Schroedinger's Shop Rite, chapter 2
Oct. 8th, 2006 08:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
evilbeej1743
Let's skip over my hours of waiting until the plane was supposed to land. All that really need be said about them is that there were enough of them and I was impatient enough about them that I did something which, in retrospect, was really unforgivably stupid. I called out the time-compression servitor, Fotamecus, so I wouldn't have to wait as long.
Fotamecus was originally just a sigil, but a group of chaos magicians going to a Metallica show in Arizona charged it at said Metallica show, and sent it on, and now it'll compress and expand time for anyone who uses it. You call it out, and it'll make time go faster or slower for you, depending on which you need and which you focus on. The snapback goes to the next person down the line, doing the opposite for them of what you asked it to do-- unless you forget to send it on.
Needless to say, I forgot to send it on-- but that comes into the story later.
I got to the airport and picked Jen and her luggage and her time machine (which she'd stuffed in her carry-on bag-- good thing she'd put it in the casing of her old TI-82, or you better believe airport security would've thought it was a bomb. They think *anything* is a bomb. Except, I guess, obsolete graphing calculators.) There were hugs and grinning and ridiculous babbling and the usual reunion things, and we got in my car and headed back home, so I could show Jen the tape.
"I guess you're going to have to look shocked," I said to her when we got to that part. "Because you're shocked on the tape."
"If I don't, then I guess it's an alternate reality," said Jen, shrugging and glancing from the display to her TI-82.
"It could be an alternate reality anyway," I said, eyebrows up. "I can't believe you put it in that thing."
"Yes you can," laughed Jen, looking aside at me, holding up the calculator. "Symbolism. Old times' sake."
"What if we wind up in the Superguy universe?"
"Then we'll have superpowers," she said calmly, going back to programming. "Besides, this is time travel, not dimensional travel."
"And what if my being there reverses the polarity of the neutron flow, and we wind up with a TARDIS in a TI-82?"
"Then we'll have adventure on our hands, won't we?"
I couldn't argue with that. Instead, I went to my room and rooted through my closet, coming up with my old girl scout uniform. Blue vest with patches and badges, neckerchief, blue and white and yellow striped blouse, blue skirt. It *really* didn't fit anymore; I've put on a lot of weight since I was seventeen. I settled for cargo pants in the ugliest olive drab ever, checkered Vans with writing all over them, a black t-shirt with the word 'Aggro' written in white on the front, and I put the girl scout vest over that. That, at least, fit. Last details I needed-- the replica RAF anti-flare goggles with a Hawaiian flower pinned to one side I'd acquired last year, and my knockoff Legion flight ring.
Costuming complete, I went about stuffing my laptop bag full of Mac and clean underwear, power cable, universal transformer, my toy Sonic Screwdriver, plastic bags, soap, toothbrush, comb, scissors, Swiss Army knife, iPod, cellphone, sketchbook, a couple of mechanical pencils and a few Sharpies, battery recharger, and a handful of rechargeable batteries. And clove cigarettes, and a lighter.
Emerging from my room, I poked my head around the corner; there was snow on the television screen, and Jen and her TI-82 were both gone.
"Okay," I said, and went into the kitchen to make some sandwiches and grab some apples.
I felt very Pevensie, making those sandwiches.
There was a sharp little yelp from the living room, and I darted out of the kitchen-- there was Jen, back again, holding the TI-82 and looking both startled and triumphant. The triumph won out over the startled after a second, and I grinned at her. "Worked, huh?"
"Worked," she said, beaming. "And I spotted you outside the supermarket. In 1988."
"There's that loop closed," I said, and tossed her an apple. She fumbled it and wound up dropping both it and the calculator -- which, as it had its casing on it, only made a tiny little cracking sound.
We both froze.
"Oh crap," I said, looking up again, eyes wide.
"Oh god," said Jen, scrambling for the calculator, picking it up, and examining it from the outside, obviously trying not to panic.
"Um," I said, ducking back into the kitchen. "I'll just finish up these sammiches, then. And food. And we can steal my dad's case of Vault. And. I'll leave a note on the table in case something goes wrong. And."
There was silence from the living room. I refused to look, instead packing up a cooler-bag with the provisions I'd procured.
"It's okay," Jen called from out there. "It didn't break. There's a little crack in the outside casing, but it turns on and doesn't go all gibberish on the screen."
