Global Zotting | Kittenitis.com

EnvironmentPK.com ^ | 28/12/09 | Asim Shah

[asimshah]

While some would alarm all-around abating a theory, others would alarm it a accurate set of facts. Opinions alter vehemently. Let us accede all-around abating to be both a apriorism that the ambiance of the apple as we apperceive it is slowly, but actual absolutely accretion in all-embracing air and baptize temperature, and a affiance that if whatever is causing this trend is not disconnected or challenged activity on apple will dynamically be affected.

[Darksheare]

Perhaps they are temporarily integrated into the ships?

[NicknamedBob]

"This aught to be good."

You mean "ought".

The decade of the aughts is over.

Aught

This is the decade of the aughts, a decade of contention.
And not for nothing, I point out, aught was a great invention.
Aught’s not often talked about, but for the network lad,
Who’d aught to say of it, except that it was bad.

Computer guys think well of it, and use it happily,
Without the zero in its place, just where then would one be?
And aught we ought to have to say, to those who wish us ill,
For fraught with consequences is the case, when aughts are in the bill!

NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . January 16, 2005

[Tax-chick]

Afternoon, everyone. Frank and I had a nap. No catz, though; don’t know where they went.

I need to order cleaning supplies and then make a bowl of mush for Frank.

[Robert A Cook PE]

Parallel story perhaps - Might be distracting from the main course - of people getting ate instead of eating.

Point of view of the dragon(s) doing the eating perhaps - not the people in the story trying to “tame”/accommodate the dragons?

Back to the parallel teenage dragons getting metalled by the DOT: if on a trailer or dump truck going down the highway, would a dragon be like a dog (wanting to hand his head over the side with his tongue hanging out? Or like a cat: Supremely uninterested in the whole thing, but demanding his own upholstered seat and lap blanket?

Or a gecko or Gila monster. Hard to see either as anything but “Lumpish.” Which doesn’t fit the “juvenile delinquent dragons wearing heavy metal” image.

[Darksheare]

Drats.
Yeah.

[Tax-chick]

Dogs.

[NicknamedBob]

"I’m trying to picture a juvenile dragon trying to grow up and exercise/ train to fight with old wepons/fight with modern weapons/learn/experiment with blowing fire (out both ends)/fly/think/program computers/use cell phones and data implants/learn languages while stuffed inside a spaceship for several months....."

I did transport several dragons aboard a spaceship during the story, ...

... as eggs.

Mostly I had the people transacting with them after they had gotten some maturity.

At least one exception involved the ones transported as eggs. They ended up in a derelict craft that brought them only to an almost empty planet. Of life forms it only had some scraggly plants, and a rather more robust ocean life.

But no sentients or sapients other than themselves and their young pilot.

It became clear to all that their survival, especially a survival that included a return to civilization of any sort, would depend on their becoming adept at a number of technologies.

The human survivor had problems too.:

Ken sat on his towel and stared out at the sea. He sensed and felt the approach of the dragon. Wind from the wings swept over him, and the ground trembled slightly with its landing.

Ken looked around. There had been no sound.

Ke’Enarsha stood within a pace of him, towering over him.

“I could eat you.” Rumbled the dragon’s deep voice.

Ken rose smoothly, and faced toward the dragon. Naked after his swim, he stood with his arms stretched out wide, and with his eyes closed. Something told him this was an appropriate way to present himself as a sacrifice.

“Eat me, then, and end my troubles. Begin your own.”

There was only silence in answer. Then he heard the dragon’s indrawn breath, and braced himself for what would happen.

Warm air wafted gently over his drying skin, as the slitted nostrils of Ke’Enarsha opened wide upon him. He opened his eyes. Ke’Enarsha lowered his head.

Ken stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the huge scaly head. “I love you too, Ke’Enarsha.”

The rumbling voice spoke again. “Let us ride.”

Ken grabbed his towel and draped it over the rough scales behind Ke’Enarsha’s short frill, and climbed up to sit behind his head. He held onto the wicked looking horns that came up to form the upper apexes of an inverted triangle.

Ke’Enarsha spread his wings into the stroke position, and Ken could hear the wheezy sound of the organic bellows of the firelung drawing in air between the dragon’s shoulder blades. With a sound like a small door slamming shut, the lungflap closed and there was an immediate thunderclap of noise.

Ken was thrust violently downward as the dragon sprang upward. Then Ke’Enarsha power-stroked again and again, gaining altitude with each beat of his wings. In a moment, they were gliding south along the coastline, riding the onshore breeze as it rose onto the land.

