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

*Kyra thinks for a moment, but doesn't come up with anything sufficiently interesting to be included in a conversation*

Not really, no. Well, nothing new that's interesting enough to bring up, anyway.

Things have been ... slow.

*Tavaron had hoped to hear about new exciting stories*

Pity. But must mean that this planet is short on bad guys. A rare thing.

*Kyra laughs*

That's true. I think Eli must be pleased, I haven't been arrested, shot at or knocked unconscious in a while.

*Tavaron grins*

Oh that's good, and it should stay like that. But I imagine that you'd rather like to have something to do.

*Kyra shrugs*

It's taking some getting used to.

*She rubs Frankie's ears*

Anyway, I should get back down to the planet. I just came up for a change of clothes and to give Frankie a change of scenery.

*Tavaron nods*

Ok, then have a nice day and greetings to Eli.

*she smiles*

It was nice to meet you.

*Kyra nods, again slightly befuddled, and goes on her way*

*In the Astrogation Office, Jesse is carefully folding paper@ airplanes, which he is tested out by throwing them at Rory*

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0a0p8ygfQM&feature=fvst

*Rory swats irritably*

Cut that out. Go help Toirdealbhach down in the Engine Room Shop. He's making some equipment for Sickbay out of slinkies.#

*Liam runs in, brandishing an epad*

I've figured it out. What is all this?

*Rory leans back, ignoring the paper planes and the remark. He lifts one eyebrow - he's been practising*

What happened?

*Liam points to his calculations, which annoys Rory, who can see them just fine*

Last week, Remulad had a major earthquake down in the southern hemisphere. Since nobody human lives there, and the animals don't report data, nobody noticed. The animals all moved away from the tsunami areas...

*Jesse interrupts*

And since there were no humans around, nobody drowned.

*Liam nods*

Now their figural axis has moved by about 3 inches, and the day is shorter by about a microsecond.

*Jesse giggles*

Do you think anybody will notice?

*Rory sighs*

Only the guys in the orbital station. Do you want to tell them?

*Liam wrinkles his brow*

Not me. Those guys use some weird measuring system based on the number ten. I don't want to do the conversions.

*Rory shrugs*

Then send a message to the Smiths. If they can do the calculations by the time we get around to leaving orbit, THEY can tell 'em.

*Liam makes a note*

When will that be?

*Rory thinks*

Oh, a few months, at least.

*Liam grins*

That might be time enough. I'll alert Ensign Davis right away.

*He sends a mail, along with a suitable video*

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I8BvxAIsVDU

*Jesse shrugs, and goes back to perfecting his airplane technique for the next Gael science fair*$



@Hemp, of course.
#If you'd watched the video to the end, you would understand that remark. Pay more attention next time.
$You don't want to know.

*Jamie Douglass is in a corridor of the Mariposa, feet on a ladder, head in a conduit*

*Nothing special, he's just making an adjustment to the trekolalia circuits, to improve reception on the consoles - Boney's been getting headaches*

*For some reason, he's got a song running through his head*

''Tis pretty to be in Ballinderry, 'tis pretty to be in Achalee...'</>

*In the warren, Donald and Jesse are watching Galactovision*

*Since the set has a G-chip, they can only get 'suitable' entertainment*

*They are laughing their heads off, nonetheless*

*Toirdhealbhach wanders in, grabs some popcorn*

Oh, cool. I love reality shows.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KEg5NDZ6rnM&feature=related

*In the arboretum a huge, colorful egg appears - a bit late, yes, but there were some difficulties with the Tardis.*

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3121/2912402031_130bc56161.jpg

*It is about three meters high and 2 meters wide and it's 'shell' is out of a few centimeters of sugar. Whoever breaks the shell will get through to a filling of chocolate and marzipan easter eggs, packed in glittery paper;*

http://z.about.com/d/inventors/1/0/n/1/1/chocolateeggs.jpg

*chocolate Easter bunnies;*

http://cdn.ripple6.com/userfiles/90385/Image/chocolate_bunnies1.jpg

*little lamb-shaped cakes;

http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LYWGEig-mjo/Sd-ap76L5RI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/wjl0n0w9j2g/s400/Osterlamm.jpg

*and 'real' Easter eggs in various designs.*

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_P6kwc9VlOEE/R-ZRHwAC7HI/AAAAAAAABfM/t4AEqqH3iw0/s320/bukovina-easter-eggs-zoglauer-table-640.jpg

*Cuchulain, strolling through the arboretum, sees Very Strange Things*

*At first, he thinks he should call Security, but he is too shy to do this*

*Then he wonders if too many hours spent in Astrogation have caused him to start hallucinating*

*Then he wonders if this is some sort of strange Goth invasion*

*Finally, he decides that the question of bizarre nature-shaped food items is Somebody Else's Problem, and goes on*

*As he does not like chocolate and is allergic to marzipan, he is not even tempted to take anything - besides, they don't belong to him*

Curioser and curioser - but they're pretty. Is it sidereal new year already? I thought we had one only a few thousand years ago...</>

*Biermann steps through the airlock connecting the Mariposa to the station and takes a deep breath*

*Of course, scent is a tricky thing on a starship, but the smell is still somehow distinctly Mariposa*

*And distinctly better than that wafting from the depths of his duffle bag - he plans to tip its entire contents directly down the laundry chute after he checks all the pockets for interesting coins with owls on them*

*He's wearing jeans and a sleeveless shirt showing off bronzed and slightly sunburnt skin - though there's still a visible transition to his spacer's tan of hands and face*

*He returns the Security corporal's salute, pushes his luggage through the scanner, and sets off for his quarters, whistling cheerfully in an odd key*

*Toirdhealbhach and Mairin are watching Galactovision - with the G-chip on*

*It's a tabby talent show*

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BNR74UCidBI

*Toirdhealbhach is impressed*

Wow. I can't believe you could pick up an apple like that.

