The Curious Case of The Trike on the Plains...

[Nik]

This is only an excerpt, posted here rather than in the TexasEdu thread.
http://www.sffchronicles.co.uk/forum/50499-texas-board-of-uneducation.html
The tale is a work in progress but, IMHO, the philosophy is relevant...
---

The Curious Case of The Trike on the Plains.
(working title ;-)

Joseph Brown is a five foot ten, lanky coastal ecologist with 'Stranglers Hands'. Graphic-design artist Michelle Christie-Stratton, now his fiancee, is five feet nought of spunk and lithe sinew.

This time, instead of a VR Victorian pastiche, J&M find themselves on a fly/drive honeymoon out of Vegas. That, as they say, is the good news...

Playing his character a bit too enthusiastically, Joe whimsically named their huge trike 'Topsi' for 'Trikeratops LasVegassi'...
===

We rode in silence until Michelle mused, "Gotta wonder-- Does Rentonville vanish into pixie dust now we're gone ?"
"Ugh !" I shuddered seismically, "That's like something from Stephen King !!"
" 'Langoliers' !" Michelle chuckled, "Want to go back and look ?"
"Er, no, thanks..."
"Perhaps we were walk-on characters for the Hoffmans' adventure ?"
"Hmm... Multi-threaded ?" I wondered, "Fits with how we began..."
"Hit by low-flying ostriches ! I still can hardly believe it !"
"Yeah..." I nodded to myself, "Made us better people."
"Sorry, Joe, didn't catch that ?"
"Just thinking... Baker Street. You. Me."
"Uh-huh."
"Uh-huh."

As our trike ate miles, the side-turnings thinned out. Finally, we were arrowing across an arid plain. Scrub and outcrops flowed by. From time to time, the road crossed deep, dry gulleys. There was no other traffic.
"Sign coming up." Michelle commented, "Eyes right ?"
"Oh ? Mining Museum thirty miles ?"
"Reckon they'll have a coffee shop ?"
"Worth a try." I agreed.
Just after the Museum's twenty-mile sign, the road flowed over a low rise then began to swing between eroded buttes.
"I wonder what they mined ?"
"No idea, Michelle... I know Scotland's geology inside out, but--"
"If we were planning a fly/drive out of Vegas--"
"Uh-huh."
"Would you like to ?"
"As the real us, perhaps..." I could see enough pink reflected in the roll-bar's chrome, "Neat camper van, tow a trike ?"
"With obligatory sticker !" Michelle chortled, "Don't come knockin', when this van's rockin' !"
I couldn't reply for a while. My ears were burning and my chest was tight...

"Ten miles !" Michelle called, "Hello, that sign's different !"
"And newer..." I noted, "Some hills rising on the right. Promising."
"Still no traffic."
"I know." I shrugged, "I-- I keep working it through. This is another Sim ? Yes ?"
"Sure. Superb, enormous, but gotta be a Sim."
"Anachronous Tech."
"Trick doors."
"The corner mirror thing."
"This trike."
"Uh-huh."
"Uh-huh."
"So how did Uncle S' puzzle-box with the dozen Victorian sovereigns get into my Landy ?"

"I-- That still makes my head hurt." Michelle reasoned, "If S--"
"Or who-ever's avatar S is--"
"Uh-huh."
"Uh-huh."
"If S can muck about with Reality--"
"Move stuff about--"
"Photons, too--"
"Change reflections and perceptions on the fly--"
"Photo-Shop 3D !" Michelle giggled.
"Then, perhaps--"
"If Plockton was real--"
"Is most of this real ?"
The trike wobbled as Michelle shuddered, "I told you that made my head hurt !"

"But how much is real ?" I pressed, "The motel en-suite--"
"Was anachronous."
"The Hoffmans talked in clichés."
"And the bikers..." The trike shivered with Michelle, "But they would ! We do !"
"Uh-huh."
"Joe, if I'd thought --Even just one tiny bit !-- that any of this might be real, I'd have gone for the chicken stew."
"That bad ?"
"Or gone hungry."
"Oh."
"Baker Street ? My parcel with the boy's cowboy outfit ?"
"And the real revolver ?" I shivered despite the day's heat, "That was scary."
"I nearly shot you by accident. I've thought about that again and again, and I can't figure it."
"I told you what 'Uncle S' said..."
"Still does not make sense. Unless it was just, like you said, 'New Level'."

"There's... There's another possibility."
"Spit it, Joe."
"The mad Nephew's 'Nursery Massacre' set ?"
"You didn't go into detail."
"Fake gore." I hesitated, "Good fake gore."
"Uh-huh."
"Valet, maid, butler, Nanny and child-- They went down fighting."
"Ah... But if I'd had the pistol--"
"Don't take a knife to a gun-fight."
"Gotcha." A breath, "Anti-virus ?"
"Could be."
"Levels within levels, you said."
"Felt that way."
"Joe, some of those sets were my IdMonsters..."
"I-- I guessed. The Modern Medusa--"
"Of course." A sniff, "I did pose for Cousin Andy's original !"
"The BlackWidow SpiderWoman--"
"I-- I nearly turned to the Dark Side, Joe. I had a foot in the door..."

I waited for Michelle to continue. Instead, she changed the subject, "Joe, if I half-suspected any of this might be real-- Even if we were travelling as you and me-- I would have by-passed that biker bar-- Like the Biblical thing, 'On The Other Side' ?"
"Ah."
"Joe, I ride a lovely Yam'. I got my BikerFu. I can walk the walk and talk the talk. But, even in UK, there's dates and places us sane bikers avoid. Out here..." A breath, "Out here, there's meth labs, drug runners, paranoid militias, fundamentalist freaks, raving-loony nut-jobs, more guns than cars..."
"Uh-huh."
"And a million acres of sage-brush for shallow graves..."
"Ouch."
"Uh-huh."
"So we're on Baker Street's 'Next Level'--"
"We gotta be careful."
"And... And we need to introduce ourselves as soon as we can ?"
"Uh-huh."
"Uh-huh."

"Hello, turn in one mile ?" I read the next sign, scanned the irregular horizon, "Can't see a mine-head... Could be a drift mine, I suppose. Potash or Barites, perhaps."
"Know much about mining ?"
"Not a lot..."
"You mean you could only talk about it for half an hour ?"
"D'uh..."
"Just teasing, Joe !" A chuckle, "And there's the turn. We're going right..."
The trike swung onto the side-road.
"At least it is a real road, not a dirt-track..." I muttered.
"Black-top, Joe, black-top."
"Uh-huh."
The access road snaked around an eroded outcrop, wandered up a shallow valley.
"We should be getting near." Michelle checked her odometer again, "Oh ? Is that it ?"
"Shed roof, looks modern." My slightly higher sight-line gave a few more details, "Dinosaurs painted on the walls."
"I hope they have some local finds !"

