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  • in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3623
    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      Finnley’s tirade stirred something in Godfrey.

      He may not have completely given voice of the thought in his head, but it made him realize that the thought of quitting for something different had been here all along.
      He liked Elizabeth well enough. To be honest, such caring for an ungrateful and volatile lady was borderline devotion, but still, it wasn’t about that.

      I wanted to change the world, and Elizabeth vision of greatness and madness alike was, for a time, something he could fall in line behind and support with passion.

      Through visionary books, to open the minds of the pleb to the realms of possibilities, ah! no matter how deliciously delirious and quaint such possibilities seemed. That was a grand epic in budding.

      And then, after so many years of relentless editing, copy-writing, and of course maid after maid interviews, all there was left? Unbridled madness and tyranny from the well of grandiose ideas that Elizabeth had been, and to some extent still, was.

      In fact, Godfrey had stifled his own creativity by falling in line behind the writing giantess. There were timid attempts at writing his own story, and only piles of old notebook to account for it.

      Purpose, Truth, Action those were the magic words…

      “Oh, bugger it Liz’. I quit.”

      How’s that for action? Another thread would do me good. Like to see what life’s brewing on Mars.

      in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3617
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Being a distinguished host, Mother Shirley had been assigned one of the Finnleys bodies, the one with the number 21 plastered on its forehead.
        “Twinnie,” she called in her croak of a voice “do the thing!”

        Finnley 21 rolled her eyes to connect to her inner source, which was the main computer board, and a stream of random words started to flow down like colander water:

        half leading usually jack gave legs secret stick
        light plan fell yourself elizabeth sometimes child
        downson recovery management karmalott surprise early

        Shirley clapped her hands gleefully like a child. “How wonderful Twinnie, you’re my personal Oracle, the words of the Mighty Goddess of War have never felt so close and special to me.”
        Mother Shirley looked undisturbed by the lack of response from the cybernetic body, and went on “Now, will you, help me adjust this headpiece, it chafes at the temples.”

        in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3615
        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          Finnley?” asked Godfrey to appease the cat fight, “did you order that surprise grocery vegetable basket they just delivered?”
          Finley shrugged apathetically.
          “Well, I hope everyone here likes celery and Chinese leek, because they were generous with it.”

          in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3603
          ÉricÉric
          Keymaster

            “Oh shut up Liz, and finish your curry. Wasn’t it your brilliant idea to have Indian food before the court audition?”
            Godfrey smiled a painful smile eating with teary eyes a last spoonful of spicy butter chicken, thinking about Liz feeling the energy and enjoyment in the loo the next day.

            in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3594
            ÉricÉric
            Keymaster

              Liz’, I’m sorry to interrupt,” remarked Godfrey, somewhat cautiously, “I know you’d rather forget about it, but shall I remind you that we are going to be irrevocably late for our appointment at the court, for the third time.”
              “What nonsense is that again? And where did you appear from Godammfrey? I haven’t summoned you!”

              Godfrey couldn’t help but raise his eyes and start a rolling motion, but insisted.
              “The lawsuit, darling. This scandalous libel by that rat of a critic who accused you quite unambiguously of both plagiarism and ghostwriting. You surely do remember that?”

              “I’m sorry Godfrey, can’t this be dealt with without my being there. I’m not paying you peanuts to just entertain me.”

              Godfrey sighed. It was already the second time they missed the appointment, and the judge would certainly no see it in a good light. A little bit of publicity around this affair wasn’t bad of course, especially with such hilarious allegations. Everyone in town knew well enough Elizabeth’s take on both plagiarism (“it’s just slight teafing”) and ghostwriting (“channeling by another name, darling”), so it was very good publicity indeed.
              But having sued the critic now, it would be a pity to lose to him. If only for the money. When did she become so careless about it? Having personnel did go a little to her head…

              “If you’d pardon me” Elizabeth said after a eloquent burp, “all that tea have quite distended my bladder, and I would actually quite enjoy discovering the loo of the courthouse. When shall we go?”

              in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3593
              ÉricÉric
              Keymaster

                Maya was overlooking the crops when her son arrived.