"Good," I said, finally coming out again, slinging the cooler-bag onto the couch. "Thank God. I hope this doesn't mean I'm Crash again."
"I hope so too," said Jen, eyeing my getup. "What are you wearing?"
She was dressed all business-casual.
"The kind of crap I usually wear," I said, picking up a hoodie and my 'mod parka', missing the lining. "I'm still not a very serious person. Gotta look how I feel, and if how I feel is kind of nuts, then so be it. Come on. Are we going yet? I packed stuff."
"Your note," she reminded me.
"Right!" I said, hopping over to the dining room table and scribbling out a note to my family. 'Hey! Jen and I are going time-travelling. If something goes wrong, you might not see me for a while, but I'll try and get word to you somehow. I swear it's God's honest truth. I've left a tape in the VCR, and I'll leave the Hi-8 recording when we leave, so you can see I'm not just making this up. Love you!' I scribbled, and then signed it.
"Okay!" I crowed, pulling on my parka over the girl scout vest, then tossing Jen the hoodie. It said 'STFU' on it. I'm so classy. I slung the laptop bag over one shoulder, and handed my partner in crime the cooler-bag. "Let's go!"
"Okay. Now, to let you know, it doesn't function as a regular graphing calculator anymore, so if by any chance you needed to plot out a cosine or something, use a different method. If you did it on this, you'd wind up shunting us sideways through time and god knows where we'd land. I programmed the functions in basically the same way, so I'd remember what I was doing when I activated it, but--"
"No, don't tell me how it works," I said to Jen. "We've been writing about this stuff since high school. Dreaming about it. I won't understand the explanation and it'll just make me get bored and distracted and then I'll be daydreaming when it actually happens and I'll *miss* it."
"Fair enough," she said, pulling on the hoodie, then looking down at it, and raising her eyebrows. "Subsisto Sermo Statim?" she asked. The thing was designed as a college logo -- STFU, U for University. Latin motto and everything. Established in 1337. Clever shirt, that.
"Not you. Come on come /on/," I insisted, practically jumping up and down in place, I was getting so impatient.
"Okay," said Jen, grinning, picking up her own backpack and slinging it over her shoulders, then giving the cooler back to me. "You have to carry it, I've got the calculator."
"FINE! Are you dragging this out on purpose?"
"Yes."
"Well stop!" I was practially squeaking. "It's time to *go*! In time! Travelling! Where are we going? When, I mean? When are we going?"
"I was stalling because I hadn't made up my mind," confessed the blonde girl. Woman. We were grown-ups now.
"Then program it for the thirtieth century!"
"What's in the thirtieth century?" she blinked.
"I don't know, but I hope the Legion of Super-Heroes," I said quickly, crossing what little distance was left between us, peering over Jen's shoulder at the display of the graphing calculator time machine. "I mean, probably not, because, you know, comic book. But it would be awesome. And it'll be awesome to see, either way!"
"What if the Earth is poisoned by then, and we can't breathe the air, and we die?" Jen asked reasonably.
"We won't. I put a great amount of stock in clean-air technology and green buildings," I said stoutly. "It'll be awesome. You'll see. MAKE IT GO!"
"Okay, okay!" conceded Jen, typing in 'run' on the little keypad of the calculator.
the earth went black
hood
grabbed hood in front
'gak!'
ground.
I woke up aching all over, feeling like the entire Russian army was dancing on my tongue in stockinged feet. But I knew I hadn't had any alcohol in like, months. Social drinker, and all. It was pitch black and I started to panic, but then I remembered to open my eyes, and it was merely dim in the room in which I found myself. I didn't have any clothes on, and I couldn't feel my right foot at all, and GOD I hated being naked, and curled up. That's when I figured out that there was at least a sheet over me. Also that the surface I was lying on was cold and metal.
I could move. That was good.
The sheet was over my face. That was bad.
I still couldn't feel my right foot. That was unnerving.
"Jen?" I whispered into the dimness, pushing the sheet away from my face and sitting up.
No answer.
Wrapping the sheet around myself like a toga -- because, damnit, I'd taken Latin and we found out how they wrapped togas in the class, for some reason -- I swung my legs around to drop them over the side of the metal table thing. My foot clacked.
"...?" I went, and leaned over to pick up my foot and feel it with my hands.
No wonder I couldn't feel it -- it was robotic.
