July 25 - Jaunt-Thru Country
Aug. 1st, 2011 12:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwrnmnbsolDilmer and Trow waited in the fallow milliwheat field. Dilmer looked at his watch and frowned.
"It should have come by now," he said. "You said they'd be through at 8:05. It's a couple minutes after."
"That's what the schedule at the Chrono Depot said," replied Trow. "Maybe your watch is fast. We should wait a little longer."
"Well, I can't wait very much," grumbled Dilfer. "I've got to turn over field eight, and then…"
"Look," said Trow, pointing out over the field. Something like a cloud was forming thirty feet above the field, but this was no ordinary cloud. It was more of a haze or a dark smudge, a disturbance in normal space. The patch of strange sky grew and grew.
A shape formed in the middle of the haze as Trow and Dilmer watched. An elongated dish on legs appeared, several hundreds of feet long, studded with stubby rectangular windows along its sides. Bulges spaced along its length thrummed with power; these were the massive Chrono engines, driving the passenger carrier through time. Whether it was going forward or backwards along the timestream, Dilmer couldn't say.
The shape phased fully into existence and seemed to pause that way, the cloudy miasma swirling around it. Dilmer imagined he could see faces peering disinterestedly through the windows to look at the country outside. There wasn't much to see, Dilmer had to admit. He lived in a boring stretch of time – no wars, no plagues, and little in the way of human achievement or inspiration. This was jaunt-thru country.
The passenger carrier began to phase out again. As it did a small hatch opened in its side and a blue cube popped out. It tumbled to the dirt below the patch of haze. Dilmer and Trow nodded to each other. The Chrono liner faded and was gone, and its attendant cloud swirled away into nothingness. Only the gleaming blue cube remained behind.
Dilmer and Trow trotted out into the field, and Dilmer picked up the cube. It was slightly warm to the touch, an opalescent azure that was faintly translucent. Vague forms could be indistinctly seen inside; Trow had told Dilmer the cube was actually the liner's waste products, compressed and jettisoned to conserve mass, so Dilmer was glad he couldn't make out exactly what was inside. He knew from practical experience that the thing was harder than any substance known to man in that time period; he had broken more than one plow blade on the things before he had started to collect them.
Dilmer and Trow trudged back out of the field. Dilmer tossed the cube into the bed of his truck. There were nine other cubes rattling around back there, loosely covered with a tarp. Dilmer and Trow looked at them.
"I guess that's enough to make a run," said Dilmer.
"Sure," said Trow.
They drove over to the Site. The farmers had gotten together to buy the plot. It had been some kind of landfill a long time ago, before the Big Rust, but it wasn't being used for anything; the township had been glad to unload the seventy-acre site, which was good for nothing but growing weeds. Dilmer's truck crunched onto the gravel drive, and he swung up to the Project. Colbee, the architect, trotted out and tapped on the window. Dilmer rolled it down.
"Howdy," said Colbee. Sweat was already streaming from under his hardhat. "We've got visitors."
He jerked his head to the far corner of the parking lot. Two men stood there. They were wearing things that looked like shiny metal sleeping bags, and hats that were one big antenna. They were clearly not Chrono-local. One of them was holding an imaging device. At least, Dilmer hoped that was what it was.
"Tourists already, huh?" said Dilmer, getting out of the truck. He and Trow picked up four of the cubes apiece; Colbee helped with the last two. They began walking over to the project.
"This is fantastic news," gushed Colbee, struggling to keep up with the two burly farmers. "We're not even halfway through. If we're already generating attention, imagine what things will be like when it's complete!"
Dilmer and Trow nodded gamely. They had heard this speech before from Colbee, many times. He was preaching to the choir. All the farmers had been sold on the Project long ago.
They stepped onto the scaffold platforms and climbed to the top tier. Then it was out across the top level of the Project, stepping carefully on the Cheapwood panels so as not to disturb the cubes stacked neatly beneath them. They walked over to the ragged edge where the work was proceeding, a layer of the next tier of blocks, still incomplete. The three men carefully aligned their pearly blue blocks in rows alongside the ones that were already there. Colbee made a few minute adjustments, then stepped back to view his handiwork.
The sun came out from behind a cloud and lit up the portion of the Project that was exposed. The whole thing glowed, the air filling with blue shimmers and sparkles. "Pretty," grunted Trow, and the others nodded. Then they walked back to the truck.
Dilmer turned to look back at the Project. The paws of the Sphinx peeked out from under the Plyoplas sheeting. "Halfway done, huh?" he asked.
"Almost," said Colbee.
The three men shook hands, and Dilmer and Trow drove away. The tourists pointed their gizmo at the truck as it left the parking lot.
It would be great, Dilmer reflected, to be a destination. It would be wonderful to be a place where the liners scheduled stops at instead of jaunting through. Having a bunch of strange tourists around would be a little weird, he had to admit, but he loved the idea that some other time would have to break their plows on indestructible blue cubes.
