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trans_92011-01-10 07:54 pm
8wings.livejournal.com) wrote in trans_92011-01-10 07:54 pm
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Morning Exercise (open)
Anwei was jumping around the Hub - literally. With firm strokes of her arms and legs, she leaped from tentacle-base to tentacle-base, circling the vast room. Her hair fluttered wildly around her head in the anti-grav field, and she was sweating a little with the exertion.
She'd kept up a running commentary to Stacy about what she was doing in the back of her throat – the same way she used to talk to Horanckk. When Stacy suggested she try the Sensoriums for exercise, though, she demurred. The idea of rooms that could take things out of her mind and make them real made her shiver.
After three complete circuits of the Hub, she came to a halt and consulted her omnicom, which had been filming the whole time. Carefully, she marked the tunnels that were never entered by passers-by, the tentacles that hung limp rather than undulating. Someday, maybe soon, she would want to see if she could get into those unused tunnels, and see what might be in there. But for now, she rolled up her denim shirt and tied it to a tentacle with some blue string (making extra certain that all the pockets were sealed), marked out a large triangle on the wall with that same string, and began something that looked like dancing.
It was not dancing. It was drill for free-fall unarmed combat. Her arms and legs moved in long coordinated scything motions, her fingers grabbing and clawing at imaginary opponents (she was not grabbing with her toes because of the binding material of her plantsuit). In her ears she remembered her drill instructor bellowing as it criticized every falter and hesitation. She deliberately did not think of her first dance instructor and his tiny, cutting whip.
When she drifted out into the flow of traffic, she used her tie-line to move back against the wall and start again. It would be pretty obvious to anyone watching that she was doing some sort of structured exercise.
She'd kept up a running commentary to Stacy about what she was doing in the back of her throat – the same way she used to talk to Horanckk. When Stacy suggested she try the Sensoriums for exercise, though, she demurred. The idea of rooms that could take things out of her mind and make them real made her shiver.
After three complete circuits of the Hub, she came to a halt and consulted her omnicom, which had been filming the whole time. Carefully, she marked the tunnels that were never entered by passers-by, the tentacles that hung limp rather than undulating. Someday, maybe soon, she would want to see if she could get into those unused tunnels, and see what might be in there. But for now, she rolled up her denim shirt and tied it to a tentacle with some blue string (making extra certain that all the pockets were sealed), marked out a large triangle on the wall with that same string, and began something that looked like dancing.
It was not dancing. It was drill for free-fall unarmed combat. Her arms and legs moved in long coordinated scything motions, her fingers grabbing and clawing at imaginary opponents (she was not grabbing with her toes because of the binding material of her plantsuit). In her ears she remembered her drill instructor bellowing as it criticized every falter and hesitation. She deliberately did not think of her first dance instructor and his tiny, cutting whip.
When she drifted out into the flow of traffic, she used her tie-line to move back against the wall and start again. It would be pretty obvious to anyone watching that she was doing some sort of structured exercise.
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"Perhaps you could speak to the Captain, or Security? I imagine they are just as in need of organisation as the warriors from your world."
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"I actually spoke to Matt Olsen about doing some accounting work, which I confess is a lot more to my taste and abilities than fighting insects many times my size."
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"That is good to hear! I know not everyone realises it, but a good accountant is always highly appreciated."
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"Nobody knows how useful someone is who can just sit down and pound numbers until they squeak. We are like air," Anwei said, waving her own hand as though to demonstrate. "You don't notice we are even here - until we are gone."
She clutched her throat and mimed a moment of suffocation, and then giggled.
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"And then when it is gone, everyone discovers that they cannot live without it," Daja said wryly.
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"Exactly," Anwei smiled, just a little too wide. "Exactly."
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Hopefully Stacy couldn't catch a virus if Anwei just thought too hard about the code for it.
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"People used Mylar for other things on Earth, so if I can find an Earth building, and old computers, I should be able to find something."
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"I'm afraid I cannot help you with that. But you should still talk to Billy - if he cannot cannot find you this 'Mylar', he can clear your project for Engineering and I can start work on this mesh."
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But she also didn't want to contract for work that might not be needed. "Certainly, I do need to talk to Billy. But I don't even know how much mesh I will need, or if I can find the Mylar instead. Tell you what, don't start making anything yet. I will send you the specifications and - oh. Oh!"
Her hand suddenly twitched and then clenched, as though she had been about to strike herself and stopped. "Damn, that is the problem with living with an AI - you forget what you remember and what the AI remembers for you. I ought to know what grid size I would need for a Faraday cage, but I don't think I do. I'll have to look it up. Damn!" Her eyes opened wide for an instant, and then she deliberately relaxed. "Sorry."
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"Of course - it is always best to be well prepared," Daja said, nodding. She turned her head, listening to Anwei's troubles. She hadn't heard of 'Faraday' cages before, but... "The Media Library contains a vast amount of knowledge. Perhaps if you begin your search there?"
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"Daja, thank you again - I'll see you in Engineering, I hope."
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Subconsciously, she muttered a note to Horanckk to remind her to go visit - and then she stopped. He wasn't there. She was going to have to start carrying a recorder or something; she was too used to his presence.
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