legilsaidit’stosavepower,andsheseemedtoknow alot—but
shewantedhermotherbadly,andwaslosingherownenergy—fadingrapidly. Kilesorcoldormakingothermisakeseventualyremoveusalfromthe
scene.
Andofcoursetherearelotsofversionsofme,aldead.Thatmeans
there’satemplae.Maybealotoftemplates.Forsomereason,awordsticksup
now—Klados.Idon’tknowwhatthatmeans.
Buthulissick.Shipissick.Somethingbrokeorwentwrong—or
somethingdeliberatelychangedtherules.That’swhyI’mheadingforward—to
answerthosequestions.
Irestedforawhilewiththesluggards.Thesluggardshaveacomfortable
placeandtheyjuststaythere.Theboyinparticularhasmadeacozyden.The
roomobeyshisinstructionsbutdoesn’tcooperatewiththerestofus.Iwonder
why.Thewomanisdiscouraged,maybebecauseshehastorelyontheboy—
andhecanbeirriating.
Theyaren’tgoingtogowithmeorhelpmefindanswers. Iftheygiveyouthis,thenyouknow aboutthefreezersandthebodies.
Youknow I’mdead.Takeadeepbreath.Whenyougoforward—andyouwil—it
getsworse.
Somethingdoesn’twantusgoingforward.ThatmightbeDestinaion
Guidance.Ihavenoideawhatthatis—orwho.
I’vegoneforwardanddowntothecore.Here’sali t lemap.
Follows a sketch showing the tip of the spindle, an X marking the beginning of my (his) trip, and a dotted line zigging rather mysteriously toward the middle of the spindle and then jogging forward the merest fraction—a dot and a half, almost.
Ip assedthreeforestbalsandseveraljunkbals.Processorswere recyclingbrokenparts—includingfactors.Lotsoffactorsdamagedrecently.Are therewarsinthehul?IbelieveI’vefounda A brutal dark line.
T heShipisverybadlyoff.I’vecomeuponacrudemembranethat separatesmuchoftheforwardsectionsfrom(Iassume)vacuum.Pressure beliesthemembraneoutwardfromsurvivingbulkheadsandstanchions,andit’s translucent,Ithink,butIcan’tmakeoutanythingexceptagrayishblurthat mightbetheicebal—ourbigli t lemoon.Themoonwiththesnakecarvedinto it.SerpentMoon.
C onsideinghow nearthecoreIthinkIam,thatmeansaprettybigchunk oftheShipismi s ingontheicebalside.Factorsarestilcleaningup;it’s dangeroustotravelaroundherebecausetheymightmisakemefordebrisand haulmetoajunkbal.SomechambersaresobadlyscarredIcan’timagine they’leverberecovered,butrepairfactorsarestilatwork,movingsluggishly, relayingtheactivesurfacesafew centimetersatatime,workingonlyduring spin-down.I’ddescribethesespacesbutyou’l Another dark line.
T hishastobequick.IthinkIknow alitleaboutDestinaionGuidance. Therewasaworkpartyrevivedalongtimeago.Althisisvague,becausethe conceptsthatsupportmysupposiionsarestilburiedsomewhereinDreamtime. IthinktheShip(wearedefinielyonaShipinspace,betweenthestars— physicaly,realy,notjustamock-up)cametoapointinitsjourneywherea decisionhadtobemadebetweentwoormorecandidaes,planetsorstarswith planets.Ateamwascreatedtomakethatdecision.Idon’tbelievetheyever livedinthehuls.Theywereprobablycreatedonastationor“bridge”downon theicemoon.Faraway—downbelow,inboard,andmaybealittlebehindthe leadingpoinsofthehuls. Covering most of a page in the book is something fascinating—a quick sketch of part of Ship. It looks like this:
I suppose if someone draws a map for a baby, the baby has to spend years growing up enough to even begin to understand. But we are not exactly babies. This sketch means a lot of things to me. It graphically confirms what I thought I saw in the observation blister and in my dream. The scale is off—the moon/ice ball should be much bigger, the spindles longer and smaller in comparison to the moon—but the rough truth of it is evident.
This is Ship, then. Three hulls shaped like spindles, one big oblong ice moon, and something I think must be at the leading point of the moon, between the spindles… way down below.
It makes sense. It arouses things from Dreamtime that start me quivering until I worry I won’t be able to stop. This isn’t the way it was supposed to be. The Ship is not just sick, it’s gone waywrong Wrongway.
I read on.