"It should have come by now," he said. "You said they'd be through at 8:05. It's a couple minutes after."
"That's what the schedule at the Chrono Depot said," replied Trow. "Maybe your watch is fast. We should wait a little longer."
"Well, I can't wait very much," grumbled Dilfer. "I've got to turn over field eight, and then…"
"Look," said Trow, pointing out over the field. Something like a cloud was forming thirty feet above the field, but this was no ordinary cloud. It was more of a haze or a dark smudge, a disturbance in normal space. The patch of strange sky grew and grew.
A shape formed in the middle of the haze as Trow and Dilmer watched. An elongated dish on legs appeared, several hundreds of feet long, studded with stubby rectangular windows along its sides. Bulges spaced along its length thrummed with power; these were the massive Chrono engines, driving the passenger carrier through time. Whether it was going forward or backwards along the timestream, Dilmer couldn't say.
The shape phased fully into existence and seemed to pause that way, the cloudy miasma swirling around it. Dilmer imagined he could see faces peering disinterestedly through the windows to look at the country outside. There wasn't much to see, Dilmer had to admit. He lived in a boring stretch of time – no wars, no plagues, and little in the way of human achievement or inspiration. This was jaunt-thru country.
The passenger carrier began to phase out again. As it did a small hatch opened in its side and a blue cube popped out. It tumbled to the dirt below the patch of haze. Dilmer and Trow nodded to each other. The Chrono liner faded and was gone, and its attendant cloud swirled away into nothingness. Only the gleaming blue cube remained behind.
Dilmer and Trow trotted out into the field, and Dilmer picked up the cube. It was slightly warm to the touch, an opalescent azure that was faintly translucent. Vague forms could be indistinctly seen inside; Trow had told Dilmer the cube was actually the liner's waste products, compressed and jettisoned to conserve mass, so Dilmer was glad he couldn't make out exactly what was inside. He knew from practical experience that the thing was harder than any substance known to man in that time period; he had broken more than one plow blade on the things before he had started to collect them.
Dilmer and Trow trudged back out of the field. Dilmer tossed the cube into the bed of his truck. There were nine other cubes rattling around back there, loosely covered with a tarp. Dilmer and Trow looked at them.
"I guess that's enough to make a run," said Dilmer.
"Sure," said Trow.
They drove over to the Site. The farmers had gotten together to buy the plot. It had been some kind of landfill a long time ago, before the Big Rust, but it wasn't being used for anything; the township had been glad to unload the seventy-acre site, which was good for nothing but growing weeds. Dilmer's truck crunched onto the gravel drive, and he swung up to the Project. Colbee, the architect, trotted out and tapped on the window. Dilmer rolled it down.
"Howdy," said Colbee. Sweat was already streaming from under his hardhat. "We've got visitors."
He jerked his head to the far corner of the parking lot. Two men stood there. They were wearing things that looked like shiny metal sleeping bags, and hats that were one big antenna. They were clearly not Chrono-local. One of them was holding an imaging device. At least, Dilmer hoped that was what it was.
"Tourists already, huh?" said Dilmer, getting out of the truck. He and Trow picked up four of the cubes apiece; Colbee helped with the last two. They began walking over to the project.
"This is fantastic news," gushed Colbee, struggling to keep up with the two burly farmers. "We're not even halfway through. If we're already generating attention, imagine what things will be like when it's complete!"
Dilmer and Trow nodded gamely. They had heard this speech before from Colbee, many times. He was preaching to the choir. All the farmers had been sold on the Project long ago.
They stepped onto the scaffold platforms and climbed to the top tier. Then it was out across the top level of the Project, stepping carefully on the Cheapwood panels so as not to disturb the cubes stacked neatly beneath them. They walked over to the ragged edge where the work was proceeding, a layer of the next tier of blocks, still incomplete. The three men carefully aligned their pearly blue blocks in rows alongside the ones that were already there. Colbee made a few minute adjustments, then stepped back to view his handiwork.
The sun came out from behind a cloud and lit up the portion of the Project that was exposed. The whole thing glowed, the air filling with blue shimmers and sparkles. "Pretty," grunted Trow, and the others nodded. Then they walked back to the truck.
Dilmer turned to look back at the Project. The paws of the Sphinx peeked out from under the Plyoplas sheeting. "Halfway done, huh?" he asked.
"Almost," said Colbee.
The three men shook hands, and Dilmer and Trow drove away. The tourists pointed their gizmo at the truck as it left the parking lot.
It would be great, Dilmer reflected, to be a destination. It would be wonderful to be a place where the liners scheduled stops at instead of jaunting through. Having a bunch of strange tourists around would be a little weird, he had to admit, but he loved the idea that some other time would have to break their plows on indestructible blue cubes.