                “The kales are adapting well to the soil. I didn’t expect them to arrive so fast.”
                “I wonder what they’ll taste like, they seem to have that unusual purplish tinge to them, nothing like those in hydroponics…”
                “The water we extracted from those rocks seems to contain a very interesting blend of minerals, could be that… we know so little about this place. All of this, these changes, it’s very exciting, to think of the prospect…”

                John hugged his mother.

                “I came to ask you if you would join the welcome party tonight?”
                “I thought it wouldn’t be before another day?”
                “The ship apparently had some trouble and felt it would be safer to land their cargo one day ahead of schedule.”
                “Really? That’s so unlike them, to be in advance… Well, as you know, my social agenda isn’t too busy, so I guess yes, I’ll join. If only to see what this new batch looks like. We have to give a nice impression if we want to get more of them to stay as settlers. The machines are helping fine, but it’s not enough.”
                “We’ll see, last I heard, there are about 10 miners and about the same of religious nutters. The miners are there on a contract, but some usually take well to here and chose to stay. We’ll see…”
                “What about the upgrades they promised?”
                “Yeah, they talked about that too, saying they had to fix some bugs before downloading the new AI. They’ll leave some of the cybernetic bodies here too, see if they can support the stress. I’ll ask them to assign one here to help you with the plants.”
                “That would be lovely, thanks Johnny.”

                in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3591
                ÉricÉric
                Keymaster

                  Mother Shirley was about to ferociously complain about the lack of consideration and utmost rubbish of a service, when she felt suddenly possessed by a will much stronger than her own.
                  Relax, old cow, and go with the flow

                  That was most unusual, and it rhymed (surprisingly). Maybe it was blessed Mother Virgin who finally chose to speak through her faithful and humble servant.

                  All she could hear was a blissful laugh that seemed infectious.

                  She glanced at the group that was massing around the shuttle after adjusting their breathing apparatus. A young woman caught her eye. She was one of the scandalous raffle’s winner. Mother Shirley was about to start an inner rant, when the voice resounded again in her head.

                  You should take good care of this one, Shir. The voice was commandeering.

                  in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3588
                  ÉricÉric
                  Keymaster

                    Area 12 was easy to locate. The whole ship’s design was shaped like a clock, with the 12 quadrant at her helm, with the main deck. It was also where, everyone had been briefed after boarding, the main emergency exits were located.
                    Something serious must have had happened for the Code Red to have been triggered.

                    Captain Rama Shivakumar was trying his best to gather information from the central command, but Finnley was reacting very unusually. Quantum computers and artificial intelligence was still a rather new technology. Remarkably efficient, but its bugs were terribly difficult to understand and fix, and certainly above his pay grade.
                    Ram’s second in command, Karthikeya Uthayashankar was coordinating the crew’s efforts to sweep the ship for clues. It seemed that Finnley’s sensors had panicked at some unusual and very localized electromagnetic pulse, which could have seriously damaged the navigational systems and put everyone’s lives in dire straits.

                    By looking through the logs, the pulse seemed to have originated from Area 6, in the quadrant that was reserved for the honoured guests, currently occupied by Mother Shirley and her following.

                    “Captain Ram, did you find anything?” Karthik enquired, fidgeting at the prospect of having to manage beside his crew of ten fellow men, a unruly herd of thirty snotty travelers. He seriously doubted that in times like this, the 21 finnleys would be of sure-footed help to them.
                    “Relax, Karthik. The computer most likely overheated. See, it already has adjusted its parameters, and there isn’t much we can detect now that’s out of normal.”
                    “And what about the passengers, Captain?”
                    “We’ll send them to Mangala. It’s only a day before schedule, it will be fine.”

                    in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3575
                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      “Did you hear the noise?”
                      “No I didn’t hear anything”
                      “I swear I heard some squeaaa… But you know that already, don’t you” He looked at her suspiciously. “What are you hiding there?”
                      “Stop that, you perv’” She was wrapping her arms around her bosom in a protective manner.
                      “I’m not like that” He moved a few inches away from her, with his back to the gritty metallic wall of their small capsule.