Michelle eased the trike into the well-rolled car-park. One dusty SUV sat in the shed's shade. We parked alongside, dismounted. A fresh sign decorated the doors' lintel, 'Under New Management'. Beneath that, the original read, 'Museum & Coffee Shop'.
"Looks good !" Michelle chuckled, "Make mine a tall Latté !"
"And one for me !" I doffed helmet and gloves, opened my pink leathers' jacket before I broiled, followed Michelle to the entrance.
"Blessedly cool." She decided as we peered around the foyer, "Ah ! The coffee shop !"
The lonely waitress sat up, blinked with surprise.
"Good afternoon !" Michelle smiled, "May we have two tall lattés, please ?"
"I-- Er-- Y-- Yes !" She set a ribbon place-mark, put her leather-bound book aside, started up the machine, "Please, sit !"
We found seats, landed our helmets, waited for the water to boil. The waitress looked tired, gaunt rather than slim, was dressed very plainly, and her eyes seemed sad. She kept throwing us worried glances.
"I'm Michael C. Stratton." Michelle called, "With my wife, Josephine !"
"This is our honeymoon !" I PinkBabed, "We're having such fun !"
"Oh !" The waitress relaxed slightly, busied herself with the makings.

I'd disported myself where I could watch the door and a window onto the car-park, whispered, "Company..."
"Good Afternoon ! Welcome to our... Our..." He was dressed more formally than I would have expected for a mining museum. He looked more like a desk-jockey than a miner or geologist, had soft hands. He also had a very disapproving expression.
"I'm Michael C. Stratton." Michelle repeated, "With my wife, Josephine."
"They're on their honeymoon, Uncle !" The waitress offered, flinched from his glare.
"We saw the sign for the Mining Museum, thought we'd stop by." Michelle smiled, "Your café is a delightful break from the road-- Such a lovely smell of coffee !"
The disapproval was muted, but still evident.
"I'm sure there was no gold-mine here..." A grin, "Something useful, like Potash or Barites ?"
It earned a grudging nod, "Gold and silver would have drawn a horde of Godless men to these parts..."
"And Loose Women like the Whores of Babylon !" The waitress added as she jetted the first mug, earning an approving nod.
"Do we pay for museum entry with our coffees ?" Michelle made sure her plain ring showed, and I, mine.
"Our displays are free to all Children of God !" A smile, "We do welcome contributions."
"Oh, that's nice !" I PinkBabed, hiding my disquiet.
"Oh, I'm sure we'll enjoy the exhibits !" Michelle echoed, "And here's our coffee ! Ooh, they smell so good !"

We loitered over our lattés until the man got bored and retreated.
"Under new management ?" Michelle muttered, "The mind boggles..."
"I'm curious." I admitted.
"You're not going postal on us ?"
"No way !" I chuckled, "Like I said, I'm curious."
Michelle took our empties to the counter, paid with a $10. She got a five, a one and coins change, left the one with a nod. We needed three steps into the exhibition to place the new theme.
"Young Earth Creationism ?" Michelle whispered as she side-stepped a brooding and rather dusty Ankylosaur skeleton.
"Uh-huh." I peered at dodgy dioramas depicting a too-literal Genesis. We politely oohed over an unfortunate stegosaur contesting a cave mouth with a spear-wielding couple. The Noah's Flood exhibit's back-drop suggested a tsunami, perhaps prompted by the Chicxulub impact. A couple more displays brought us to the Greco-Roman era, another covered GodFearing settlers staking their claim on the empty land. Tucked away by the exit, a nice, cut-away model showed the old mine, with drifts driven into the hill-side, passages following the veins, their ventilation shaft and mineral railway.

"I-- I think we're done." Michelle admitted. We hesitated by the tiny shop's 'Evidence of The Flood' display of badly prepared 'dollar' Ammonites, declined their $10 price. I paused to drop a couple of tokens into the collection jar, then we headed for the rest-rooms. I was used to working in overalls, but wriggling out of my Leathers in that small cubicle took longer than I expected. Fortunately, I was not desperate. I was glad to rejoin Michelle in the foyer.
"Are you going so soon ?" He could move quietly.
"I'm afraid so." Michelle shrugged, "We started late, we have a lot of distance to cover."
"Is that your vehicle outside ?"
I bit back a rude rejoinder about 'beaming down', gave him a full-on PinkBabe, "Oh, yes ! Topsi is such fun !"
"Ah... We're holding a Reading in a few minutes, you are welcome to join us."
"Oh, that is so kind !" Michelle gushed, "But, really, we couldn't possibly impose..."
"It would be no trouble..."

"I'm sorry, we're not dressed for Chapel." Michelle stated, "Our pants and T-shirts would be unseemly."
"We could wait for you to change from your riding clothes ?"
"The airline lost our bags--" Michelle began.
"The airline lost my trousseaux !" I pouted, "All I've got is my little pink dress-- But it matches my hair !"
"Oh, dear ! That is unfortunate-- Er, I mean..." He gulped, changed the subject, "I hope you enjoyed the exhibition ?"
"Oh, yes, there was such a lot of work, so much detail !" Michelle smiled, "I'm sure it will be one of our favourite memories of this trip !"
For all the wrong reasons, of course, prompting my innocent, "I think it was lovely ! So tasteful !"
That drew a smile, "Have a nice day, now !"
"You, too." Michelle nodded, "And your studious niece."

Several SUVs and pick-ups were arriving as we climbed onto our trike. The occupants were dressed dour, gave us looks ranging from glowering disapproval to lynch-jury. Fortunately, they held their tongues. We managed to suppress our giggles for about half a mile.
"Oh, Joe ! I don't know how you kept a straight face !"
"Wasn't easy..." I hiccupped, got my breathing under control, "They've got the Universe pegged as ten thousand years old--"
"Just a bit off !"
"More than a bit given my caravan stands on 450 million year old rocks, and the Lewisian Gneiss on the outer islands is nearer three billion !"
"I-- I kept expecting you to say something cruel..."
" 'All I've got is my little pink dress'." I repeated, "Wasn't that enough ?"
"You know what I mean--"
"Sure, Michelle, sorry..." I shook my head, "Sad part-- If this is a Sim, they're almost right."
"Ah..."
"Yeah, if they didn't exist until we woke up here, ten thousand is 'tennessee windage' by comparison with Earth's four point or the BigBang's thirteen point billions."
"Joe, you have a sentimental streak..."
"I gotta tube of cream for it..."
Michelle was still giggling when she turned the trike onto the '66.

