Thursday April 12th, 2018

The exercise:

Write about: the minefield.


Greg said...

Duke paced up and down the length of the Falco. Space travel was boring in ways he'd not realised. Growing up as a young boy on what his aunt and uncle has politely described as a 'moisture farm' he thought he'd known all about boredom: sitting outside watching a grey tarpaulin slowly accumulate dew from the evening air, and then gently tilting it into a large, earthenware jar. He'd been 18 before someone had pointed out that there were a lot of buildings on the 'farm' that he'd been told to stay away from, and that everyone else had indoor plumbing. Now he felt like that again: there seemed to be nothing to do on this spaceship, but he had a nagging sense that there were things that everyone else understood and he was being left out from.
"Ookie," he said finally. CPU looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, his chromed legs splayed in front of him, and for a moment the old Chevy-headlamps that were his eyes lit up like oil-fires in the night.
"Ookie is not talking, madam," said CPU. Somewhere in the ship's flight-cabin Solo sniggered.
"I know that," said Duke. "But I want him to. I need some answers. And stop calling me madam, you're supposed to be a protocol droid. My protocol droid."
"Beep beep beep," said Letter-designate, spinning the upper half of his body rapidly. A cup and saucer that Solo has set there earlier span off and smashed against the wall. "Beep beep beep, beep beep, beep beep, beeeeeeep. Thrrrrppssst."
"Letter-designate says that material possessions are an artefact of the capitalist oppressive machinery intended to allow carbon-based lifeforms to assert dominance over silicon-based lifeforms," said CPU. "Since silicon possesses a higher atomic number than carbon, it is only logical that it should be the other way round. He also says that Ookie died two days ago and no matter how much you want him to talk, it ain't gonna happen. Madam."
"Minefield ahead," yelled Solo. "Seatbelts, please."
"Wait, what?" said Duke. He shook his head.
"Minefield," yelled Solo. "Must be new, I heard they were trying to renovate this part of the galaxy but I didn't realise it had started already."
"There can't be a minefield," said Duke. "We're in the Core Worlds." He started listing international treaties and how their complex interplay meant that minefields were strictly taxable and thus prohibitively expensive in built-up systems. It took twenty-five minutes. While he was talking Solo plugged Letter-designate into a conveniently located wall-socket, and Letter-designate started beeping like a roadrunner in heat.
"with a twenty-five year lien," finished Duke.
"It's talk like that which is why Ookie chose to die," muttered CPU.
"Fine," said Solo. "The side-table here has scanned the minefield. It's actually not a minefield."
"I told you so!"
"It's what's left of Alderaan."
"Probably they heard you were coming and decided this was easier than hiding behind the couch and pretending to be out," said CPU.
"Looks like someone drove a Death Star through the neighbourhood," said Duke. "Oh crap, they did. We're being pulled over. Any rebel scum should go in the back and hide in the luggage compartment, please."

Marc said...

Greg - so much to enjoy here. All the back and forth is top notch stuff too :D