cabbagescribe
New Member
The sun was shining. At the face of the canyon he stood. Dog by the side, Regulus, dog, Reggie. See him run. Glowing grasses and shrubs and trees passed them; they ran still, turning a curving left and still going. Green plants and time to get up, James. Voice from above or below, it was all relative cried out get up, James. No. At the face of the canyon, standing he was. The sun is shining, it says to get up. Back on the ground he had the dog by his side, Reggie. Time to get
Up. Above him stood a blue jumpsuited man, looking alternately at the former sleeper and his own nails which he thumbed. A yellow tag sewn above the heart bore the words Jefferson Longman, and he announced, “Finally. Come on, the sun is shining.”
“It’s always damn shining,” said James, brushing aside a sleep mask. It slid and crinkled against the grey of the sleeping bag. The sound pricked his ears, and he groaned and turned his head. To the left was the cold steel wall and to the right was his empty jumpsuit and Longman.
James tilted his legs up, let out a stifled “Hep,” pushed, and flipped back onto his feet. By now he could do that without hitting his head. A sentence by the visitor was drowned out as blood coursed through his legs. He stepped down from the bed-platform. “What was that?”
“I made you breakfast,” called Longman.
The clock announced it was two minutes past. Painfully aware of this lateness and his light clothing, James walked into his bathroom.
There he replied, “Packaged food?”
Through the doorway replied Longman, “I went up for fresh stuff just for you.” He pointed a wrinkled finger vertically. “And something from the fridge too.”
James picked off bits of that yellow stuff from the corner of his eyes. That stuff, mucopurulent discharge, he had been informed in training, will also be recycled. Up here, everything has to be recycled.
He pushed a foot to close the door. The figure opposite him on the mirror was blinking. His light-brown hair was getting long, and he would have to get Longman or Piotr to cut it soon. Even the cut hair would be reused, James thought as he let loose his water stream. Yes, urine would water the plants in low-gravity eventually.
Outside, footsteps and a door slide followed a mumbled message from the long-awake Longman. Longman in the morning, every morning. James let run the shower water. Of course, it’s actually 3 p.m., but that doesn’t matter when there’s no sunrise and sunset here. He stripped and set foot inside. And it’s only 3 p.m. in Greenwich, the sun’s rising somewhere back on Earth all the time. Rosy-fingered dawn, as Homer said millennia ago. So optimistic. He passed the soap from left hand to right. One must consider that the sun is going down at this moment somewhere on Terra Firma as well.
Out of his room and into his jumpsuit, James slid the door closed. Above it was the sign announcing Personal Quarters and under that in training-style lettering, James Singore. He glanced at his watch. Twenty past it informed, he was taking his time. Time you don’t have up in space.
Singore quickstepped through the narrow hallways. The receding hairline of Jeff Longman was behind one window. A lab was passed. James Singore found his destination.
A while ago, Jeffie Longman had explained why he called the ladder down to Earth level the Jerk. Velocity is distance over time, meters per second. Acceleration is velocity over time, meters per second per second. Gravity accelerates things. But as you go down, gravity increases, artificial gravity caused by the spinning of the space vessel, that is. Which means acceleration (from gravity) is changing over time. Acceleration over time is called jerk, and that’s no joke. The ship’s rotation is jerking you if you go down the ladder, so they christened it Jerk.
Longman’s much better at explaining these things, thought Singore. He has experience recounting events in simple words. That came from years of explaining his last trip to Mars to schoolchildren.
Singore bounced his feet up and down. He was heavier down here. A blue-and-silver bike protruded from the grated floor. The face of a devilish golden statue stared out from a poster, Piotr’s favorite sculptor. A five-minute pedal got the last bit of drowsiness out of him, followed by a few pull-ups and push-ups for good measure. One-G-level was for exercise and the way back to Earth, to get used to its gravity. Point-Three-Seven-Six-G-level was for the trip to the red planet, to get used to its feel.
James Singore paused for a moment in reverence to the porthole by the poster. The sun, provider of all and especially energy on this vessel, was eternally out there, an imposing white sphere. Around it was the deepest black.
Pushing himself up the jerk, James heard Longman call after him. He hurried as pressure lowered on his feet. His stomach did not complain anymore in the mornings, well-timed food ensured satisfaction. One of the benefits of being in the vacuum out here was that everything was guaranteed to be regular.