                      Prune was starting to feel bad for the other guy. “You’re Hans, right?”
                      He nodded. Everybody knew their names, it was part of the contract. They also had to accept to be filmed as part of the raffle company’s advertisement plan. So, there was little they didn’t know about each other, despite not having been able to speak to each other until now.

                      The suspension process the company had rented was not the high-grade version, too costly. So they had to age, unlike most of the other richer travellers. Which made it odd, as Hans had grown a huge beard and even two years of aging had made them slightly different. Almost like strangers. There was a comfort in that, knowing they each held something private, a capacity to be someone else, be worthy of being known and explored. Nothing like what mockery the TV show had made of them.

                      “You won’t show me? Don’t worry I won’t tell.” His voice was light, you couldn’t have told he was more than 40.

                      She unzipped her track suit’s pink jacket, to reveal a little ball of fur.

                      “It’s a small piggy. They’re so fragile, I think I did something stupid. But I promised my gran to not leave it. I couldn’t break that promise.”
                      “Don’t worry Prune” Hans said reassuringly “We’ll find a way to keep it safe.”

                      in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3574
                      ÉricÉric
                      Keymaster

                        Mother Shirley, the head of the Covenant, was smoking in her private capsule despite the strict restrictions and despite the health risks, at her ripe age of 99.

                        She liked to quip that nobody had ever told her what to not do and lived to say the tale. She had smoked since age 45, after the death of her third husband, the only one she had shed a tear for. Never turned back since, and maybe it was the reason she was still alive after all. Smoked like a mighty salmon.

                        She grinned painfully at her reflection. Ugh. Despite all the beauty treatments, she was starting to look like a decrepit mummy. No amount of wariki body butter and ant royal geel would do the trick now. She had to resort to more extreme measures after no doctor would dare to try a peeling on what skin was left on her face.

                        The acrylic mask was always prickly at first, and took a few uncomfortable seconds to adjust. It was now firmly set, and sure, it restrained a bit the movements on her face,… well, she was never one for laughs out loud anyway.

                        With her shaking scrawny arms, but her grip strong as ever, she attached the limbs of her exoskeleton, and with now more assurance, finished to dress in proper garments on top of her fishnet corset.

                        She was all set for the morning sermon. She would have to strain her voice a bit, and for that the smoke had helped too. She had a lovely raucousness in her vocal chords that made all the old farts of the Covenant thrilled by what she said in hypnotic stances.

                        After that would be done, most importantly, they would go forth to the promised land, and she was to spend her glorious next century on a new empty planet she could mould to her vision.

                        in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3573
                        ÉricÉric
                        Keymaster

                          Commercial Spaceline MX757#33, Mars orbit

                          Finnley, the board computer of the mothership had started to wake up the suspended animated bodies in preparation for the landing as per its usual instructions.
                          The craft had arrived in vicinity of the planet just a day ago (counted in SET, or Standard Earth Time), and was in stationary orbit over the main settlement and de facto capital of Mars.
                          Smaller pods would be flown from there to land the various cargo and the travelling guests, as soon as they would have had time to acclimate.

                          Everyone was becoming quite excited, and hungry as well, once the initial shock was passed. Finnley’s synthetic voice was as smooth and silky as the modelled butt of her twenty one robotic bodies.

                          All of her guests were accounted for. A large number of them were sent by a rich Covenant of Holy Elietics, which hoped to enlighten the natives.
                          A second group was sent by a mining corporation for prospecting purposes.
                          Finally, travelling in the economy section were a pair of winners from a worldwide raffle that sent people to a promised new life. It was believed to be largely a scam, but the one-trip tickets were valid. That was the only thing that was provided to the winners, the rest was up to them.

                          Finnley had been craftily programmed to display a wide range of human emotions, although she didn’t really feel them as human did. If that were the case, she would have logged in her journal her feeling to be in a great hurry to get rid of all the now terribly noisy humanity in her ship.

                          in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3572
                          ÉricÉric
                          Keymaster

                            It had been two months since the aurora. They had started to refer to it as the Cloud Aurora, since after it, rocks had started to leak moisture in all manner of places.
                            Long, thin clouds had begun to appear just a month after, and the atmosphere composition seemed to alter itself as well, irrevocably.