"Okay, WHAT THE FUCK?!" I yelled.
Let's skip over my hours of waiting until the plane was supposed to land. All that really need be said about them is that there were enough of them and I was impatient enough about them that I did something which, in retrospect, was really unforgivably stupid. I called out the time-compression servitor, Fotamecus, so I wouldn't have to wait as long.
Fotamecus was originally just a sigil, but a group of chaos magicians going to a Metallica show in Arizona charged it at said Metallica show, and sent it on, and now it'll compress and expand time for anyone who uses it. You call it out, and it'll make time go faster or slower for you, depending on which you need and which you focus on. The snapback goes to the next person down the line, doing the opposite for them of what you asked it to do-- unless you forget to send it on.
Needless to say, I forgot to send it on-- but that comes into the story later.
I got to the airport and picked Jen and her luggage and her time machine (which she'd stuffed in her carry-on bag-- good thing she'd put it in the casing of her old TI-82, or you better believe airport security would've thought it was a bomb. They think *anything* is a bomb. Except, I guess, obsolete graphing calculators.) There were hugs and grinning and ridiculous babbling and the usual reunion things, and we got in my car and headed back home, so I could show Jen the tape.
"I guess you're going to have to look shocked," I said to her when we got to that part. "Because you're shocked on the tape."
"If I don't, then I guess it's an alternate reality," said Jen, shrugging and glancing from the display to her TI-82.
"It could be an alternate reality anyway," I said, eyebrows up. "I can't believe you put it in that thing."
"Yes you can," laughed Jen, looking aside at me, holding up the calculator. "Symbolism. Old times' sake."
"What if we wind up in the Superguy universe?"
"Then we'll have superpowers," she said calmly, going back to programming. "Besides, this is time travel, not dimensional travel."
"And what if my being there reverses the polarity of the neutron flow, and we wind up with a TARDIS in a TI-82?"
"Then we'll have adventure on our hands, won't we?"
I couldn't argue with that. Instead, I went to my room and rooted through my closet, coming up with my old girl scout uniform. Blue vest with patches and badges, neckerchief, blue and white and yellow striped blouse, blue skirt. It *really* didn't fit anymore; I've put on a lot of weight since I was seventeen. I settled for cargo pants in the ugliest olive drab ever, checkered Vans with writing all over them, a black t-shirt with the word 'Aggro' written in white on the front, and I put the girl scout vest over that. That, at least, fit. Last details I needed-- the replica RAF anti-flare goggles with a Hawaiian flower pinned to one side I'd acquired last year, and my knockoff Legion flight ring.
Costuming complete, I went about stuffing my laptop bag full of Mac and clean underwear, power cable, universal transformer, my toy Sonic Screwdriver, plastic bags, soap, toothbrush, comb, scissors, Swiss Army knife, iPod, cellphone, sketchbook, a couple of mechanical pencils and a few Sharpies, battery recharger, and a handful of rechargeable batteries. And clove cigarettes, and a lighter.
Emerging from my room, I poked my head around the corner; there was snow on the television screen, and Jen and her TI-82 were both gone.
"Okay," I said, and went into the kitchen to make some sandwiches and grab some apples.
I felt very Pevensie, making those sandwiches.
There was a sharp little yelp from the living room, and I darted out of the kitchen-- there was Jen, back again, holding the TI-82 and looking both startled and triumphant. The triumph won out over the startled after a second, and I grinned at her. "Worked, huh?"
"Worked," she said, beaming. "And I spotted you outside the supermarket. In 1988."
"There's that loop closed," I said, and tossed her an apple. She fumbled it and wound up dropping both it and the calculator -- which, as it had its casing on it, only made a tiny little cracking sound.
We both froze.
"Oh crap," I said, looking up again, eyes wide.
"Oh god," said Jen, scrambling for the calculator, picking it up, and examining it from the outside, obviously trying not to panic.
"Um," I said, ducking back into the kitchen. "I'll just finish up these sammiches, then. And food. And we can steal my dad's case of Vault. And. I'll leave a note on the table in case something goes wrong. And."
There was silence from the living room. I refused to look, instead packing up a cooler-bag with the provisions I'd procured.
"It's okay," Jen called from out there. "It didn't break. There's a little crack in the outside casing, but it turns on and doesn't go all gibberish on the screen."