*Mairin wrinkles her brow*

I think it will take some practice. A mhamai! Do we have any apples?

*The Mariposa's captain, Richard Sharpe, is grumbling because he has too many reports to read*

*He still moves his lips when he does this, and he secretly wishes they'd write in French, which he actually reads better than English. He prefers Voltaire to Regency Romance, which makes him nervous*

*In addition, the reports are unnecessarily complicated, and while he's reading, Nappy the Shipboard Virus is making comments*

Alors! 'Ave zey nozing better to do, mon ami? Perhaps you should re-introduce barnacle-scraping as a diversion?

*Sharpe waves him away - a useless gesture, as Nappy is dancing on the edge of the screen - and takes a gulp of gunpowder tea[1] while opening the next document*

TITLE (it is so marked): The Use of Historical Referents in Evaluating Military Intelligence in the Post-Post-Post-Modern Era, a Preliminary Assessment of 21st-Century Earth Intel

http://msnbcmedia.msn.com/i/MSNBC/Components/Photo/2009/December/091202/091203-engel-big-9a.jpg

*Sharpe sputters, and gunpowder tea sprays the screen*

SMITHS!!! Smegging SMITHS!!!

*Nappy chuckles as he wipes tea from his uniform with a cloth marked 'CSS Maripos'*

Heh-heh. I zought you would enjoy a bit of 'ypnotising ze chickens...



[1] In the galaxy, there are now contractors producing gunpowder for Starfleet. This gunpowder has no purpose other than to flavour tea. Bean-counters have objected, but since the objections go across Admiral Hawkins' desk, and Admiral Hawkins likes gunpowder tea, the objections don't get anywhere.

*Since work is slow on the Mariposa, and they are bored, the Gaels are occupying themselves with such arcana as archiving Fortean phenomena*

*Liam and Jesse are sorting through reports from many different times and places - rains of frogs in every known solar system (sometimes actually on planets), spontaneous Smith combustion, usually caused by taco sauce, etc*

*Jesse gives a low whistle*

Hey, Liam, this one is cool - especially as this fellow cannot possibly be a tom.

*Liam looks, and chuckles*

http://www.newkerala.com/news/fullnews-97017.html

Heh-heh. I smell a Goth.

*Jesse wrinkles his nose*

Can humans do that?

*Liam shrugs*

Of course. But don't tell 'em that. The Smith used to have their nutritional intake reduced to four pills a day...they were so bored, and they forgot that we wanted to eat, and fed us junk food....

*Jesse is curious*

You mean like potato crisps?

*Liam rolls his eyes*

I mean like Nutritional Supplement #14. Looked like dog food, tasted like cardboard.

*Jesse thinks*

I get you. I'll file this one under 'Boring', then...it's true, and the Smiths never read the one marked 'Boring'. They're sort of literal...

*Both laugh*

*Biermann is enjoying his shoreleave*

*He'd gone of expecting to have the time of his life at the local sports festival, but after three days he's still not managed to figure out what constitutes scoring in this game, let alone what the other rules are - and has made himself unpopular by cheering at the wrong moments*

*Fortunately, he's managed to sell on the ticket for the remaining five days for more than he originally paid - it seems that people are as desperate to get into the stadium as he is to get out*

*The streets are oddly quiet. The parks are peaceful. And he's found a little café full of other refugees from the madness. It helps his morale immensely that many of them are female, and willing to let him sit at their tables*

*He only makes the mistake of trying to explain football once.*

*It's already a deep, shiny, black, but Santos applies yet another coat of varnish - Parade Gloss No. 5 - with a thin brush and a steady hand*

*Maybe the Captain and Commander Stovall won't let him do the much-needed work on his shuttle, but this is something they can't take away from him.*

*It truly is a thing of beauty, and he can't wait to show it off in the pilots' ready room*

*As he pulls on his boots with their high, stacked heels and strides out the door, head held up proudly, he thinks that nobody else could have done it. It takes skill, and patience, and determination*

*Why, half of them probably can't grow any kind of a moustache, much less one as exquisitely curled and pointed as his*

*Lt. Lens being a workaholic possessed but without much work to do, finds himself completely at wits end. His quarters has stacks of paper, crumpled notes, dirty laundry and what appears to be some sort of food left out that has achieved a barter system of trade*

[tiny microbe named Grogg]: I invented this thing. I am not sure what to call it.
[tiny microbe named Edna]: Gee, you might want to call it wheel. I'll give you this peptide chain for it and a carbohydrate...

[grogg]: Alright, can't see myself doing much with it at the moment.

*Grogg and Edna are then killed by a barbaric band of brigands from another colony... who consider using this 'wheel' as a weapon', who then go through several generations in the span of an hour and their 15th generation descendents scratch that idea and as the colonies wage war, green bacteria successfully absorb the other two cultures.*

[Hobarth, the grizzled]: I am an elderly phage, and as scribe I would tell you...

[Grzzb the terrifying]: "Silence fool, the pace of advancements appears to be increasing so fast according to my advisors, that our very empire shall be extinct in..."

*as they are talking the dictator and his scribe see strange spores land on their apple core...*
[both]: "What praytell is this infernal sorcery?"

*Tiny mold people on the opposite side of the core end have begun building an encampment.*