Setting the scene game, Mark II

[Interference]

At a space cafe in the debris rings of a derelict planet

Bump

".... nothing to be alarmed about, the shields are well capable of ...."

Coffee tastes of nothing out here. No reason it should taste worse than, say, mild decaff, but for some reason it does. Perhaps it's the water. Other food seems fine, though. They grow it back there somewhere. The meat flavours are actually quite convincing. The one thing that very few people I know have a good word for, though, is the -

Bump

".... to section three, please. Cleaning detail to section ...."

- chocolate. They tried synthesising it on earth, back when there weren't so many more important things to be getting on with, with no particularly obvious level of success. Just not economically viable to do any better, I suppose. It's meant to be packed full of energy. It's meant to keep us going while we -

Bump

".... running in the through-ways. No running in the ...."

Time. Where are we, time-wise. That's all right. Twenty minutes before I go on shift. I've done this shift before, haven't I? Last month, I'm pretty sure I had three days on this shift. What the Hell am I supposed to do? I'm pretty sure I'm on weights and measures, so it should be exactly like last month. What the Hell did I do last month? Can't even remember yesterday, let alone last month. That's right! Gravity fields. That's right. I'll need my -

Bump

- meter and more of this woeful chocolate.

Tedious work. Creating gravity fields strong enough to bind the core but not too strong so it ignites. They say we're still about three per cent shy of the target mass. They say that won't be a problem.

Won't be a problem for me, anyway. Mass is a different department.

You'd think, wouldn't you - yeah, more coffee, please. Can you make it taste more like it should this time? Hmm? I don't know. More like coffee, you know what coffee used to taste like, don't you? You weren't born in space.

She looks at me like she's already heard that one several million times too often. I should report her for insolence. Still, she looks good, so she probably gets away with it more than, say, Dolores. I like Dolores, but she's such a space-zombie, I swear she's forgotten what air smells like.

BUMP

".... secured properly. Please ensure that all tools and baggage are ...."

They should trap that one, it sounds like a big piece to me, that one. I'm betting they'll find their three per cent in the dust, I'll bet they haven't calculated for that. Or maybe they have. But in fairness, three per cent mass-loss isn't the end of the world.

Ha!

I made a joke. Same joke everybody makes out here. Suppose it was my turn.

What the Hell am I working on today? Oh, yeah, I said, didn't I. Gravity. Pulling it all together. All the rocks, all the slivers and the mile-wide chunks together to make it a planet again. Make it home again.

I swear -

Bump

- if any fewer of us had been off-planet when it happened, we'd never get this job done -

Bump

Now I think of it, it's more likely the milk ....



A Forest Clearing Where Nature Has Remained Undisturbed - Until Now

 

[Moonbat]

At a space cafe in the debris rings of a derelict planet


I hate my job, it sucks! I get home feeling so greasy it take three sonic showers to feel clean again. There's almost no point in have three showers anyway, I'll only get greasy again tomorrow.
I hate my job, I get in everyday and see the same old rugged faces, I get the same old greasy orders and each day I see the same pile of debris floating past the cafe. Sometimes I wonder if our customers are part of the debris, most of them just seem to drift in off the back of some rubbish, almost all of them smell like their living in mould.
I hate my job, everytime I think the day is going well something terible happens. Take last Tuesday, there I was, washing up a couple of plates, Ernie and Dave had been in for thier early week fry-up, so the plates were quite greasy. They both have the works, everything from Black pudding to curry via a entire kettle of tea. anyway I was washing up and I heard the door go, I says I'll be out in a minute. I don't hear no reply so I rush out hoping it isn't some space-junkie trying to empty the till. What do I see standing there? A Maloomphus. Clear as day, bright as life, a Maloomphus in my cafe. So I call for Ben but he's still busy on the toilet, he's gone for one of his light-dumps, it a term I use to suggest the distance light could travel whilst he's in the toilet, so far it's past the magellenic cloud.
So what do I do? Its a Maloomphus for crying out loud, I'm just a small middle aged famale chef/manageress, I don't know how to shoo a blooming great Maloomphus out of my cafe. I tried swinging the mop at it, but it grabbed the mop head and tried to eat it. I went back into the kitchen for a more threatening less edible weapon. I had to duck under the counter and as I did the mop head came flying out of the Maloomphus' mouth and went crashing into my ovens. The power of that thing was incredible, I'm still working with the dents to this day. Joe said he might fix em for me when he gets back from Titan, but Joe says he'll do alot of things when he gets backl from Titan. He still ain't back.
So there I am crawling into the kitchen with a Maloomphus firing mop heads about like they're cannonballs, I don't know what to do, so I grab the first threatening (potentially) utensil that I see. When Buck turned up in his cargo-tug I was backed into a corner waving a plasma pan around with a frightened but aggressive Maloomphus trying to take it from me. Eventually Buck stopped laughing and herded the damn thing out the cafe. I'm thinking of getting a Maloomphus proof doors fitted, but some of my regulars might have trouble using it themselves.