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First part of a possible chapter or short story. When done, this section will be a lot longer.
EDIT: Here is the thread where my idea started.
Up. Above him stood a blue jumpsuited man, looking alternately at the former sleeper and his own nails which he thumbed. A yellow tag sewn above the heart bore the words Jefferson Longman, and he announced, “Finally. Come on, the sun is shining.”
“It’s always damn shining,” said James, brushing aside a sleep mask. It slid and crinkled against the grey of the sleeping bag. The sound pricked his ears, and he groaned and turned his head. To the left was the cold steel wall and to the right was his empty jumpsuit and Longman.
James tilted his legs up, let out a stifled “Hep,” pushed, and flipped back onto his feet. By now he could do that without hitting his head. A sentence by the visitor was drowned out as blood coursed through his legs. He stepped down from the bed-platform. “What was that?”
“I made you breakfast,” called Longman.
The clock announced it was two minutes past. Painfully aware of this lateness and his light clothing, James walked into his bathroom.
There he replied, “Packaged food?”
Through the doorway replied Longman, “I went up for fresh stuff just for you.” He pointed a wrinkled finger vertically. “And something from the fridge too.”
James picked off bits of that yellow stuff from the corner of his eyes. That stuff, mucopurulent discharge, he had been informed in training, will also be recycled. Up here, everything has to be recycled.
He pushed a foot to close the door. The figure opposite him on the mirror was blinking. His light-brown hair was getting long, and he would have to get Longman or Piotr to cut it soon. Even the cut hair would be reused, James thought as he let loose his water stream. Yes, urine would water the plants in low-gravity eventually.
Outside, footsteps and a door slide followed a mumbled message from the long-awake Longman. Longman in the morning, every morning. James let run the shower water. Of course, it’s actually 3 p.m., but that doesn’t matter when there’s no sunrise and sunset here. He stripped and set foot inside. And it’s only 3 p.m. in Greenwich, the sun’s rising somewhere back on Earth all the time. Rosy-fingered dawn, as Homer said millennia ago. So optimistic. He passed the soap from left hand to right. One must consider that the sun is going down at this moment somewhere on Terra Firma as well.
Out of his room and into his jumpsuit, James slid the door closed. Above it was the sign announcing Personal Quarters and under that in training-style lettering, James Singore. He glanced at his watch. Twenty past it informed, he was taking his time. Time you don’t have up in space.
Singore quickstepped through the narrow hallways. The receding hairline of Jeff Longman was behind one window. A lab was passed. James Singore found his destination.
A while ago, Jeffie Longman had explained why he called the ladder down to Earth level the Jerk. Velocity is distance over time, meters per second. Acceleration is velocity over time, meters per second per second. Gravity accelerates things. But as you go down, gravity increases, artificial gravity caused by the spinning of the space vessel, that is. Which means acceleration (from gravity) is changing over time. Acceleration over time is called jerk, and that’s no joke. The ship’s rotation is jerking you if you go down the ladder, so they christened it Jerk.
Longman’s much better at explaining these things, thought Singore. He has experience recounting events in simple words. That came from years of explaining his last trip to Mars to schoolchildren.
Singore bounced his feet up and down. He was heavier down here. A blue-and-silver bike protruded from the grated floor. The face of a devilish golden statue stared out from a poster, Piotr’s favorite sculptor. A five-minute pedal got the last bit of drowsiness out of him, followed by a few pull-ups and push-ups for good measure. One-G-level was for exercise and the way back to Earth, to get used to its gravity. Point-Three-Seven-Six-G-level was for the trip to the red planet, to get used to its feel.
James Singore paused for a moment in reverence to the porthole by the poster. The sun, provider of all and especially energy on this vessel, was eternally out there, an imposing white sphere. Around it was the deepest black.
Pushing himself up the jerk, James heard Longman call after him. He hurried as pressure lowered on his feet. His stomach did not complain anymore in the mornings, well-timed food ensured satisfaction. One of the benefits of being in the vacuum out here was that everything was guaranteed to be regular.
------------------------------------
First part of a possible chapter or short story. When done, this section will be a lot longer.
EDIT: Here is the thread where my idea started.
