He could look up from the Knowhere Gallery and see the big red NO on the hill, marking the namesake tor. Where it all began in this here photo-novel, 26 in a series of — I’ve lost count admittedly. 2? Mental note: cut down on the number of questions I ask myself in this here novel. But should I? Moving on…
The property with the Knowhere Gallery in Necrotee borders neighboring Yelloo sim to the north. In the Beatles’ inspired animated movie “Yellow Submarine”, a sculpture of a giant KNOW (word) early in the movie changes to a NOW and, finally, a NO, as letters are destroyed during the invasion of Pepperland by Blue Meanies, with the general idea being a shift from positive to negative vibes all around. Is that what happened here? Sorry: that’s what happened here, in Necrotee. Moving north to south. Here’s a picture of the full sim from above, “Know” gallery to the north, and the NO (part of NO FLY) to the south. Not much else in the sim.
“That’s all very fascinating,” she said, still beside me or around me somewhere. “But what of the red light that whisked little Alysha to… where was it? Angels Airport I guess? Where they apparently lose planes every once in a while? But somehow people still take said planes to their destination? Is that how this works?”
“Listen, W, I made a vow to my reader or readers that we’d cut back on the questions in this here blog.”
“And attached photo-novels,” she dutifully tacks on.
“Right. But: yes. I guess we have a general mystery laid out by now. Letters in Necrotee; the No Tor; red light–”
“It was a ship,” interrupted W. “Not a plane. Go to the ship.”
“Ahh. The ship that, let’s say, *kidnapped* little Alysha and took her to the airport somehow, still in Lower Austra but still pretty far away from here.”
“Airport,” she repeated. “Terminal.”
I complained about my lemonade getting stale, being procured the night before. I asked her if I could go back to, let’s see, Underclaw, and get a fresh one. But: no time. Tonight I had to find out what made this ship tick, what was the driving force.
I opened a door but the wrong one. I quickly shut it before the vacuum of space consumed the whole vessel. Losing only a little oxygen and pressure, I was able to breath and walk still. Recovered, I tried other doors.
And then there he was. In the back eating turtle soup and taking a break from driving, blue as FLY. Should’ve known.
I went back and sat across from him, trying to gauge his moral compass. The soup just turned out to be a turtle, a pet he carried with him most places and most flights. Turns out, additionally, it acted as his moral compass. Right now it was pointed south.
I asked him if he had any fresh lemonade. The southward pointing turtle manifested one from her mind, even skewing it toward my favored hand.
(to be continued)