that the operating manual (consisting of stored constructs of the globule’s senior designers) remained unenthusiastic about the simplistic definitions of “inside” and “outside” that informed the sprites.
In any event, long after the time for his evening absorptions had passed, Amnin finally identified the problem. As he had suspected, the globule had become distorted and confined near the edge of a galaxy. As he worked to extract the vessel, fourteen of its axes stubbornly precessed away from the sprites’ consensus course correction estimates. Meanwhile, a clique of sprites splintered, the loudest contingent demanding a seemingly absurd set of redesign steps, as well as streamlined procedures for voting among the sprites themselves. Amnin felt less than certain about the strength of the arguments on either side. Eventually, baffled and paralyzed by the debate, he damped the ringleaders of the offending faction of sprites, using a technicality in the voting system to radiate their vibrations, effectively exhausting them into space. The remaining sprites seemed pensive but approved a simple eversion.
(To Be Continued!)
posted by Project WANNABE at 5:30 AM
4 Comments:
Nice work. I hate it when a galaxy is riding up like that, especially when there's no opportunity to pick it...not a problem for your hero it seems.
Thanks! Hey, I'll use the "galactic wedgie" in part 2. What I haven't mentioned is that our hero's fundament is tri-, well, strictly speaking it's hexa-, well, it ain't what you saw thru the outhouse window, let's just say that.
'oblations'! excalent!
u bean redign vance.
Well ... I was reading Vance 3 years ago when I wrote this part.
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