 

[Noah Phoenix]

I'm really sorry, but I tuned out a few lines in. I have no idea what's going on or where these guys are. Is the 'Trike' a Triceratops? Are they in Vegas America, or Scotland?
I realise this is an excerpt, but where is it from? The beginning? The start? What on earth is the first part of the conversation about? I'm all for references to past adventures or encounters to flesh out the characters, but not at the expense of my brain. Also, I think there's a little too much here to comment on fully. I'll take another look at some point, but my first impression is that I just couldn't read it.
Sorry to be so negative!

 

[HareBrain]

I agree this is quite hard work. I started off thinking it felt like (I imagine) one of those baseball machines that pitches balls at you. You hit the first couple through sheer concentration, start thinking you've got the hang of it, then you miss one, your concentration goes slightly and suddenly you're being attacked by ten balls a second with no chance of doing anything but lying curled up on the ground with your arms over your head.

So I skipped to the last third, then went back and started from the beginning again. It's well-written, and there's some interesting stuff in there, but you don't make things easy for the reader. The dialogue is rather staccato, the two main characters' voices not hugely distinct from each other, and the fact that there's almost nothing but dialogue at first makes the dialogue carry a lot of the burden of communicating everything to the reader (and there is a lot to communicate; in terms of information given per word, it's incredibly, perhaps even breathlessly, compact). I would also like to know if the things they're referring back to actually occurred earlier in the story, or if this is the beginning (I assume not, but can't be sure) and we have to piece it together?

To my mind, though, there's nothing actually wrong with this approach you've taken. It's intelligent and, certainly on second reading, entertaining, if a little too fast-paced for me. But I think you do risk losing readers who won't make it to the second reading. Also, I enjoyed the "punchline" (about the ironic accuracy of the YEC) but is there any more "point" to it than this? (Though if this is only an aside in a longer story, there probably doesn't need to be.)

One small technical point, in a line like ["I'm curious." I admitted.] the first full-stop should be a comma. (As a way of checking, if you speak it aloud, it's clearly one sentence, not two.)

 

[Nik]

Hi, Noah, did you check the referenced link, which eventually comes to YECs' conviction that any internal evidence of an ancient earth was planted during the throes of the 'recent' biblical creation process ??

By the same logic, as ChrisPennyCate mentioned, the YECs could have been brought into existence mid-thought...

Or, in this case, when M&J woke in an unfamiliar motel room in what they *strongly* suspect is a VR Sim...

( Think 'ST:TNG Holodeck' writ huge... )

I felt the moderators would have been, um, unhappy if I posted this tale's reasoning in-line there, so I put it here.

This is the afternoon of M&J's first day in this is-it/isn't-it scenario. The 'AsYouKnow, Joe' back-story was done ASAP in the morning, hence my brief intro...

D'uh, if you have a scientific mind, are cruelly cast against type as a PinkBabe and find you're riding a huge trike on a possibly-virtual fly/drive out of *that* Vegas, calling it 'Trikeratops LasVegassi' (" 'Topsi' for short." ;-) is a joke on multiple levels...

D'uh, even allowing for a decade or two of worst-case global warming, I don't think Scotland will feature any hot, dry deserts. More likely, given Central Europe's summer extremes drawing in airflow, continental-edge Scotland will get rain, rain and yet more rain...

I'm sorry you found this excerpt difficult to follow. My two protagonists are bright people with a lot of back-story and much to consider, bounce a lot of complex ideas off each other...
===

Thanks for your thoughts, HareBrain, our posts crossed.

 

[The Judge]

Have to confess I also found it difficult to read. In fact, I only read the first block of dialogue before giving up and I almost left the thread altogether at that point. In the end I came down to the comments to see if there was anything that might give me a better idea of what was going on - and whether it was worth my while giving the piece a second chance.

I wonder if it might have been an idea to have posted a little more explanation at the top. The detail you give of the characters' (presumably usual) physical characteristics while entertaining in itself, wasn't of any great help. For instance, I'm not particularly thick, but I read the end bit twice before fully cottoning on they have changed sexes since you never tell us that - all of a sudden Michelle is announcing she's Michael but I wasn't sure if that was meant to be some kind of joke. I know there's an earlier reference to a pink reflection, but that was effectively meaningless. (NB Not sure if you're saying there's another thread with an earlier scene on the critiques board with this background info - but I don't think you can rely on people reading it unless you flag it up in some way.)

Frankly, it was only HareBrain's cautious praise that made me try reading it again and even then I found myself jumping most of the middle to reach the bit that was pertinent to the YEC question.

I take on board what you say about the characters' intelligence, and clearly people who know each other so intimately can speak in an elliptical fashion - but if you want readers to follow their conversation, I'm afraid you'll have to make it a little easier on us. And if you're putting it up for critiquing as a free-standing scene, it might be better to prune away most of the references to earlier adventures unless they have a direct and easily understood bearing on this one. I'm with Noah on this point - fleshing out the characters is one thing, making them incomprehensible is another. And frankly, even as part of a novel where I'd been with them through those earlier adventures, so I understood what they were talking about, I don't know that I'd have wanted to read through all of this spare, almost impenetrable dialogue. My opinion, for what it's worth, is that you've got to edit it down - and drastically.

Yes, the punchline is clever, and the ending funny. But I don't think that's enough by itself. You've got to take your readers with you - or most of them won't make it to the end.

Sorry this is so negative. You're obviously fiercely intelligent yourself, and when you let yourself relax in the writing as opposed to the relentless rat-a-tat of the dialogue, you've got an interesting voice with some interesting things to say. I just don't think people will stick around to listen unless you make things easier for them.

J

 

[Noah Phoenix]

I do apologize, this obviously isn't aimed at the lower intelligence classes such as myself. I take no offence, by the way.

 

[zachariah]

You've got some weird punctuation going on there. Avoid the double-dash, don't put full stops at the end of a spoken quote unless you're ending the line there (like Harebrain said), DON'T put a space before all of your exclamation marks.

And you seriously over use the 'I-I' verbal tick to start a sentence.

And yes, it is extremely difficult to follow and understand.

 

[dustinzgirl]

Nik, what I think you have here is a really good outline of character interaction. I think what most are saying is that it needs more substance. I think it would hold water as flash fiction (1k wd/less) but not as a short story or novella as it stands.