                            Everyone was busy doing analysis, sending reports to Earth and extrapolating on data. But John was more interested in running more explorations and extending the area of his scouting.

                            Tonight, a new commercial ship from Earth would arrive. Mostly rich tourists bored with Spain or Italy, but a bit of fresh blood too, most likely winners of a stupid settler raffle. It had taken them years to arrive; it was hard for John to imagine being crammed in suspension, floating through endless void and cold space for so long.

                            But then, he himself was quite excited being here to monitor the inexorable changes set in motion on the red planet.

                            in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3541
                            ÉricÉric
                            Keymaster

                              Funny thing was, none of this would be possible, if not for Liz’ impeccable release of new literary works. Despite her feigned struggles, she managed to release them like clockwork.
                              Prolific line-pissing writers like King had nothing to envy to her. She would document and expound on nearly every bit of news passing. As a matter of fact, most of her morning rituals were to document the press review, and make clippings out of the most absurd or mundane events, and somehow, weave enthralling tales with it.

                              The last past years had been the most flourishing ones, mostly focused on tales of social responsibility in magical gardens, civil disobedience in cetacean societies, and financial collapse of ayahuasca economy based Amazonian tribes.

                              Well, to be honest, the magic had to be left to the Finnleys. It was nor the endless cleaning nor the unnerving bluster that had them resign. It was mostly that they were literary agents in cover aspiring to more than a life of cleaning. For what Elizabeth had as gift of prolixity, all the Finnleys were hired to put it all together, while sworn to secrecy.
                              Of course, with each best-sellers, they had to find a new one most of the time.

                              Despite the occasional ill-temper, all of it seemed now like a well-oiled machine.
                              However, Godfrey was growing concerned about the last one of the Finnleys. Very concerned.

                              in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3540
                              ÉricÉric
                              Keymaster

                                That Liz had started to become a few sandwiches short of a picnic when she’d hit her 57th birthday was an open secret.
                                Her editor had to personally recruit frequent replacements for her dame de compagnie, whom, no matter how different they looked, she would invariably call ‘cleaning lady Finnley’, stuck with her remembrance of a certain period of her life.

                                Godfrey often had wondered… were he to resign, and be replaced like so many Finnleys before this one, would she also call his replacement “Godfrey”? The though made him titter, as he put the kettle on the stove.
                                At times he wanted to scream that he wasn’t her bloody man-servant, but her personal doctor had made a point to explain to him that Elizabeth’s frail grasp on reality would only be strengthened if everyone continued to play the charade of her life.

                                Truth was, she really did seem to grow younger as the years passed, and as she was bossing around everyone with great enjoyment, Godfrey had often wondered if she wasn’t in cahoots with her physician to have everyone believe she was truly losing it.
                                He had to admit, she was doing a terrific job at it.

                                in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3538
                                ÉricÉric
                                Keymaster

                                  The climb wasn’t too difficult, and the continuous release of oxygen of their insulated suit was still plenty enough to keep them going for hours. “Look!” John pointed out the spot, a few hundred meters below, on the other side of the edge of the caldera.

                                  “It’s going to be quite a show” Yz said, pointing at the sky behind it. Aurora lights were starting to dance.

                                  It took them twenty more minutes to get down to the stones circle.

                                  As they approached, John was struck by a sensation, a mirage most likely. At first, he thought it was a reflection on his suit’s helmet, but a second look confirmed his impression. Under the solar shower, the huge stones seemed to glitter.

                                  “Is this…?”
                                  “Water? It looks like it.” John touched the wet surface of the stones, after the suit had analyzed it as non corrosive. “I’ll take a sample to the lab… Water in this place seems… out of place.”
                                  “What about us?” Yz replied grinning widely. “What are we, if not out of place?”

                                  John smiled, relaxing for the first time since they’d left the pod. There was little air to taste outside of the suit, but he could taste his surrounding, and enjoyed the wide wild rocks and stones that seemed so full of life under the dancing lights.
                                  They sat in the centre of the standing stones.