I hate my job!



In a dental surgery with a Maloomphus as a patient.

 

[Moonbat]

dammit, didn't post in time. Ignore mine then

 

[Interference]

No harm, Moonbat, it could be the same cafe

 

[Encephylops]

A Forest Clearing Where Nature Has Remained Undisturbed - Until Now


"The decomposition rate here is unfathomable, look!" Venda, the crew lead, leaned further over the patch of sunlight, pulling her hair tightly into a wad on the back of her head. There were a multitudinous gathering of Subvespa, Archimylacrys and Cruminuae scuttling over the thick layer of detritus on the jungle floor, and as the crew watched, the leafy mass was being devoured by millions of the chitinous creatures, most of which their staff Entomologist had never even seen before. He commented excitedly.

"These are mostly arthronous invertebrates," Derrick cried as he hastily gathered some of the larger specimens into small storage bags for later classification, "this is the discovery of a lifetime! Of two lifetimes!" He veritably danced around the edge of the little clearing, picking up fist-sized cockroaches and foot-long millepedes with his muddied hands as if he were a child again.

"You and your bugs be damned." Sirra, the slender botanist, was craning her head back, wide eyed and incredulous. "Watch the trees!" The whole crew joined her, turning their eyes upwards, towards the sky miles above to survey the miraculous growth occurring. The plant life around them was literally surging upwards, fighting leaf and bough for the right to what little sunlight filtered down this far. It was eerie to behold, the perceptible, even hurried growth that was occuring here in . "This is the strangest phenomenon I've ever encountered. To think that we're the first to witness this truth behind our planet's prehistory. No one back in our time will believe us."

"Oh, they'll believe it." The technician and photographer was busily pointing his complicated camera array at everything within view, the nonstop clicking shutter sound ensuing from his heavily-wired case. "I've got footage here that will be more highly sought-after than the glossies of the crucifixion or the one-on-one Australopithecus docudrama."

"Right Stu, you just keep telling yourself that. At least those were expected results, this is... beyond the realm of believability." Venda shook her head as she brought her attention back to the hubbub of life on the ground before her.

For the first time since arrival, the crew biologist Aeta spoke up. "Can't you feel it?" They all turned and looked at the aged scientist. "We're growing too, every cell in our bodies is eating up the excess oxygen and CO² in the atmosphere. If we stay longer than the few hours we've been here, we may be in serious danger of asphyxiation when we return."

"What are you on about, now?" The camera pointed itself at the wizened man. "Tell me more regarding this post-re-arrival asphyxiation?" Some of the crew chuckled, the rest were silent waiting for the reply. The elderly biologist spoke.

"Do you realize that the air we're breathing right now has more than quadruple the chemical constituents of the atmosphere circa 2056? Our bodies are rapidly adapting to the climate here, a climate that allows trees to grow from seed to giant in weeks, if not days." Aeta's words were puctuated fittingly by the pop of huge seedpods bursting in the soil. "If we remain in this overabundance of oxygen, we're likely to be seriously effected by the huge amount of carbons and man-made gases in the atmosphere of our era. We may already be in serious danger."

"And if we stay longer?" Venda queried.
"If we don't return within the next 2 to 4 hours, we may be unable to safely warp back. I'd advise a return trip now, and a secondary crew dispatched immediately upon arrival."

"Impossible," whined Derrick.
Stu chimed in. "I'm not nearly finished here, Aeta. There are days worth of tape to fill, and no one besides me is going to get these shots."
"What about the soil samples and tree boring and seed collection? I can't let some flunkie get all the glory for naming unclassified organisms, no way," chirped Sirra.

"Then stay. I'm not risking it, I'm too old for the transfer. It was a danger to me just to make the chronos jump here in the first place." He gestured at the gleaming cylinder that was barely visible through the thick jungle. "I'll be returning in 2 hours, and you're all coming with me. There's no other option if we're to preserve the safety of all."

The rest of the crew was silent.

They spent the last of their time in the carboniferous period doing basic fieldwork and signing off each other's digital paperwork and, as the dull sun sunk lower in the steaming sky, they packed their gear and made the short hike back to the chronos unit. Venda, the last to enter the module, looked back over her shoulder, watching the smaller plant life growing up and the huge giants withering to become food for the rest of the forest.