 

[zachariah]

Just to add that I liked it overall, which probably wasn't clear from my post

 

[Nik]

Thanks, Zachariah...

Sadly, I must punctuate with that extra space because I write in Notepad and, even at 14 point, my middle-aged eyes often *cannot see* ?!- etc without it...
8-((

D'uh, I posted this excerpt for the protagonists' YEC encounter rather than as a stand-alone chunk. I knew it was, um, elliptical and, um, rather concentrated, I did not expect it would dismay...

FWIW, 'The Curious Tale of The Days In The Night' is posted at...
The Curious Case Of The Days in The Night. - Fantasy, Sword and Sorcery Writings - Other Writing Forums - alternate history fiction - Message Board - Yuku

'Uncle S' perhaps plays a role akin to Q in ST-TNG --If less visibly-- and seems mischievous rather than cruel.

M&J are bright enough to notice that 'Uncle S' also seems to have played 'Matchmaker' for them. Two apparently un-alike people who'd never have met are thrown together, thrown a succession of bizarre curve-balls and become fast-friends...

FWIW, the protagonists are beset by their IdMonsters.
eg Science-Stream Joe had to do TheatreClub for essential Arts Credits, reluctantly played Junior Pantomime Dame when both leads fell ill, resented that he had *wild* fun. Later learned that he didn't need all those formal Art credits for Science entry, his busy Summers working on a coastal farm sufficed. That really rankled. It also presents a BigJuicyTarget for 'Uncle S' to tease.

Michelle, now his fiancee, is a TomBoy: Bikes, horse-rides, free-climbs etc. As a skinny youngster in SealedKnot, her 'Nomme De Guerre' was Mickey Stratton. When she hit adolescence and developed modest 'currrves', they told her she could only be a HorseHolder, Drummer or Wench. She'd rather ride, she preferred her Strat' or authentic AlOud (loot/lute ;-), she refused to flaunt or flirt: GameOver.

Cross-over forces both to 'wriggle on the hook'...

 

[Blackrook]

I have to admit I was confused. There's probably a good story in here somewhere.

 

[Nik]

Start: Curious Case of The Trike on the Plains...

I posted the excerpt because the characters' argument seemed relevant to a thread elsewhere on forum.

Unfortunately, there wasn't enough context for unwary readers. So, here's the start of this tale. Sorry, it runs a bit longer than usual.

If this is #1, the excerpt is #4 or #5, set after lunch...
===========

"Joe ! Joe, wake up !"
"Uuuurgh..."
I'm not a morning person. Given an hour, time for coffee and toast on auto-pilot, my wits re-boot. Shaking my shoulder did not cut it. Not even close...
"Joe ! Wake up ! Everything's wrong !"
Emergencies are different. I sat up suddenly, looked around, "Whazzat ??"
Five feet nought of spunk and lithe sinew, Michelle rolled her big, brown eyes, "Everything !"
"D'uh ?" I blinked sleep, focussed, "Your hair--"
"Gone. All gone-- Yours, too." She waved, "Scars and all-- Everything but eye-lashes !"
"Huh ?" The room looked normal, but it wasn't ours. Different room, different bed. Arguably, different bodies, "Oops."
"We're not in Kansas any more." She quipped, "Or Plockton."
"We're back in the Sim ??"
"Sorry, Joe-- Another cross-over." Michelle sighed, "At least this is contemporary..."
I groaned.

I did not give any listeners the benefit of my Uncle Dougal's agricultural expletive collection. Instead, I took a few deep breaths, tried to shift the dawn's cobwebs, looked around.
"Uhh..." My gaze met Michelle's neat night-shirt. Now a boyish blue and white stripe, it lacked her trademark 'Modern Medusa'. Then I glimpsed what I wore. I threw back the different duvet, goggled at the pink, marabou-trimmed confection that replaced my shorts. I knew that shade. I swallowed curses, spat, "Pod-room Pink !"
Michelle's lips twitched at my restraint. She nodded, held up her left hand, "Lookee !"
"Uh ?" I focussed on her ring-finger's slim, platinum band, "On you, it looks good !"
That earned a smile and, "You've got one, too."
Yes, I'd a matching band. I tugged ungently.
"Won't come off." She stated, "Oh, and nice nails, Joe !"

"Uh ?" I turned my big, 'strangler' hands about. Tensing found familiar muscle and sinew beneath my flawless skin. Yes, they'd lost their tan and weathering. Yes, they'd lost their scabs and scars, their work and karate callouses. Smooth, un-lined, my strong fingers now bore perfect, oval nails. I felt those carefully, "They're not thin, they're like talons !"
Michelle's forehead twitched. If she'd had eye-brows, they would have soared to her hair-line. She considered my finding for a moment, added, "And there's this..."
An ornate certificate, it purported to be from the Third Church of Murphy, Las Vegas, Presiding Minister, the Reverend Peter Finagle, "Huh ? A quicky marriage license ?"
"Gets better." Her finger drew my gaze, "The names ?"
I stared, deciphered the handsome document's florid font, "Between-- Mr Michael C. Stratton, Artist ? And Ms Josephine Brown, Researcher ?"
"Makes us official, I suppose..." A shrug, "Some motels can be fussy."

I needed a long, slow breath, "Okay, Scout, what have we this time ?"
"Good news and bad." A grimace, a gesture at the window's half-drawn curtain, "Contemporary, semi-desert, middle of no-where."
"Uh-huh." I waved at the room, "Basic motel ?"
A nod, a dangled key-fob, "Big Roadster Trike."
"Harley ?" I knew Michelle's tastes, "Or Yam' ?"
"No..." A short head shake, "Custom or Concept. Can't see much from this angle."
Was that a flicker of awe ? I set our super-trike's implications aside for a moment, "And the bad news ?"
"Usual magic doors-- More than a lock's holding ours shut. Windows only open a couple of inches, glaze is waaay stronger than glass. Door, frames and walls are solid. Then there's our leathers..." She inclined her head towards the door. A low table had two hefty, Ferrari-red saddle cases. Coat hooks hung our leathers. The first two-piece set, with matching full-face helmet, gloves and flat boots, was Ferrari-red and 'petite'. The similar, second set was my length, but Pod-room pink. Worse, the boots' absurd platform soles would push my lanky five feet ten well beyond six feet...

