“Is that sup-pose to be… me? IS THAT… suppose… to be… MEEE? What’s going on here? Wh-wha–”
“Let me show you your future to explain,” I said back from beyond the 4th wall.
“Yeah okay yeah I guess I see your point I guess I see.” He shook his head. “Jack, eh?”
“Jack,” I said. And then I showed him where I took out (the) yellow.
Supergal Ruby had given up fishing but mate Greg Ogden hadn’t. He’d been lucky enough at the sport to distract them from the golden coins and other Corvo mysteries, sucked up inside the mundane for a while. “2 sharks, a mantra ray, and a swordfish in one day!” he exclaimed to Ruby over a fish highlighted supper, perch salmon or cod (another reader’s choice). It was only afterwards that Ruby recalled the coins, and the fact that they had missed the last ship out of Corvo until Munday. Oh well. At least *Greg’s* happy, she consoled herself. And it will give her time to talk to Mr. Gold.
But she never saw him again, nor his spinning wheel nor the big ball of yarn down the beach from him he was supposedly working on. Dare I say he was a figment of her imagination? Eventually the coins became that too, we can follow. As the island had planned all along. In the immortal words of famous philosopher and, later, box company worker John Locke: “It’s not an island.”
Supergal’s second album, “Atlantis Forgotten,” was fittingly titled. There were more things to dwell on than lost civilizations now, like growing fame, more immediate and materially tangible. The Portuguese government working through the music industry had a hand in that as well; suggested “safe” words to use in her lyrics to downplay the supernatural, “lost knowledge” aspects found on the first. The oh too commonplace selling of the soul.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0041, 0314, Hana Lei^^
“How far to the Pleiades star constellation formation, Helmsman Pickard?”
“Um, just checking,” replied the red uniformed man to the right, hands all over the controls with much accompanying typing noises. Finally he answered: “About 150 parsecs still, mum.”
Cpt. Extra Ordinary knew that *Earth*, their origin point, was less than 150 parsecs from the Pleiades. She makes a note to replace Pickard with promising jr. officer Lulu U. Hooroo, a black woman from Silver City, New Mexico in the 1950s. She’s certainly capable for the position, plus it will add much needed diversity to the bridge. Not a black, yellow, red, or brown person in sight here, although Helmsman Speck opposite Pickard is half Vulcan. Or so everyone is telling her — she has her doubts still; looks like another white thoroughbred male actor to her from Cookie Cutter California.
Afterwards:
“That was soo much fun! I can’t wait to get to the Pleiades to see what they’ve set up there.”
“Soo… you really think you’re going to the Pleiades, to that distant star constellation formation?” said the woman opposite her, readying to reprise her role as Helmsman Hooroo from the original Star Team series.
“Well, sure. Don’t you?”
“Oh sure, sure. It’s all real. If Dolores Cannon says it’s real then it must be real.”
“Dolores who?”
“The Big Sandy woman. She’s not a channeler after all. She’s a reporter, an investigator. The spirits do not speak through her just *to* her. From various sources, filtered through various human vessels.”
“*We’re* on a vessel,” spoke Mrs. Ordinary, the Extra removed from her name immediately upon exiting the holographic bridge. Yet the unreality lingers. “The USS Galaxy,” she recites. “Class 4a starship, which replaced the class 3b Ararat which replaced the class 2f Cuthand. I know my Star Team stuff. And I knew the distance to the Pleiades. Inept Helmsman Pickard will be replaced the next time we step up on the bridge. *You’ll* be there with me instead. And maybe I’ll keep Speck there, maybe not. Depends on what the blood tests I ordered show up with. If thoroughbred white like I suspect — outta there too. We’ll replace him, yes, with someone Asian, maybe an Indian.”
“Back to the Pleiades,” steered “Hooroo” toward the main problem again, the main sticking point. There was no stage set up for them in the 7 star star constellation formation. Despite what Cannon relayed in Book 1.
I can feel her laughing behind the scenes. I think she may be part of my “council”, perhaps as a counsel.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0040, 0314, Bellisaria, Sandfly
“Comes in every day about this time and does a little dance. Says he feels like he’s sprouted wings he’s so free. I think it has something to do with what goes on in that church about every day this time. I’ve heard rumors. And, well, I’ve plain out heard — rag breaks at the dumpster, you know. Something’s going on, and not quite religious, not even for those Tilers over there.”