Ken screamed in exultation. Ke’Enarsha turned his head slightly, looking back at him. The corners of his huge mouth gave a slight twist in the dragon equivalent of a big smile.

Ken twisted at the head of the dragon and squeezed with his legs as if he were trying to control the huge beast. Ke’Enarsha swayed slightly, dipping left and right. Ken shouted in triumph again. Who could feel gloomy while riding on a dragon?

They circled around the diggings, and the construction sites. At this height, those scratchings looked pitifully small. What hope had he to conquer a world?

But riding a dragon tends to make such thoughts whisk away in the streaming wind. He had the assistance of a score of dragons, and he had the robots and computers of his ship. One man, not quite alone, would do what had to be done.

There was no other course.

[Darksheare]

Looking like a morsel would tend to be a bit of a problem, yes.

[Dead Corpse]

Gah... 100 proof.

Fingers were still drunk I guess.

[Dead Corpse]

Yeah... Me neither...

Wut?

[Tax-chick]

Well, then what?

[sionnsar]

ROFLOL!!!!!

Now I suppose I should return to the Rose Bowl game.

[Darksheare]

Ummm.. we’re working on it.
Hang tight.

[NicknamedBob]

Well, then about twenty more chapters of adventure happen.

They build a castle. (Big enough to accommodate dragons, of course.)

They decide how to deal with the problem of the ship, and of the frozen corpse, and of the Whitebox.

And that kind of stuff. I still have to write it, you know.

[Tax-chick]

That’s always the problem.

[Darksheare]

He secured the teleFRAG keys from their console on the opposite side of the abyss and began his search for EVA.
“Where was EVA last?” his radio crackled in response instead.
There was no sign of the elusive little spider anywhere in the remains of the control room, so he headed through the forward hatch.
Scorching and pitting was evident everywhere in the hallway as if a pitched battle had been held.
But against what?
Small glistening chunks of organic looking rock littered the floor as if in answer.
So some of the silicon bugs HAD made it aboard.
He unslung his weapon, checked his air reserves, and proceeded.
Static in his ear told him that control was attempting to tell him something.
He ducked under an air line and came face to something with a floating shape.
He backpedaled and aimed at it.
In the weightlessness of the room, the shape slowly turned to reveal a frozen Sigma.
“Control, I found him. I found sigma. He’s a Sigmacicle. How do I proceed?”
The static modulated and then cleared up.
“Bring him to the forward docking doors, portside if you can. We’ll retrieve him there.”
“But, he’s dead.”
“Dead is a relative statement with him. He was dead long before he vented the atmosphere in that room.”
“Wait, he vented the atmosphere..” he saw the weapon in Sigma’s hands, “Okay.. why? And you said he was already dead?”
There was a small hole in the hull overhead that light suddenly stabbed through, Bradmantes hulk was slowly rotating, the portside docking doors would be in sunlight shortly.
“The SLAVER incident, he’d been technically dead since then. You’ll understand more later, just bring him to the doors quickly.”
“And EVA?”
“Slight change of plans, you'll have to find her on the second pass. Or, more correctly, BOTH of her.” there was a bit of irony in that voice.
“Both?!” he thought as he slowly dragged the frozen and floating Sigma through the remains of the corridor, the portside docking doors were just up ahead to his left.
Just beyond the very cindered and broken silicon bug heap, which he fired into a few times just to be certain.
“I have him at the docking doors, obviously you want to transfer him without exposure to the sun?” a clunk outside was the response he got.
“Get him aboard shuttle 106. We'll take it from there.”
Sparks handed Sigma off to suited figures who cradled the presumed dead body in an aerogel like conformal protective layer before bringing him to the cryolab.
There, ‘operation waking the dead’ would hopefully meet with success.
Assuming the nanites had done their jobs.
“Patience old friend, you'll be back soon enough.” a familiar voice told the frozen figure wrapped in layers of gels and more exotic insulators.
Sparks went to say something, but the doors closed again.
“Continue forward, you may find EVA sleeping near the forward sensor blisters. Presumably listening for a signal that never came.”
Never came?
Why not?

[Tax-chick]

Oh, dear!

[Darksheare]

There’s more.
Waiting for NNB to peruse it and go, “Holy crap your editing is terrible.”
(Because, it is!)

[Tax-chick]

Your punctuation is a bit funky, but no big deal. It’s not like you’re paying for printing!

[NicknamedBob]

"Waiting for NNB to peruse it and go, “Holy crap your editing is terrible.” (Because, it is!)"

That's nothing to me, unless I decided to collaborate with you.

In which case, I'd have a lot of work to do ...