"Ah..." I allowed, "I thought you liked red ?"
Michelle's eyes flickered sideways, met mine. I winked. She nodded, "Gets better: There's no food here, but I glimpsed a Diner's neon sign. We'll have to dress for breakfast."
"I hope they don't mind bikers..."
"We can't wear our Leathers, they're stuck. Wardrobes have my casual suit and your 'Going Away' outfit."
I shuddered, "Worse than my bifid-busked Victorian Nanny ?"
"Hmm." She considered our previous adventure, "Yes."
"Ah." I eased out of bed, stumbled across to our leathers. Yes, the hung sets were some-how stuck to the wall, while helmets and boots adhered to the floor. I turned to the wardrobes. One held a casual-smart suit, suitable for a fashionable young man. I guessed the cut would mask Michelle's pert bust. The other was an explosion of Pod-room pink.
"No frills." I managed, when my retinas recovered. I reached for the shelved underwear, "Huh ? That looks like..."
"Big, flouncy, pink knickers, worthy of Bridget Jones."
"At least there's no stays..." I began, looked closer, "What the-- ?"
Gel-padded on the hips, the knickers had terry towel lining and a waterproof layer.
"It's an adult nappy ?"
"What ?" Michelle peered closer, "I missed that... How strange !"

"When did you get the chance to look around ?"
"I woke an hour ago." Michelle grinned, "You were dead to the world."
I nodded. I'd slept through an earthquake in Santorini, a riot in Zanzibar, even a tropical storm aboard 'Beagle 3'. Naturally, I would snore through our reality-switch, "It's a gift."
"I'll remember that."
"Hmm..." I studied the next item. The vast, pink bra had anatomical, D-sized gel inserts, wobbled disturbingly. We exchanged glances, shuddered. I unfolded some knitwear, "Do my eyes deceive, or is this a pink 'sweater girl' turtle neck with angel sleeves ?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Could be worse, could be frilly-- "
"Plus a sweet, pink jumper dress." Michelle pointed, "Very Retro."
"Especially with pink knee-socks and booties."
"And a string of pink beads."
"Ah, well, we'll just have to play it out." I sighed, "What's the washroom like ?"
"Anachronous tech." A grin, "Tickles."
I checked with a glance, "Uh ?"
"I kid you not-- Enjoy !"

I shambled from our generic motel room into the en-suite's silvery shimmer. Seamless stainless, it lacked towels or tissues. I puzzled over the pan's controls, found cleansing 'bidet' jets and a blast of warm air. The shower cubicle shared the style, pairing a welcome waterfall with a wind-tunnel. The hand-bowl had a neat blower. I set my nerve, hung my marabou nightmare and used the improbably efficient facilities. My long shower gave me time to grumble in private. This was our second dose of craziness in a week, and I was not amused...

Driving up to Plockton with my niece Sue's gigging gear, I'd hit something in the dark. Dazed but unhurt, shorn nude, I woke in a seamless, candy-pink, pod-like cell. For several days, I solved brain-teasers to earn my meals. Then the wall opened into a clumsy Victorian pastiche. A traditional Nanny's costume waited. That touched a nerve: Ten years ago, desperate for college Art Credits, I'd reluctantly played 'Junior Dame' in our Theatre Club's Pantomime. I had no wish to reprise that rôle, but trick doors enforced the dress-code. Exploring the 'doll-house' set, I met feisty Michelle. She, too, had a mishap in the dark then pink pod-room puzzles. Cast as a 'BoyChild', beset by wobbly cutlery, smock, nappy and pram, her dependency rankled. For two days, as we tackled puzzles and IdMonsters together, our friendship grew. Waking back in the real world, with scant seconds elapsed, my outage seemed a weird dream. Minutes later, I met Michelle in Plockton. A dozen wary words confirmed our shared adventure. There was more-- Bonded by our bizarre experience, we'd become soul-mates. To everyone's astonishment, we took a double room, loved long and loud, slept late...

"Tickles ?" Michelle was standing in boy-briefs and a vest when I emerged. She seemed distracted.
I nodded, blinked, peered at the bump in her briefs, "Are you wearing a 'box' under those ?"
"I've a Lewd Thing on a g-string." She sniffed, "At least now I understand why most teenage boys are so stupid..."
"Ah..."
"Gotta walk funny..." She strutted a couple of steps, "Otherwise it gets me right in the... Go on, Joe-- Get dressed !"
I nodded, turned my back, tossed my fuzzy pink fig-leaf onto the bed. The padded knickers fitted better than I expected. The only problem was a towel pleat wedged up my tail pipe. I'd need to roll my hips more, which was surely the intent. The filled bra was as heavy as it looked. I needed several tries to latch the back strap's triple hooks and eyes, "Am I even ?"
Now in pants, braces and shirt, Michelle untwisted my left shoulder strap, nodded, "Not bad for a beginner ! Carry on !"

I ducked into the turtle neck, coaxed the stretchy body over the shelf of my instant bosom. Wrist loops in the wide sleeves let me get them under some control. I pulled on the pretty knee socks, made sure their decorative bows were straight. The booties side-zipped. They fitted as snugly as high-laced sneakers and, mercifully, were flats rather than heeled. The string of beads had no clasp, just dropped over the turtle neck. My little jumper dress had a bib front, a back zip, wide shoulder straps that crossed behind like braces, and just enough elastic to move well. I wriggled in, ran the tab and settled the straps. The dress hem hung to mid-thigh. I'd learned to wear our Clan's Great Kilt, but there was no comparison.
"Gissa twirl ?" Michelle was adjusting a neat cravat.
I turned on heel and toe, "But what about--"
"They're in here." She opened a cabinet, produced a short, black wig, slipped it on, "What do you think ?"
"Mickey Stratton to the life !" I nodded, "On you, it looks good !"
"Hold that smile." She directed, reached again, found mine, "Two feet if an inch !"
"Cher-ly." I agreed, reluctantly settled the liner onto my scalp. A few clumsy shakes tumbled the pink tresses down my back, "D'uh."
"And a little hat."
A matching pink beret, it sat at a jaunty angle or not at all.

I studied the ensemble in the mirror, "I look ridiculous !"
"Can't argue with that." Michelle shrugged into her jacket, "How do you feel ?"
"Better than I expected-- But I'm glad there's no cosmetics !" I hesitated, "Is breakfast bundled ?"
"I-- I don't know. I have a coin purse, some tokens."
"The door ?"
"Unlocked when my jacket went on."
"Then grab the keys and let's see what the Diner has to offer."
Our room opened onto a shaded board-walk which ran around the small motel's car-park. The only vehicle was our Trike, a Ferrari-red wedge of ominous proportions. Easily twenty feet long and eight wide, it crouched like a dragster. The big front wheel must have escaped from a high-end racing bike, had side-tread and vented brake disks to match. The massive back pair resembled truckers' SuperSingles. Rider and pillion straddled the front spine behind a low fly-screen.
"Wow !" Michelle whispered. Her feet drifted closer. She caressed the riding position, the ergonomic controls, "Wow !"
A bigger windscreen sheltered three rally seats and the baggage rack benched between the rear wheels' high mud-guards. A braced roll-bar carried a streamlined row of lights and a serious air-foil.