“It’s this town,” offers Gloria to Wanda, working on their 3rd beach of the novel. Or quickly getting there, beach about a 100 meters away from here still. Hurricane season once more, though. Water will come to them. “I haven’t quite figured out how to word it…”
“Novel; unique,” says bartender Wanda to this. Robert finishes his dance, dramatically opens the front doors of the place, waves to the winged statue outside, and strides away in his powerful manner, like a king from a throne. Left not right; toward the ocean. Because he’s through with religion for now. Until Monday’s Wednesday, which is tomorrow. Happy days all 6 or 7, whether you count renegade Munday or not. He has that option.
Newt was now exploring another mystery in the same general Jeogeot/Sunklands area: a new-ish and obviously unfinished city called Moon that strongly reminded him of a former one, again from the same continent, named Gold. Hot from running about the pretty big place — almost a sim in size itself — he took off his Axis Duster Coat and aired out his armpits on a handy bench, eyeballing the scene from this fresh perspective.
Hmm, a car covered in pink diamonds. Seems to be a clue.
—–
And another one just up there! he spots remotely, peering all around.
In the southeast corner of Sandman’s sim, where its lone tunnel winds through we just saw that chopper exit from, exists what some call the Purple Uplands, or Uplands anyway, its landscape dominated by 4 same sized, purple banded, hexagonal towers which move up and down through slotted holes in unpredictable patterns. Some say The Void lives here, and indeed I was able to find her/him/it easily enough in a mine located beside the corner-most moving tower. Snow covered, it appeared — I believe the only object here so adorned. A bit of winter in an otherwise hot desert land. Conifer trees instead of palms.
Okay, a couple of oaks here in additional to firs, and maybe the snow is just different shading on chopped wood. But the indication still stands I believe. This is one a-hole of a place, cold as Uranus in comparison with the rest. Shelley walks inside…
She stands before it now, walking around it, examining every side and corner. A big red button is the only marked thing on its surface, much like a New Mexican police intercom has such to call in the military when needed. Like we saw conspiracy theory mongerer Tank Bazooka use earlier in Lordsburg vis-à-vis Hucka Doobie aka (or so they say) pop/surrealist artist Charles Nelson Blinkerton, returned from the dead and inhabiting her old 102 hotel room on the strip. He felt like he was in over his head on that one — again.
Knowing something needed to be done in additional to what already had been, she presses it. Sirens fill the air.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0037, 0314, Hana Lei^^, Sand Springs
“Over here, Arthur. Behind the bushes!”
—–
“Black against white. As it should be.”
—–
“You’re not ashamed of us still?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, well. The bushes.”
She sighs. “It’s just so we could get more romantic. Towel has a better view of the rocks over there I like so much.”
“Ropes, yeah.” Arthur stared out, thinking of George/Musician. “Have you heard from him lately?”
“Him?”
“You know. Him.”
—–
“Strange dreams, yeah.” Continuing, he thinks to himself.
“Moon is bright tonight. Better get you back to the hotel.”
“Okay.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0036, 0314, Corsica, Northwest^
“You stay in the van dear,” Draken requested, heading toward the only structure on Horse Island. “Damn horse piss,” he complained along the way. Pretty rainbow, though.
Yes, this will do nicely. Memories.
Oh dear. Told her to stay in the van and over there she is.
But an ass gets in the way, blocking our view. Must be a Clydesdale.
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0035, 0314, Hana Lei^^
I saw the sign and then I knew it was a dream. Applewood. They *are* connected.
Someone was behind me. I dare not turn around. My painting! Turned three dimensional and come to life. But what did she or he want (from me)? Dream dream dream, I thought. Don’t fear — in the dream.
I turn around.
“Can’t you pull one of your Tungaske type miracles to save my village?”
“I’m afraid not. Too small.”
She shed a tear, perhaps with more to come. Probably so. These were scientist tears, the tough ones. “Hard to believe it’s gone.”
“No one under 18. Really nothing we can do [Eyela]. (pause) I’m sorry.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0033, 0314, Canada, Canada/Tungaska, Iowa, Lower Austra^, Nautilus, Squared Root City
Sunklands 