ref: fd9be2e172be4ae02a18d721a10f6f96ca1c924f
dir: /troff/0113.ms/
.LP .ce .ps 16 .CW ATLAS SHIT .R .ps 10 .br .ce .ps 10 .B 1 .P .PP .ps 10 .DC 5 Jan 1943 .PP .ps 10 "We're all of us here aware that invitations to this party were issued on a strict, SECRET NOFORN basis." .PP .ps 10 Plinth Mold cleared his throat, resumed his speech. .PP .ps 10 .I "Plus ça change. .R But this gathering is hardly idiomatic Basement protocol. Look around you. We're none of us newcomers. Old Basement hands. In fact, I would have to admit that the cultural fragmentation so often prophesied by our elders had already settled into equilibrium before many of us were born." .PP .ps 10 "Peed my mind, waiting." Albert Lunsford looked as if he were having trouble controlling himself. He nodded rapidly, admitting to the commonly held misapprehension. Perhaps he agreed too quickly. .PP .ps 10 "Those of us not from the United States should consider ourselves lucky to be here." .PP .ps 10 Silence. .PP .ps 10 .I "This is not Russia, this is not China, this is not the place where they're tearing down the wall. .R We attain to a higher standard." .PP .ps 10 "Do these steps only if you really need them," added Lunsford. Certain now that he had regained the upper hand. .PP .ps 10 "Excuse me, Albert, but I would appreciate it if you could pipe down and hold your remarks until after I've finished speaking." .PP .ps 10 "First, state your assumptions," retorted Lunsford. "I'm sick of your aimless pontificating in service to nothing at all." .PP .ps 10 Plinth ignored the challenge. Albert always said too much. .ce .ps 10 .B 2 .P .PP .ps 10 5 Jan 4063 .PP .ps 10 "It's not yet clear if our ship is fast enough to manage the proposed maneuver. Here. Analysis?" .PP .ps 10 Piotr peered into his console before turning back to face the crew. .PP .ps 10 "We'll want to divert additional resources to interpretation and propulsion." When there were no objections, Piotr continued the logical progression of commands. "Team! Retrench assumptions! Gazes rearward!" .PP .ps 10 The RAGNAROK continued to drift in space. .PP .ps 10 The Rainbow Bridge loomed on screen, commanding a sizable proportion of screen real estate. It was, in Piotr's words, frightfully beautiful. For their part, the crew still hadn't responded to anything they had heard or seen. As was their usual mode, they continued to perform their duties in perfect silence. .PP .ps 10 Piotr consulted his leaf. .PP .ps 10 "Load the couches," he said, leaning forward in his captain's chair. "Cushions first." .ce .ps 10 .B 3 .P .PP .ps 10 5 Jan 1943 .PP .ps 10 .I "Through the visionless aether," .R continued Plinth Mold, .I "Beyond the mortal line of sight." .R .PP .ps 10 "Same old Basement politics," laughed Albert Lunsford. "This one goes out to all the teen mothers in the house. Risky behavior. Blind, irrational exuberance." .PP .ps 10 .I "'Atlas shit,'" .R concluded Plinth Mold, and shrugged, accidentally triggering a squeal of feedback from his microphone. The error was captured, distributed. Throughout the Basement, genres shifted beneath the furniture. .PP .ps 10 "Objectivists on break," cracked Lunsford. "Competence sitting on the can. However will we get by?" .PP .ps 10 Plinth could offer no reply. He sat down in his seat just as dinner was finally being served. He could see now that there would be no getting through to his companions around the dinner table. You just can't argue with success. .PP .ps 10 He observed in himself the silent acknowledgment that he was not accustomed to surrendering so easily. .PP .ps 10 At length, he noticed the older boy, Thomas Bright, coolly monitoring the conflagration. Eye contact. A knowing look. This would be one to watch. Possibly, to remove from the board. .PP .ps 10 Anyway, it was Bright's party. Let these people brush him off as a child. None of it mattered. .PP .ps 10 Plinth Mold stabbed a piece of cake with his fork. .ce .ps 10 .B 4 .P .PP .ps 10 5 Jan 4063 .PP .ps 10 .I "Twenty\-one thirty\-five. Physics packages away!" .R .PP .ps 10 Piotr shouted commentary into his commlink as a barrage of couches were ejected from their tubes. His narrative was terse, but complete. He had learned to eschew excess detail when dictating ship's logs. .PP .ps 10 The couches went about their work. .PP .ps 10 In short order, the Rainbow Bridge collapsed. Its perimeter imploded, light rushing inward, inscribing perspectives unimagined. Piotr steered the ship manually, passing through the required stages before the Bridge could deliver itself from its involuntary, fettered circumstances. Things were going well. .PP .ps 10 By now, traversal had become as second nature. In fact, Piotr had contributed the initial research outlining the methods involved. He could no longer be considered merely a student of the profession. .PP .ps 10 But something about this transition seemed off. Was there jitter? Bright highs but thin bottoms? Piotr jumped backwards as an unknown face appeared to fill the viewport, edging out or overlapping all other objects on the main screen. .PP .ps 10 "Piotr Bright. Age seventeen. Captain of his own mother." .PP .ps 10 The face seemed content with its assessment. .PP .ps 10 "I would like to ask you just one question." .PP .ps 10 "Go on," said Piotr, his composure regained. He glanced around the bridge, noticing that the crew all seemed to have abandoned their posts. .PP .ps 10 The face seemed to loom larger. Piotr could now clearly discern the desperation gleaming in its eyes. He thought of a small dog, pleading to be let outside. .PP .ps 10 The giant face, disturbingly sans leash, continued to speak. .PP .ps 10 "Which way to the head?"