I sidled to the rear, "Uh ? There's no engine !"
"What ?" Michelle could move very quickly, "F**ck ! I expected a V8 at least ! We're stuck here ?"
"Maybe not..." I peered at the hardware, "These rear hubs are too thick: Could be electric--"
"So where's the-- Ah." A nod, "Anachronous tech."
I pointed to another oddity, "Is that a tilting pivot ?"
"Huh ?"
"Between the 'bike' spine and the back end ?"
"Could be..." She peered closer, "Neat !"
"Front leans into bends ?"
"Yeah, solves a common problem with big trikes." A rueful shrug, "Can't corner."
"Bench seats have four-point rally straps." I pointed, "Must get exciting."
"Oh, yes !" Michelle grinned, "But not on an empty stomach ! There should be a Diner out front..."

We wandered through the board-walk's arched gateway, found the Diner and Reception facing a silent road.
"Very Retro !" Michelle waved at the 50s chrome, "So where's the poodle-skirted waitress ?"
"Immortalised as a vend machine." I pointed, "How much cash have we got ?"
She dug in her pants pocket, delved in the coin purse, "Fifteen, seventeen, uh, eighteen tokens."
"Denominations ?"
"Singles."
I studied the machine, "Looks like one token buys a half-litre carton of juice or a three-pack of food bars. Don't know about you, but..."
"We'll soon run out." Michelle glanced around, "There's a water fountain, that's free."
"Sounds good to me !"
We bought three three-packs and two cartons, washed four bars down with chilled water, took the rest for the road. After that unsatisfactory breakfast, we went through to the vacant reception desk.
"No-one here but us chickens..." Michelle discovered.
"What's our room number ?"
She fumbled out the palm-sized fob, "Six, why ?"
"We have mail." I pointed to the side-wall's boxes.

Michelle used our key, "A receipt for one night, stamped, 'Paid In Full'. A book of vouchers, 'This Entitles Bearer To One (1) Double Room For One (1) Night'. Nine, plus a stub, stamped per receipt--"
"More than a virtual long weekend." I grumbled.
"And a pink parcel."
"Huh ?"
"Yours, I think." Michelle turned with it. About half the size of a shoe-box, it had Pod-room pink paper and plastic twine, topped with a pretty bow, "More Smart string ?"
My tugs confirmed it, "Feels like welded stainless strapping. So, back to our room ?"
"Uh-huh."
"Uh-huh."
She diverted to run her fingers down the super-trike's cowling, caught up with me on the board walk and opened the door. I landed the parcel on the coffee table. The moment the room door closed and latched, the string fell to shreds.

"That's still a good trick..." Michelle's voice tailed off as she glimpsed the contents, "Oops."
"Is that--"
"Uh-huh." She nodded glumly, read the label, " 'Pretty in Pink' Gift Set by Relvon."
"Don't you mean-- ?"
"R-E-L." She stated, "But, yes, cosmetics."
"Oops..."
"It's not that bad, Joe !"
"It's one thing I really, really hated about Sue's Theatre Club." I grumbled, "But I usually got away with only a few daubs of grease-paint..."
"Ah, let's see... Nail varnish. Lipstick. A pencil. Face stuff. Sorry, Joe. This is not going to be pretty."
"Magic door's engaged ?" I checked, shrugged, "What else can we do ?"
Michelle nodded, "Leathers have their own T-shirts, leggings and socks, so pack your outfit while I use the washroom."
"Okay."

Putting my wig to one side, I stripped to bra and knickers, carefully packed all but the beret into the nearer case. I threw in the marabou nightie, turned, saw my ghastly profile in the room's mirror. I glared at the reflection, muttered, "All your fault ! You should have refused to play that 'Pantomime Dame'--"
"No way !"
"Uh ?" Michelle was back, rather sooner than I'd expected.
"Sue told me, Joe."
"Ah..."
"We-- We had a long talk yesterday, while you were down at the harbour."
I hadn't noticed sirens or mushroom clouds, "Uh-huh ?"
"It-- It was a bit tense. She's not jealous, not quite. More, um, protective."
"Mama-Cat mode."
"She wanted to be sure, to be sure that I'm your Ms Right."
"Shameless Sue's been breaking hearts since pre-school." I nodded, "Takes one to know one."
"I guessed." A grin, "You really played a 'Pantomime Dame' ?"
"Oh, yes..." I remembered it too well, "I under-studied our 'Junior Dame' at Theatre Club, expected to 'Prompt & Cue'. Then both Leads went ill on the night. I-- I didn't want to be 'The Kid Who Cancelled'."
"Ah... Full drag ?"
"The whole shebang." I shuddered.

"That would explain..." Michelle nodded slowly, "Sue said you stole the show."
"Well, I had wild fun." I admitted, "Over-acted shamelessly-- I even got to spank 'Pretty Maid' Sue with a hairbrush !"
"Wicked !" Michelle's eyes twinkled, "Pay-back for her million pranks ?"
"Something like that..."
"Then you turned down two Talent Scouts ?"
"I'm no Thespian."
" 'A Natural Clown.' Sue said, 'Chance of a Lifetime.' "
"I only did Theatre Club for the Art Credits and to keep Sue out of trouble." I listed wearily, "She was off to Drama School, I was too young for a gap-year, I needed to study for Uni entry--"
"Joe, Joe, I know why."
"Huh ?" Our eyes met.

"First time we met in the Victorian Sim, you said you were a Coastal Ecologist--"
"Well, yes--"
"You're Lochaber's BeachMaster."
"Ah..."
"After that lovely, lovely talk you gave yesterday, I asked around." Michelle smiled, quoted, "You're uniquely pro-active: You plant a weir here, a flood-gate there. They collect enough sediment to out-pace sea-level rise. Your patented plastic shutters sink in fresh water, float up to stop saline incursions. You return beach to salt-marsh, sweeten brackish to fresh..."
"It's a living--"
"It's a Vocation."
"D'uh ?" Only one other person had noticed that.
"You weren't going to take any gap-year, clown around on Kiddies TV or some End-of-the-Pier show !" Michelle hissed, "You were going to Uni, come hell or high water-- And then you were coming back to fix Lochaber !"
I gulped, nodded, "Yes."