She smiled, and closed the hatch behind her.


In a dental surgery with a Maloomphus as a patient.

 

[Interference]

Very nice, Encephylops. Worth developing further?


In a dental surgery with a Maloomphus as a patient.

 

[Interference]

Ah! I think I have something!

In a dental surgery with a Maloomphus as a patient.

The words mean nothing. Only the pain registers, and the soothing, mellow sounds that issue from the biped sticking a knife in my mouth.

"Your pain threshold isn't very high, is it? Make a note of that, Miss Pall. Now, then, upper left bicuspid. Yeeees. Let me get the hair out of it. Mouse hair, is it? Rat? Hold still, just tilt your head back, hold it there, back a bit more. That's fine, yes, a bit more that way, that's good, there we are, here we go, my oh my what a mess. Do you floss?"

Some of the sounds are familiar, the "yes" noise, for instance which seemed always to be connected with some form of approval. It was a pleasant sound connected with pleasant things. "Back" meant something, too, something to do with a bad thing, a thing that made you flinch away. The "mouse" sound resonates somewhere, but not terribly securely. Tummy rumbling a bit. Food suddenly coming to mind. I think "mouse" is like an instruction of some sort.

"I think we'll need a filling there, Miss Pall, make a note, won't you? There, there, my little Maloomphus, be calm."

Soothing sounds again, limbs relaxing, muscles un-tensing. No sounds to fear, to flinch or hide from, in that collection. "Maloomphus" is a sound that likes me.

"He's behaving very well," the female biped says and it sounds lovely in my ears; my ears feel happy.

"Yes, he's a goood boy, a goooood boy."

Calming sounds that make my eyes slide closed.

"You know, I haven't had a coffee all morning, Miss Pall."

"It's been a busy morning all right."

"I'd kill for a coffee right now."

Sound. Bad sound. Bad sound angry. Bad angry angry. Sound angry angry.

***

"... and as the battle continues to rage, there is still no indication as to what set the normally peaceful Maloomphus on such a terrible spree of killing that has left five dead and four more in a state of shock ..."


A Row Boat On A Boating Pond in Winter

 

[chrispenycate]

The chair looked as if it had started off as a standard dental accessory, and had had extra steel reinforcements and restraints welded on just about everywhere. Still, it's occupant looked very much the same, and left a vague apprehension as ti whether there was enough steel; it would stop a tank, sure, but that?
"Two number sixty-two wedges please, Nurse, and" the dentist stopped a second to size up the affair "the number four mallet."

She'd wondered what those PTFE blocks in the cupboard were, and assumed they were for chocking the wheels of a car or something. Her nervousness must have leaked through her "Yes, Doctor", as he turned round from tightening up a thick metal staple that turned out to be an arm restraint, one of many.

"Your first maloomphus? We get a fair number through, they can't be trained to brush their teeth properly, and the things they eat...

We only need the restraints because none of the standard anaesthetics work; he knows we're going to make him better, don't you boy?"

He patted the enormous forearm, and went on to tightening a head band until the inch-thick metal twanged.

"Now, just put them to the back of his jaw and" rolling up the sleeves of his immaculate white coat "I'll tap them into place. Open up for miss Chacrata, please. At least there's no problem of access; I could work from inside."

Still a little nervously - those teeth looked as if they could bite her head off, not merely her arm - she manoeuvred the heavy block into the foul-smelling space. It was obvious which of the teeth were giving problems – the inflammation and swelling of the gum would have told her without the blackened, splintered look of the objects themselves – but the others didn't look any too good, either.
"That's right. Now just hold it steady while I firm it up."
A slight grunt punctuated the impact of the malled, but the head didn't move; it couldn't.

"Now the other"

She aimed a small searchlight into the gaping maw. Dental school didn't prepare you for situations like this. The dentist's tool kit was a little non-standard, too; he started with a perfectly ordinary Black and Decker hand drill, with a high-pressure hose taped to the side, and she could see an angle grinder, a lump hammer and a mole wrench among the more conventional tools.

"Stand back, please."

The drill screamed, but that was as nothing to the roar from the patient. They could have sold that to Hollywood for dinosaur sound effects, except that no cinema system would ever have been able to produce the level. She noticed belatedly that Doctor O'Brien had put in ear plugs, as well as nose filters. If her hearing ever recovered she'd do the same next time. Another pull on the trigger and a fountain of blood and pus hit the ceiling and spattered back over their clothing, tools and any exposed skin, causing the latter to itch forcefully.

"Hose us down please, nurse. Ah, yes, that's the problem child."