                                  Johnny?”
                                  “Yes?”
                                  “Don’t you find fascinating that even water on Earth have been found to be older than the Sun itself?”
                                  “Leaves one to ponder, for sure”

                                  in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3537
                                  ÉricÉric
                                  Keymaster

                                    Under the cold starlight, John enjoyed to drive on the dunes, off the well-run tracks, glancing back from time to time to check on Yz. He had spent many years in his youth following his mother’s husbands, as they were assigned his guardianship in turns, and would take him around for their various outposts assignments.
                                    He’d learnt the topology of his land in much details, and had a few of his own favourite places. Without knowing, he’d name them like his ancestors would have of the unspoiled lands and mountains of ancient Earth. The Rabbit Head, the Meditating Monkey, the Buddha’s Butt… Of course, none of these names were official, but everyone would know exactly what place he was pointing at, even without knowing the geoquadrant designation.

                                    Tonight, for the magical display of lights, he needed a magical place, and he knew just where.

                                    There was a ring of old stones past the Buddha’s Butt. They were mostly hidden from sight, although the place was at a higher altitude and could be seen from afar. He’d discovered them by chance, two or three years ago. He didn’t come too often, as the access wasn’t easy.
                                    The stones were nested inside a plateau of collapsed land, like an old caldera. They were huge boulders of unequal sizes, forming a quasi-perfect circle, more than two hundred meters wide. It felt doubtful they’d been erected by men, but somehow the eerie place seemed possessed by some sort of vibrant intelligence.

                                    “I’m going to show you something” he told Yz after stopping the sand scooter.
                                    “Of course you are. Don’t be so mysterious!” she retorted. “Where is it?”
                                    “A few clicks up the hill, shouldn’t take long. Just follow me carefully and mind your steps, the stones are slippery.”

                                    in reply to: The Hosts of Mars #3536
                                    ÉricÉric
                                    Keymaster

                                      John was about to leave the pod for the airlock when a sharp voice startled him.

                                      “Where are you going on your own Johnny? You know the rules!”

                                      He could tell she was only pretending indignation. She had this fun smirk at her pursed lips that he knew by heart. She was most likely vexed at not being asked to come along for the venture past curfew.

                                      At 15, Yz was 5 years younger than him (in Earth years), and only half his height, but her brains were razor sharp, as well as her tongue. She was also a gifted mechanic, and a fearless young girl.

                                      They exchanged a conniving smile. No more than three minutes after, she was back, silent as a cat, and suited up for the harsh environment of Mars.
                                      Over the years, small adjustments had been made to the suits, some purely out of fashion, but the main elements remained the same, which little change from one Earth cargo to the next. Ensuring their survival at minimal cost to their movements and senses.
                                      Survival outposts were also planted all across the area, so as long as they stayed at safe distance to their pod, they were in no real danger.

                                      The sand scooters were always free to take for a ride. A matter of life and death, it would be a crime to put locks on them. At any moment, anybody could be in dire need for a ride. And besides, in all that expanse of land, where to run to?

                                      in reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud #3530
                                      ÉricÉric
                                      Keymaster

                                        under phone keys box ocean huge story sometimes contact funny word power wait irina rain continued obviously discussion watch earth secret

                                        in reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud #3528
                                        ÉricÉric
                                        Keymaster

                                          love galleon pool tell broken zebra quick clues
                                          process interested ghost unexpected turned anywhere
                                          guide travel events world wind lok free

                                          in reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler #3523
                                          ÉricÉric
                                          Keymaster

                                            “Anyway,” Godfrey continued after a ponderous moment, “you’ve gathered more documentation than you ever had before you started a book, Liz. Are you waiting for Finnley, (no offense)”, he waved at her while she was cleaning her overall methodically “to ghostwrite it for you or what?”
                                            “Stop pushing me. You know the publishers, never happy without a working draft.”
                                            “Exactly my point. Since when do you care about such things? All you need is a picturesque starting scene, don’t squander your wits in scattered tidbits.”
                                            “Fuck off Godfrey. Now you got my limerick bone all tingly…”

                                          Viewing 20 replies - 681 through 700 (of 1,711 total)