"Good," I said, finally coming out again, slinging the cooler-bag onto the couch. "Thank God. I hope this doesn't mean I'm Crash again."
"I hope so too," said Jen, eyeing my getup. "What are you wearing?"
She was dressed all business-casual.
"The kind of crap I usually wear," I said, picking up a hoodie and my 'mod parka', missing the lining. "I'm still not a very serious person. Gotta look how I feel, and if how I feel is kind of nuts, then so be it. Come on. Are we going yet? I packed stuff."
"Your note," she reminded me.
"Right!" I said, hopping over to the dining room table and scribbling out a note to my family. 'Hey! Jen and I are going time-travelling. If something goes wrong, you might not see me for a while, but I'll try and get word to you somehow. I swear it's God's honest truth. I've left a tape in the VCR, and I'll leave the Hi-8 recording when we leave, so you can see I'm not just making this up. Love you!' I scribbled, and then signed it.
"Okay!" I crowed, pulling on my parka over the girl scout vest, then tossing Jen the hoodie. It said 'STFU' on it. I'm so classy. I slung the laptop bag over one shoulder, and handed my partner in crime the cooler-bag. "Let's go!"
"Okay. Now, to let you know, it doesn't function as a regular graphing calculator anymore, so if by any chance you needed to plot out a cosine or something, use a different method. If you did it on this, you'd wind up shunting us sideways through time and god knows where we'd land. I programmed the functions in basically the same way, so I'd remember what I was doing when I activated it, but--"
"No, don't tell me how it works," I said to Jen. "We've been writing about this stuff since high school. Dreaming about it. I won't understand the explanation and it'll just make me get bored and distracted and then I'll be daydreaming when it actually happens and I'll *miss* it."
"Fair enough," she said, pulling on the hoodie, then looking down at it, and raising her eyebrows. "Subsisto Sermo Statim?" she asked. The thing was designed as a college logo -- STFU, U for University. Latin motto and everything. Established in 1337. Clever shirt, that.
"Not you. Come on come /on/," I insisted, practically jumping up and down in place, I was getting so impatient.
"Okay," said Jen, grinning, picking up her own backpack and slinging it over her shoulders, then giving the cooler back to me. "You have to carry it, I've got the calculator."
"FINE! Are you dragging this out on purpose?"
"Yes."
"Well stop!" I was practially squeaking. "It's time to *go*! In time! Travelling! Where are we going? When, I mean? When are we going?"
"I was stalling because I hadn't made up my mind," confessed the blonde girl. Woman. We were grown-ups now.
"Then program it for the thirtieth century!"
"What's in the thirtieth century?" she blinked.
"I don't know, but I hope the Legion of Super-Heroes," I said quickly, crossing what little distance was left between us, peering over Jen's shoulder at the display of the graphing calculator time machine. "I mean, probably not, because, you know, comic book. But it would be awesome. And it'll be awesome to see, either way!"
"What if the Earth is poisoned by then, and we can't breathe the air, and we die?" Jen asked reasonably.
"We won't. I put a great amount of stock in clean-air technology and green buildings," I said stoutly. "It'll be awesome. You'll see. MAKE IT GO!"
"Okay, okay!" conceded Jen, typing in 'run' on the little keypad of the calculator.
the earth went black
hood
grabbed hood in front
'gak!'
ground.
I woke up aching all over, feeling like the entire Russian army was dancing on my tongue in stockinged feet. But I knew I hadn't had any alcohol in like, months. Social drinker, and all. It was pitch black and I started to panic, but then I remembered to open my eyes, and it was merely dim in the room in which I found myself. I didn't have any clothes on, and I couldn't feel my right foot at all, and GOD I hated being naked, and curled up. That's when I figured out that there was at least a sheet over me. Also that the surface I was lying on was cold and metal.
I could move. That was good.
The sheet was over my face. That was bad.
I still couldn't feel my right foot. That was unnerving.
"Jen?" I whispered into the dimness, pushing the sheet away from my face and sitting up.
No answer.
Wrapping the sheet around myself like a toga -- because, damnit, I'd taken Latin and we found out how they wrapped togas in the class, for some reason -- I swung my legs around to drop them over the side of the metal table thing. My foot clacked.
"...?" I went, and leaned over to pick up my foot and feel it with my hands.
No wonder I couldn't feel it -- it was robotic.
"Okay, WHAT THE FUCK?!" I yelled.
