From scruz!ucscb.ucsc.edu!zap Fri Nov 6 16:54:15 1992
Date: Fri, 6 Nov 92 15:28:00 -0800
From: ZaP! <zap@ucscb.ucsc.edu>
To: armory@deeptht.armory.com
HELP!
THeYRe SwEEPInG mY STreEEt!
cleanlyness! NOoOOOOoOoO!
they'l take us all away. No. THey cant. No brush off! NO! Water.. I wateR!
I.. im _drowning._ suds... soap beer! AaIEeEEEe.
<gasp. pant pant.>
Dear John,
I don't know if you'll ever get this, but writing is the imagination,
the hope, of reading, so I'll try... I'll Try! You may be wondering where
I've gone, or why I haven't logged on to deeptht for all this time.
I'll tell you. I have been taken, or I soon will be.
It all started on the morning of Nov 6., Friday. I was geeking
away on b when I heard the street sweeping machine go by. Naturally, I
thought nothing of it, but then the sound didnt fade into the distance,
and I heard the sound of high powered hydraulics-- like a 747's
undercarriage actuators, or a giant garbage truck. I was immediately
concerend for Corsair, (forgetting that he was in the driveway and not
on the street) and I went outside to see the gaping maw of a space craft.
Protruding from the cargo hatch (it looked like the ramp from a C-5
Galaxy) was a hose, which was patiently working its way down the street,
sucking up debris: leaves, wood blocks, nuts and bolts, small domestic
animals (mughi, unfortunately, escaped.) Needless say, I was a little
taken aback by this who display. I thought of my rifle, but did nothing,
reasoning that as I was both out of ammunition, and ignornant of the
potential reaction of this, this... _thing,_ it would be best not
to provoke it.
I fully expected the hose to toddle off down McMillan, exploring
all of the branches of the tree of streets here until it hit the leaves
formed by the Cul-de-sac by the canyon. But it didnt. It went up and
down both sides of the divided portion of McMillan, and it came
right for _me._ Since I was the only person outside (Dan had left for
work, and Katherine was sick in bed. Bill had gone to Davis, and I suppose
you and bela and Irene and mIke were still sleeping) it isnt too surprising
that I was considered intersting enough for investigation. Momentarily,
visions of being the first human not from a trailer park in Illinois to
meet an ET conflicted with the Cuisinart images produced by the sounds on
the other end of that tube, and I froze beofre bolting back into the
house, slamming the door and locking it.
I was in a quandry. What do I do? It seemed impossible that
the machinery outside could not simply take what it wanted. It seemed
equally impossible to change it's mind. I felt that I had little time.
I changed into my jeans and parka as quickly as I could, and tossed my
wrist rocket into my back pack. I cleaned my glasses, and I took a
moment to think. The thing was still there. It had _not_ shredded
the house. I listened closely. I could hear no sirens, meaning that
no one else had thought to call the police. The fact that it was still
fairly early, and the machine sounded as benign as a street sweeper
proabably contributed to that circumstance. I considered calling the
cops myself but couldn't think of a _thing_ that they could do about it
except perhaps document the occurance. This prompted me to get my camera,
which I will try to leave behind with photos in it that will confirm
my disappearance.
It had been almost ten minutes, and the thing was still there. I
waited. I waited some more. I logged into b. Its still there. All I can
think of is to go outside and see what it wants. Wish me luck.
-Ford
|
From zap Sat Nov 8 03:39:10 1992
From: Ford Prefect <zap>
Date: Sat, 8 Jul 1992 03:39:04 -0800
To: armory
Subject: I'm back
Hi there... I'm back. I'm sorry about the slowness doing
dishes, but being abducted took a large chunk out of my time this weekend.
I have mail in my mailbox that indicates that Kathryne thinks I was here
And somehow enlightened. I wonder what she means? I'll have to ask.
I suppose that I should complete the account of the street-sweeper/
spacecraft that appeared on friday. My memory is kind of jumbled, but
here goes.
When I had made up my mind to go outside, I went first to the
Emergency backup lving room to peek out the window and appraise the thing
with a little more leasure. The best way to describe it is "vertical." It
seemed to be a huge, narrow ovoid. The bottom portion opened up, as I
described before much like a cargo ramp on a C-5. From this extended the
vacuum hose. Both devices seemed to be metal. The ship was suspended
about fifteen hundred feet from the ground at its bottom end, and it
could have been a thousand feet long. There were no obvious means of
propulsion, though I later learned how it stayed put.
