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Tink's Journey through Uru and Beyond transcriptions of journal snippets

#1 User is offline   DaDungeon 

  • lontahn (discoverer)
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Posted 18 June 2004 - 10:01 AM

Transcription and adaptation of a snippet received in DaDungeon this morning:

Quote

The sand was blue. The blue of those jewel-deep walls found within thousand-year-old glaciers. Powdered glacier.

It stretched from the horizon on Tink’s left to the horizon on her right, of a texture so fine and regular that it flowed along with the pale liquid sheeting across it in places.

The mixture of sand and pale liquid slipped and skidded across the flat slope of blue beach, to join a huge body of what could have been a Terran ocean’s shelf waters  –  but for the odd phosphorescence skittering over the edges of its surf.

It seemed to have those same moving patterns of light Tink was now so familiar with.  It was like a shoreline made of the same stuff that formed up that original little rectangle in DahLahboahdahtoahdy of Diet Doctor Pepper and Spanish Rice.  It was a massive copy of the field she had set up with the T’nk System transporter she had used in D'ni, after having figured it out using the miniature version in Dr Tinkyl's Lahboahdahtoahdy.




But what was stopping Tink’s brain in its tracks wasn’t the light-woven edges of wave crests.

It was the sky.  She was back under a faceted dome!

Trouble was, she wasn’t sure if she was back on Ma'KluftTHAT was what was really making her mind spin wheels in place, refuse to engage its gears. 

There was that split second in which she felt a sort of cerebral “Neutral Drop” threatening the conversion of random neuron firings into her notorious stream of consciousness  . . . 
the split second when she had an overwhelming formless terror suddenly engulf  her normally resilient ability to adapt, to make use of what she had in hand in order to form a bridge to where she wanted to be.

This dome had a different pattern to its facets, and the sky behind it seemed oriented differently.  The prism effects she had seen in the facets edges of the first dome were missing, like that giant nebula which gave Ma’Kluft’s star cluster unique protection was no longer glowing and sparking beyond them.

This place was suddenly utterly alien to Tink’s consciousness, which really already had a working relationship with the Twilight Zone and the surreal. She ran a hand back over her hair, on autopilot, making a ritual effort to re-corral the loose new-penny-colored curls which had escaped her ponytail’s fat teal scrunchy.

She wanted to sink down to a cross-legged sitting position, but she was standing in one of the sheeting flows of pale liquid and glacier blue sand.

She wanted to scream out, at the top of her lungs, that she didn’t want to play any more, she wanted to go home.

But . . .
this wasn’t a game.

She was so tired.  She had been jerked from strange place to strange place again and again, always being suddenly covered with those moving transporter light patterns, put into the time bubble, and then dumped out again in yet another odd place.

That incredibly elongated and sinuous alien she had seen lounging on that overhead pipe, dragging one spaghetti-thin leg through “water” resembling the water now filling her visual range, was long gone.

By the clock it had been only a day or two, since she had “lost” JR Red and The Bearded One, there in that thicket of orange-tipped indigo foliage.  She had been skipped like a glowing paisley-covered rock across time’s surface so many times that it felt like eons ago.

Tiredness weakened her knees.  Her legs could no longer support her weight.  Her head felt far too heavy for her neck.

She wilted, crumpled into a somewhat Tink-shaped lump which lay in the filmy flow of moving sand and pale liquid.

She felt so very good lying there, her cheek against the silken cool surface of the beach, the thin current gently massaging its way along the contact points between Tink and sand beneath her.

Her greeny-bluey gray eyes disappeared once more, but this time it was behind exhausted eyelids attached to a mind wishing for nothing more than a towel to wrap around its head. 

Douglas Adams’ encyclopedia entry for using a towel to “... avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal ...”  was the last thing strung together before the welcome lack of everything sentient washed over everything.

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#2 User is offline   DaDungeon 

  • lontahn (discoverer)
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Posted 29 June 2004 - 10:31 PM

Segment II
further transcription:

Quote

Tink’s cheek was still pressed against something cool and smooth, and she thought for a split second that it felt wonderfully comfortable . . . but it was different somehow, too.  Definitely not sand. 

One greeny-bluey-gray eye reluctantly peeped from beneath thick pale lashes.

Then it was wide open, and quickly joined in its wide-open-ness by a twin on the other side of her narrow-bridged nose.  Both stared at the smooth coolness upon which her cheek rested.  It was blue – the same glacier blue of the sand, but this was a single highly-polished expanse of . . . her mind just stuck.

Her eyes had ranged out across the surface upon which her cheek rested, had traveled across that translucent glacier innards blueness, and had encountered a thing that paralyzed their journey.  The highly-polished expanse of blue was moving!

Tink sat bolt upright.

She was on a long rectangular surface, looking along its lengthwise axis  –  at the back of a bot!

And that bot was pulling the surface upon which she sat away from the blue sand beach, toward a slowly opening massive entrance at the base of sheer cliffs.  She could hear the sand skishing beneath, but she felt no translated movement vibrations.

The bot was a totally different thing than JR Red.  Instead of the fairly small hovering (and now missing) mechanical companion, this bot was nothing more than a satin-finished aluminum-looking hovering mechanical cube.

It was featureless, or at least the parts of it Tink could see were featureless.  It pulled her shiny blue platform via an extension which seemed to sprout from just above its lower edge, and the end connected to her “sled” seemed to have melted and blended into the smooth blueness.

“Ummmm . . .  Hello?” she called out to it, just in case, like JR Red, it could interpret her sounds and respond.  “Where are you taking me?”

Nothing.

The feeling of dread she had cowered beneath, before dropping into exhausted and stuporous sleep, edged back into Tink’s mind.  What if she was being taken away for processing as some kind of beach flotsam, headed for a Deathstar trash compactor or something? 

In a sort of semi-panic, she scrambled off the blue sled.

Nothing changed.

The bot continued pulling the rectangular blue slab toward the tunnel mouth, which was now nearly half way open.  It didn’t even slow, just kept on moving in a straight line for the cliff’s base.

I might not be trash then, Tink decided.  She jumped back onto the slab, noting that when she landed, she felt no sensation of motion  –  though her eyes told her the slab was indeed still being pulled across the sand.  The bot continued without detectable change toward the cliff.

She jumped back off.

The bot kept on as it had been keeping on.

It was rapidly approaching the huge opening in the rock wall now.  Tink walked alongside, but then jogged forward, to come abreast of the bot.

The bot stopped, frozen in place.  The massive door began to slide shut again.


“That’s connected with me?” she wondered, aloud – as she usually did.  One nearly invisible brow raised a bit, and she backed away from the bot and the slab.  The silvery cube remained frozen, but the big door began to slide open again. 

Tink could hear an incongruously soft sigh of the machinery driving the highly polished stone door’s  movement.  The sound came from within the tunnel, within the cliff walls, and she could feel its power thrumming through the soles of her shoes.

She walked back toward the bot.

The door stopped.  Then the bot suddenly ‘grew’ another appendage from its lower edge, which immediately began snaking toward her.

“Uh-oh!” 

She raced away, heading across the beach, away from both the peculiar bot and that odd sheeting wash of pale liquid slipping across the blue sand to finally edge the surf with pale patterns of moving colored light.

As she sprinted, she expected to be tripped up by the telescoping extension from the bot. She almost made it to a jumble of steel blue boulders at the edge of the blue sand.  Almost.

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