"That's alright, then." Michelle grinned, gave me a huge hug, stood tip-toe for a kiss, giggled, "You turned down a huge chance to have fun, so the Victorian Sim flags it as your IdMonster ! Wicked !"
I'd come to that unhappy conclusion in Baker Street.
"So, we're going to enjoy ourselves." She stated, "If you play your Pink Babe for all she's worth, perhaps we can exorcise your IdMonster ?"
I nodded reluctantly.
"And at night, you can make the earth move."
I blushed.
"Hey, we gotta license !" Michelle stated, "And I meant what I said in Plockton-- I want your babies !"
"Love and Cherish." I repeated the careful promise I'd made, "Love and Cherish."
"That talk I had with Sue ? I could see you were close. I thought she was your sister-- But she's your niece ? A year older than you to the day ? Raised as Sibs ?" Michelle shook her head, "That's weird dynamics. I thought being a Christie-Stratton was complex..."
"Our families were close kin and neighbours." I stated, trying to ignore my glowing ears, "Sue was an accidental first child. I was a late fourth. It began with a double buggy, went from there."
"Ah... Now it makes sense."

"Worked out okay." I shrugged, "Neither of us was stuck as an 'Only Child'. We shared my Science Club and Ju-Jitsu, her Drama, Dance and such."
"Yes..." Michelle nodded, "I watched you doing your katas after breakfast."
"You could have joined us..."
"With my BikerFu ?" She sniffed, "Besides, you weren't shadow boxing."
"We do get a bit competitive..." I allowed, "Sue thought I might be distracted."
"Like she thought you were a virgin ?" Michelle giggled, "Boy, was she wrong !"
Now my neck was red, too.
"Sue said she's set you up with dozens of dates, but you never got to first base."
"If you met them, you'd understand." I shuddered, "Sue tried her best, but--"
"She's very trying." A nod, "So, who, Joe ? And when ?"
"You need to know." I took a slow breath, "Summer before Uni. Young divorcee. We had some fun, went our own ways."
"Is she likely to show up again ?"
"No..." I was confident of that, "But I get Valentines with a Pacific-rim stamp and a BIG Smiley."
"Well, I'm glad you told me, I would have wondered ! She gotta name ?"
"I knew her as Mary-Ellen..." A shrug, "She just wanted to un-wind."

"Fair enough, Joe." Michelle nodded, "Your turn in the wash-room."
I only needed a minute. Michelle had already stripped and packed, stood in her boy-briefs and vest, "Time for your war-paint, Joe: Sit and get comfy, this will take a while..."
She began by carefully varnishing my finger and toe nails with that recurring pink. While they dried, she applied the matching lip-stick. Then she tackled my face, doing something complicated around my eyes. She re-drew my missing eye-brows higher, dabbed at my cheeks, cheek-bones and throat, left me sitting with my eyes shut for a while.
"Okay, now you can peek."
"D'uh ?" Even carrying several kilos of anatomical gel, my lanky 5-10 and strong features could never be mistaken for feminine. So, Michelle did not try to prettify me. Instead, her minimal artistry made me look homely-- Plain, almost mannish, yes, but huggably female...
"What d'you think ?"
"That's less gross than I expected." I admitted, "Thank you."
"I was so tempted !" She grinned, "No choice on nails or lips, but the rest is under-stated. I used the pencil, too-- Check out my 'tache !"
"Uh ? Just a five o'clock shadow ? Neat !"

"Can you manage your leathers ?" Michelle asked.
"They're salopette style." I nodded, "I-- I think so. Uh, when did they un-stick ?"
"When I'd applied some of everything."
I began with luminous pink lycra stirrup pants that fitted like a second skin.
"Ooh, sexy !" Michelle giggled.
"What is it about men in tights ?" I wondered. Next, there were thick, boot-length pink socks I found tucked into the boots. My big, pink T-shirt was floridly embroidered with 'Pretty in Pink'. The pink leathers' pants unzipped remarkably. I was able to pull them on and get my heels into their stirrup straps quite easily. Of course, these pants' material only looked like hide. It felt more like wet-suit neoprene, but slicker and more elastic. It stretched to latex-smooth as I drew the zips shut, fitted very snugly. The wide shoulder straps framed my fake bust, thrust my bosom forwards like a figure-head.
"On you it looks good !" Michelle chuckled, "Need a hand with those boots ?"
We needed several tries to coax in my thick-socked, 'perfect 10' feet. Then, I just had to run the tabs to knee-high, stand and balance.
"Oooh- Er..." I stood warily. The heels' lift changed my posture, pushed my hips forwards, my bust up and my head back. I shuffled a few steps, waved my arms, "Not as easy as it looks..."
"Take your time, Joe." She closed her pants' zips, settled her straps, adjusted one slightly, stretched, "Hey, this feels good !"

I'd tip-toed to the end of the room. I turned warily, "Looks good on you, too."
"Walk around some more." Michelle perched on the bed's surround, watched my progress, "You're getting the hang..."
I nodded, "Like riding a bicycle, it soon comes back."
"You learned to walk in heels for the pantomime ?"
"Uh-huh." I nodded, turned at the door, "Sue trained me up. Every centimetre earned a check-mark on my Stage-Craft (Costume) module, a couple more Art Credits..."
"Hmm." She thought about it, "You needed them so badly ?"
"Oh, yes." I nodded, "Theatre Club and MIDI Arrangement were the only 'Arts' I could do."
"Uh ?" She blinked, "I thought you played Synth ?"
"I don't play anything." I turned by the wash-room, held up my big hands, tried to ignore their luminous pink nail-varnish, "I can't: It's the way my head's wired-- I'm music-deaf."
"Oh..." She puzzled, "But-- Sue mentioned you'd done her backing tracks ? Joe, they were real smoooth..."
"I've no problem with theory." I headed back, shrugged, "Sue tells me what she needs. I buy it in, re-key for her range, tweak a few chords, clone across virtual instruments-- Cakewalk-Pro makes that as easy as editing text in Word."

"You can't fool me, Joe !" Michelle grinned, "I play my Strat' in a pub-group-- Those tracks made her Rolands dance !"
"So I'm a technical guy." I turned, hesitated, "D'uh, this is too easy..."
"Oh ?" Michelle sat up, "Gissa twirl ?"
I turned nimbly. This time, I didn't stub a toe, tangle my feet or flail for balance.
"You're right." She nodded, "Part of the general weirdness ?"
"My Uncle Donal had a mutant aphorism for this sorta stuff." I shrugged, " 'Don't look gift-horse in mouth, but always check under elephant's gilt.' "
"Oh, Joe !" Michelle giggled, "That's wild !"
"Yeah, well..." I strolled up the room, casually stepped over a carpet seam without catching my heel, "He had a way with others' words."
"You reckon it's time to go ?"
"Uh-huh."