He was collecting shattered bits of root out of the blazing red gum with pliers, keeping a trickle from the hose to clear the new blood, now a healthy purple red. "Swab" (something as large as one of her pillows) "Now, we'll just do the one on the other side, and I'll prepare your dentures. Stainless steel or synthetic sapphire this time?"

The grunt was apparently comprehensible round the wedge and the underdeveloped speech centres in the creature's brain, as the no longer quite so immaculately white-coated dentist fired up his drill again. This time she saw the chair deform under the stress, despite the extra metal, but she must have got numb; the cry didn't seem quite as painful.

"Just a filling here." An end-miller replaced the masonry bit "the root's still solid."

The work went on, popping through to the lathe in the next room to machine out a false tooth, tamping amalgam into a cavity big enough to have an echo, but finally the wedges were removed, the tethers released and a big - an enormous smile spread across the thick features. The thanks were hardly any more comprehensible without the wedges, but the pleasure was real.

"My assistant will give you your bill, do try and keep them clean this time…"

Feeding time on a dragon farm in transylvania

Oh, dear, this thread seems to be collecting double posts. I suppose it gives an iteresting comparison of styles.

 

[Moonbat]

Well done Chris, I really enjoyed that. I was wonering who if anyone was going to take it on.

 

[Interference]

Hey! I did one for that, too!

 

[chrispenycate]

Hey! I did one for that, too!

Yes, you did. And the amount by which you preceded me in time gives an indication of how slowly I type.

While the next contender can try and work out how to set up a dragon farm on a rowing boat.

I suppose we could make it e bireme, with dragons at the oars…

 

[Moonbat]

Feeding time on a dragon farm in transylvania

Farming dragons isn't what it used to be, not since the corporations got involved. It used to be a challenge, a battle of wills between you and the beasts, now they're so lifeless I could poke em in the eyes if I wanted.
Feeding time used to be one of the moments I looked forward too, in fact it was seeing my first feeding frenzy that made me want to be a dragon farmer. I remeber it so vividly, the air was cold, it was still early and the sky was overcast, but it didn't stop the dragons from playing around, dogfighting in the air. Then the farmer came out, he was driving the trough truck and before I even noticed the smell the herd was cricling above, some swooped down to investigate and immediately swept up again into the sky, re-joining the circling herd. They worked as a unit, there was always a heirachy involved, and the matriarch dragon would take the lead.
As I watched them circle and dive towards the truck I felt scared for the farmer, I thought are they going to devour him and rip him to shreds before they feasted on the trough. Of course that was silly, these may have been free-range dragons but they were still animals being farmed, herded by the farmer as it were. The trough truck stopped in the centre of the field and the farmer hopped out of the cab and jogged to a safe distance. Once he was far enough away he (I'm assuming as I couldn't see) activiated the trough to open.
The roar of the dragons as the full force of the fumes hit them shook me through my feet and my body. There was an excitment in the cries that I hadn't heard. The typical dragon roars were all battle sounds, but this was like a cry of joy. The matriarch landed first, quickly followed by five or six other large females, they tipped the trough over and squabbled over the spilled contents. Soon the matricarch moved away with a large carcass in her claws, the other females followed suit. Then it was time for the males, there was always more males than females, they were easier to control, too many females and they would create seperate factions that fought to the death. The males were more orderly, visibly queing in the sky before landing and quickly scoffing some feed before the ones behind hurried them along. After half an hour all was done, a few males still clung to the trough, trying to lick it clean. It was all very exciting back then, now it's boring.

I take the truck from the abbotoire to the dragon house, I don't even look inside, I just reverse the truck up to the feed sluice and press a button to dump my contents. I can usually hear the dragons inside, but they are all contained in seperate cages, the sluice delivers the feed stright to the dragons mouth, it's all very efficient and automated.

I don't know, they said farming dragons would never change, it had been the same for eons, but now it's all battery dragon farming, the thrill has gone out of it. And you should see the state of some of these poor beasts, it's heart breaking.

Orbiting a Gas giant waiting for a cosmic event to happen

 

[Encephylops]

Poor dragons... I'll take a handbag in red. Preferably something with an eye detail on...

Very nice, Encephylops. Worth developing further?

I'm flattered that you think so, but I doubt that this team will accomplish anything else of much import in the Carboniferous period. Although that survey crew out on Enceladus might have more to take care of...

Orbiting a Gas giant waiting for a cosmic event to happen

 

[Moonbat]

Hey! I did one for that, too!

Yes you did Interference, and a very good tale it was too. Whilst I felt that Chris captured more fo the physical side of the Maloomphus I think you capture perfectly thier impressionable nature.

I might have to write a tale of the Maloomphus. (i didn't know they had tails?)