It was still waiting there, as when I last saww it as I re-enetered
the Armory.
So I went out. I still didnt like the idea of been vacuumed up, so
I jumped onto the hose, and began to climb it's ridges until I realized that
I'd never be able to climb 1500 feet straight up. But the hose began to
move and drew me inside the ship.
I have complained on occasion that the trouble with real space ships
is that they are too _clean._ Well, it was true for this one too. Gleaming,
polished, shiny... horrible! It was too much like a bad BBC special. The
hose passed near a catwalk, and I managed to climb onto this. I looked
far below me and saw the hatch closing, and the little square that was
McMillan drive became a seamless expanse of chromed metal.
I stood there for a while, then I began to wander around the catwalks,
and clmbing things. I had the feeling that "up" was where the flight deck
was, so I worked my way in that direction. It was tough going, and a slipped
and fell a few times. It wasnt till I dropped some of the change in my
pocket (Actually, the only money I had on me: a quarter I got from
banshee at Pergolesi) that I realized that I'd never find my way up.
I fell, and the quarter bounced once, twice... spun and fell down on the
wall perpendicular to the surface I was lying on. I went to reach for it,
and found that I could walk on that surface. It was a lot like Escher's
Relativity. The gravity was obviously artificially produced, and as
variable as could be.
Of course, I had no idea where the ship was. It could still have
been hanging over condo-land for all I know, or it could have been
at the Basingstoke roundabout. And I had yet to see any of the "crew,"
if there were any. I amused myself by playing with the gravity and walking
on both sides of starways. I was completely lost; I didn't know where I
came in or how to get out. With the constantly changing perspectives
I was experiencing, I found myself pleasantly disoriented. It was with some
surprise then, that I passed the same door twice. It was the only door I
had seen in the whole ship, and I recognized by the hand prints I had left
on the metal on an earlier excursion. Intrigued, I opened the door.
It lead to a small room which contained nothing, and was contructed
just like the rest of the ship except that the far wall looked like it
was made of frosted nylon plastic: milky white and translucent. I went
over to investigate, and it lit up, displaying pictures and diagrams and
other less comprehensible images.
I stopped short, and the images stopped as well, the one
remaning being that of a stylus. I approached again, and the stlyus
image stayed put, until I reached the screen/wall, and put out my hand
to touch it. Just that quickly the stylus was in my hand. Having nothing
better to do (and little to lose,) I drew a Cthulhu smiley on the wall.
I found that this was a very pleasant surface to draw upon. I spent a
lot of time drawing. I worked on ideas for my comic book, and sketeched
planes and did a little math. I drew skulls I have know and Cafe Mochas
and pizzas and Bagels. I had never had a more satisfying time with a
drawing instrument. My lines were crisp when I wanted them to be
and they were hazy when I needed tones for shading. They faded into
the background when I was "inking" the final drawing over the sketch,
and then disappeared without a trace when I no longer needed the
underdrawing. I must have been at it for hours and hours, but I was
never hungry, thirst tired or bored.
After I had sketeched for a while, I decided that I really needed
to do a big Project on this board. I had earlier discovered that I could
store the images, so I figured that if I had to be here for a long time,
I might as well make an Opus of it. After considering for a while, I
decided to write down, illuminate and illustrate the Bagel Theory in the
style of the old Bible manuscripts, all covered with vines and celtic
knots and tesselations and mythic beasts. I put down my back pack and I
went to work. I wish I had had my camera; the finished product was
astounding. I couldn't beleive that I had done it. I didn't believe that
it _could_ be done. I blame the medium. It was as if _I_ was the pen, and
the pen the artist. Anyway, when I was done I finally felt the effects of
exaustion, and I curled up in a corner to sleep. The next thing I knew,
I was in a dark room with the deafiningly loud sounds of soothing surf and
rain resonating in my skull. Account marina was asking where Ford was.
I looked at her confusedly, then at $500,000 in bogus money that I had
stuffed in my kimono.
I enjoyed the rest of the Resort party. Sorry about the drywall,
the gravity in that hallway was most variable.
-Ford
|