"Let's lock and load !" Michelle shrugged on her leathers' jacket, tucked our documents into an inside pocket, "Leave your jacket open as long as you can."
"Okay." I eased into my pink monster, settled it across my shoulders. The pink beret squashed into a zip pocket. I set my wig to place, tumbled the hair down my back. Then, I turned to the next problem, "Will our cases let me carry them ?"
"I hope so, Joe." Michelle pulled a face, "Equality's okay, but--"
"A sack-truck's better." I closed the latches, lifted both, "Get the door ?"
She held it open for me to sidle through, turned for our helmets and gloves.
"Don't forget the keys !"
"I have them !" A few moments passed, "And lunch !"
I edged down the board-walk's steps, loaded our cases into their waiting racks. This might be a Sim, but there was a 'safety' bungee strap for each as well as twin clips. Michelle parked her collection on an outside seat, headed for the Reception to return our room key. I stashed our cartons and bars in one of the lidded tubs behind the big windscreen, eased on my full-face helmet. Of course, it was pre-adjusted, a perfect fit. Habit made me feel for dive lights. I had to stop myself, then find my visors' latches. One layer was glass-clear, the other aviator-shaded. I left both up, half-zipped my jacket, eased onto the centre seat. The rally straps latched snug, helped me feel slightly safer.

"Looking good, Joe !" Michelle scooped her helmet off the end seat.
"There's four sets of goggles in one of these tubs." I commented, "Could be routine, could be a plot-line."
"Gotcha." A nod, "Time to close up and get your gloves on."
I coaxed my jacket tab to my neck, closed the flap. The big gloves nearly reached my elbows. I wriggled my fingers, slid the clear visor down, tried to relax, "Okay, I'm ready."
Michelle matched my preparations, climbed onto the saddle, inserted the Trike's key. A turn brought up a low, but penetrating hum, "It's alive !"
I gulped, tucked my boot toes under the floor strap, tucked in my elbows, clutched my harness.
"Here we go !" Michelle thumbed a setting, gently twisted the throttle. The hum rose, steadied. The Trike slowly rolled backwards across the empty yard. She turned the handle-bars, waited for the front wheel to face the road-way, eased the throttle and braked our Trike to a halt.
"So far, so good." She announced, "Handles well for an Automatic !"
"I'm so glad." I replied.
"Uh ??"
"Nice intercom, too."
"Anachronistically efficient tech..." She muttered, "Okay, let's see what else this can do."

A thumb nudge set us in 'Low', a wrist twist rolled us forwards. The Trike crept over the threshold, down the ramp to the road. A dozen yards to our left, the black-top ended in a dirt-track. Michelle gauged the turning circle, flicked on the turn signals, sent us right. A few wary zig-zags gave her the confidence to raise the dial from walking speed. Two minutes brought us to our motel's turn sign and a shabby 'Interstate' junction.
"Ideas ?" Michelle asked, "Left or right ?"
Both ways were deserted. Off to the left, though, I glimpsed orange barriers, pointed, "What's that ? Road closed ?"
"We could take a look." She checked three ways, used the turn signals, rolled us across and into the left-bound lane. A thumb flick selected 'Drive', a gentle wrist twist sent us forwards, "Smoooth !"
Thirty seconds and brisk braking brought us close enough to read the barriers' notice.
"Bridge Out'." Michelle reported, "Okay, hang on..."
She swung the trike right onto the gravel verge, then hard around to the left. A mild correction completed the U-turn.
"Neat move !" I agreed.
"Now let's see what it's got--" She twisted the throttle. The Trike roared, rocked, the prow rose on its suspension, the front wheel lifted--
"F**ck !" Michelle chopped power, brought the front thumping back down, braked to a halt.

"Uurgh !" I swallowed bile, "That's some torque..."
"Gimme a mo..." Michelle caught her breath, "I didn't expect that !"
"I-- I don't think the Physics model is quite right." I decided.
"I'm inclined to agree." She admitted, "Okay, shall we try again ?"
"Uh-huh..."
This time, her wrist turn was gentle. The Trike purred, the prow merely bobbled, we went forwards smoothly.
"Aaand a little more ?"
Landscape began flowing aft.
"I'll hold it at forty until I get the feel. Watch out for signs."
"Okay." My eye-line was two feet above Michelle's, I had a wider perspective, "Here's one. Um, I think it's a road-number-- I-66 ? That can't be right ??"
"Nah, there'd be on/off ramps, more lanes..."
"Hmm. D'uh ? Now it reads US 66 !"
"More plausible than Baker Street's Close and pop-up Square." Michelle grumbled, "Or a me-sized Victorian pram !"
"I've got the nappy this time." I reminded her, "I almost needed it, then !"
"Well, I've got a Lewd Thing in my briefs ! That jolt nearly raped me !"
"Hello, this looks like a speed sign... Sixty ?"
"I reckon..." Her wrist shifted, the purr rose, landscape passed faster, "No maps, no itinerary, we have a road movie..."
---
End of section #1.
---

Okay, now you, too, know Who, What, Why, Where and When--

Does this answer the issues with the excerpt ?

Does it read well in its own right ??

 

[The Judge]

Bit too long for me at this time of night, I'm afraid, so I only managed to get part way.

Yes, I think this shows off your strengths much better, and with more explanation it is easier to understand - not easy, but easier. It isn't the kind of thing I'd usually read, and I'm clearly not your target audience, so I'm not sure how helpful any further comments from me would be. But although you have a very interesting voice and an incredible imagination, after a while I found their dialogue wearing. It seemed relentlessly one note (though again, since I only read part way, there may be a difference towards the middle/end which I didn't reach). In fact it's not so much a dialogue as an exchange of snappy one-liners like some kind of competition at a convention for comedians. Amusing to begin with, but after a few minutes you want something more substantial even if it isn't funny.

And even with the background, I still don't think I'd want to wade through all the stuff in the original excerpt. It still reads as too long, too unrelieved, too pointless.

But I must again stress that this isn't something that I'd have ordinarily read. You'll have to wait for someone with less hidebound tastes to come along and give you a more considered opinion.

J

 

[Nik]

Fair enough...

FWIW, I'd prefer to write 'Hard SF' but, while my Convention arc is stalled, this 'light fantasy' stuff just keeps flowing...