T heli t lespheredownthere,fromwhatI’vebeentold,isactualypretty
shewantedhermotherbadly,andwaslosingherownenergy—fadingrapidly. Kilesorcoldormakingothermisakeseventualyremoveusalfromthe
scene.
Andofcoursetherearelotsofversionsofme,aldead.Thatmeans
there’satemplae.Maybealotoftemplates.Forsomereason,awordsticksup
now—Klados.Idon’tknowwhatthatmeans.
Buthulissick.Shipissick.Somethingbrokeorwentwrong—or
somethingdeliberatelychangedtherules.That’swhyI’mheadingforward—to
answerthosequestions.
Irestedforawhilewiththesluggards.Thesluggardshaveacomfortable
placeandtheyjuststaythere.Theboyinparticularhasmadeacozyden.The
roomobeyshisinstructionsbutdoesn’tcooperatewiththerestofus.Iwonder
why.Thewomanisdiscouraged,maybebecauseshehastorelyontheboy—
andhecanbeirriating.
Theyaren’tgoingtogowithmeorhelpmefindanswers. Iftheygiveyouthis,thenyouknow aboutthefreezersandthebodies.
Youknow I’mdead.Takeadeepbreath.Whenyougoforward—andyouwil—it
getsworse.
Somethingdoesn’twantusgoingforward.ThatmightbeDestinaion
Guidance.Ihavenoideawhatthatis—orwho.
I’vegoneforwardanddowntothecore.Here’sali t lemap.
Follows a sketch showing the tip of the spindle, an X marking the beginning of my (his) trip, and a dotted line zigging rather mysteriously toward the middle of the spindle and then jogging forward the merest fraction—a dot and a half, almost.
Ip assedthreeforestbalsandseveraljunkbals.Processorswere recyclingbrokenparts—includingfactors.Lotsoffactorsdamagedrecently.Are therewarsinthehul?IbelieveI’vefounda A brutal dark line.
T heShipisverybadlyoff.I’vecomeuponacrudemembranethat separatesmuchoftheforwardsectionsfrom(Iassume)vacuum.Pressure beliesthemembraneoutwardfromsurvivingbulkheadsandstanchions,andit’s translucent,Ithink,butIcan’tmakeoutanythingexceptagrayishblurthat mightbetheicebal—ourbigli t lemoon.Themoonwiththesnakecarvedinto it.SerpentMoon.
C onsideinghow nearthecoreIthinkIam,thatmeansaprettybigchunk oftheShipismi s ingontheicebalside.Factorsarestilcleaningup;it’s dangeroustotravelaroundherebecausetheymightmisakemefordebrisand haulmetoajunkbal.SomechambersaresobadlyscarredIcan’timagine they’leverberecovered,butrepairfactorsarestilatwork,movingsluggishly, relayingtheactivesurfacesafew centimetersatatime,workingonlyduring spin-down.I’ddescribethesespacesbutyou’l Another dark line.
T hishastobequick.IthinkIknow alitleaboutDestinaionGuidance. Therewasaworkpartyrevivedalongtimeago.Althisisvague,becausethe conceptsthatsupportmysupposiionsarestilburiedsomewhereinDreamtime. IthinktheShip(wearedefinielyonaShipinspace,betweenthestars— physicaly,realy,notjustamock-up)cametoapointinitsjourneywherea decisionhadtobemadebetweentwoormorecandidaes,planetsorstarswith planets.Ateamwascreatedtomakethatdecision.Idon’tbelievetheyever livedinthehuls.Theywereprobablycreatedonastationor“bridge”downon theicemoon.Faraway—downbelow,inboard,andmaybealittlebehindthe leadingpoinsofthehuls. Covering most of a page in the book is something fascinating—a quick sketch of part of Ship. It looks like this:
I suppose if someone draws a map for a baby, the baby has to spend years growing up enough to even begin to understand. But we are not exactly babies. This sketch means a lot of things to me. It graphically confirms what I thought I saw in the observation blister and in my dream. The scale is off—the moon/ice ball should be much bigger, the spindles longer and smaller in comparison to the moon—but the rough truth of it is evident.
This is Ship, then. Three hulls shaped like spindles, one big oblong ice moon, and something I think must be at the leading point of the moon, between the spindles… way down below.
It makes sense. It arouses things from Dreamtime that start me quivering until I worry I won’t be able to stop. This isn’t the way it was supposed to be. The Ship is not just sick, it’s gone waywrong Wrongway.
I read on.
T heli t lespheredownthere,fromwhatI’vebeentold,isactualypretty
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