h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

*Jack nods*

I think that it's nice down there.

*Quirinus wriggles in his chair, trying to find a more comfortable position, and gives up on sitting up straight*

I think so, yes. No way to find work down there, but I still have an entire Starfleet year to do that.

*He takes another careful sip of the beer, then puts it down on the table and leans sideways on the armrest to be more comfortable*

*Jack relaxes into the armchair, and rests his beer on his knee*

Yeah. We'll get to a better place for that soon enough.

*Quirinus looks inquisitively at Jack*

Where are we going next then, Sergeant?

*He runs a hand through his hair to fluff it, then scratches the base of his left horn inconspicuously*

*Jack shrugs and grins lopsidedly*

They don't see fit to inform me.

*Quirinus is mildly puzzled*

But... You think there are jobs out there anyway?

*He is hopeful - at the moment, he feels quite capable of dealing with life on his own again, so long as it doesn't involve dogs or doctors*

*Jack nods*

Sure. There are jobs everywhere.

*Quirinus smiles at Jack, encouraged*

You think? Even for building things?

*He looks at his hands with their scars, callouses, and slightly ragged fingernails, and sighs*

I'd not even mind if it wasn't wood. But it seems like everything has been made already.

*Jamison Douglass is eating a late supper in the warren kitchen*

*Standing up*

*It's a long story, which started with Dr Popescu, who had a bet on with the biologists down on Delta Delphini III*

*'Had a bet on' is how Jamie put it, although it is believed the scientists called it an experiment*

*The purpose of the experiment was to see if feral toms were as spatially challenged as their tame brothers*

*It is a well-known fact in Starfleet that Gaels, being multidimensionally aware, are deficient in certain skills involving only *three* dimensions*

*So the idea was to assign Jamison to assemble a piece of furniture - an Ikea knockoff - using only an allen wrench and a set of instructions*

*Why Jamison? Because Liam would've given up immediately, and looked at them mournfully, Rory would've agreed to do it only if *they* would do *his* job for the day, and Ilya...*

*Would've turned the furniture into some kind of toy*

*Jamison, on the other hand, is biddable, and (for a tom) serious*

*So he was set the task, and threatened with whipping if he didn't get it right, and left alone with the box of parts and a sheet that was written in something that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike Starfleet Standard*

*Jack shakes his head*

No, you'll be fine. I've seen your work, it's good.

*After dinner, Malaba goes out again, feeling a bit wistful*

*She looks at the dark ceiling high above and wishes it had stars, though at least the air smells pleasantly of nighttime*

*Arriving at the tree beside the paddock, she looks back at the office, where the windows are glowing with soft light, and smiles*

*With her elbows resting on the top rail of the fence, she stares thoughtfully at the herd, Marengo, Roncalli, and Monto's white spots glowing pale in the twilight*

*Eventually, some of the horses move over and compete for her attention. She knows not to interfere, and simply rubs Trooper's forelock when he finally sticks his head over the fence next to her*

*Quirinus is pleased, and it shows in his face*

Thank you, Sergeant. And I'm sure having worked almost for Starfleet will help.

*He cocks his head*

Sam said you were planning on leaving... I'm sure with Starfleet to give you a letter, you could work anywhere!

*Jamie managed to get the legs of the chair put together - not without cursing, and not without trying several things that he ruefully realised later no human would've wasted time doing*

*He was privately convinced that not only were the Sinalbanians of Dextros III lunatics, but that they were secretly sabotaging these kits to protest the conditions of their labour under the Romulan Empire - they having been taken over early in the Clone Wars, and being outside the Treaty area*

*He also shook his head at himself for not realising right away why an allen wrench has a long and short side*

*After getting the ring inside the legs, and (after several tries) getting the short bolts fastened in, Jamie realised he'd left out Step 2*

*That turned out to be putting the back of the chair together*

*It stubbornly refused to go - metal bits wouldn't bend enough, and holes wouldn't line up*

*After putting in bolts, and taking them out, and trying it the other way round, Jamie had finally concluded that either a)the picture was wrong, or b)the parts were*

*It being far past his suppertime, and his fingers being sore from all that screwing around - and unscrewing around - Jamie had, in desperation, used the oldest tom trick in the book*

*He'd given up, reckoning that a sore tail was a small price to pay for getting out of there, and fed*

*Popescu had administered the threatened punishment, dismissing Jamie with instructions to come back tomorrow, and finish the job*

*Jamie was disappointed not to see the back of the chair, and Popescu, and, as he made his way home, reflected bitterly that this piece of metal junk was almost a parody of a Windsor chair*

*The kind he hadn't been able to learn how to make, when he was in Philadelphia*

*Popescu was secretly pleased - no tame Gael would've got that far with it*

*After Jamison left, he sat down (well, at least *he* could) to send off a message to his colleagues about the interesting experimental results*

*Jack smiles*

That was a while ago. I found a reason to stay.

*Quirinus nods seriously*

That's good.

*He empties his beer*

But I'd better go back to work. Have a good evening, Sergeant.

*Jack nods at Quirinus and stays a little longer, before going back to his quarters and Anezka*

*Schrödinger stretches, rolls over on his back, burrows his shoulderblades deeper into the soft pillow and falls back asleep*

*He flops over on his side again, but one paw remains sticking out at a strange angle*

*Now to hope no soap will be involved...*

*Quirinus returns to the workshop*

*He fastens the piece of wood he's working on - a nice, tight-grained bit of oak - securely in the workbench, and fetches his plane*

http://www.veerbouw.nl/assets/images/autogen/a_Houten-werkbank.gif

*As he shaves smooth curls off the wood, he sings to himself again, a song he understands better now than when he first heard it*

Sovay, Sovay, all on a day
She dressed herself in man's array.
With a sword and pistol all by her side... </>

http://sniff.numachi.com/midi/SOVAY.midi
http://sniff.numachi.com/pages/tiSOVAY;ttSOVAY.html

*Could this be the end? Or is this just the beginning of something new and beautiful?*

*At any rate, the wanderings of the Mariposa will need a new recordkeeper*

*Ours appears to have gone utterly mad*

http://miragestudio7.com/blog/images/sketches_architecture.jpg

*Is that any wonder after 75000 posts of this? But surely, Starfleet will provide...*

*Posting on behalf of our great and glorious game master, Dmitri*



Hey, boys, girls, and cyberbeings - it's that time again.

Yup. Moving Day.

So pack up your characters, your uniforms, and your lasers and phasers, and snag a shuttle ride over to Book the Sixth (link at the bottom of the homepage which the GM promises faithfully will be updated just as soon as those pesky Vogons let him work in peace).

Er, try not to ride with Santos - in his current mood, you might end up in Gloryland.

Readers, lurkers, fans of all species: we promise more thrills and spills over at the new place, so bookmark and read on.

This is your shipboard computer, signing you off.