TEXT ADVENTURE #25

TODAY WAS CRAP

by Stanley Lieber

1

October, 1944.

Simplified English.  A nervous system for the Earth.

No advertising, no support, no bugfixes, payment in advance.

The way we go about our work.

As a report, this is fairly accurate.

The dead dog is still trying to move through the doorway.  From the
threshold, another dog attacks her, foam streaming from its lips.
Body of the first dog crumbles as the newcomer bounds in and out of
the room, snapping chunks of bone and flesh, crushing muscle and fat
in its teeth.  As dust.  Undeterred, the dead dog continues barking.

I wake up, remembering these facts, uncertain as to how I arrived back
in my bunk.

Terrible headache.

Clean up my room, gather my things.  Some last minute paperwork.

Moving day.

2

South end of the runway is being cleared.  Tearing down old hangars,
moving debris.  Piotr is nowhere to be found.

The humor here is that an earthmover is hard at work on Mars.

The test site is changing, as is customary, but I won't be around to
report on the new developments, new products, new services.  Any
further records will be generated by my successors, factjaculating as
a matter of policy.  Truth is there's simply little left to cover, the
important work having been all sewn up.  Word is the Chief will be
leaving as well.

Our careful planning has evolved into a natural success.

Era Day.

3

There is trouble clearing the meridian between my quarters and the
mess hall.  Personnel routed carelessly, a group of propulsionists
attempting to egress from the crowded movie theater simultaneous with
the migration of some sort of celebration that is evidently still
underway.  My path is blocked.

Am I even cleared for this?  Eventually, my patience wears thin.
Barreling through the crowd, I elbow my way towards the waiting
transport, looking away from the faces to avoid a breach of security.

Piotr nods as I board the vehicle.

4

He sets down across the north perimeter of the test site and nods
again, this time directing me to exit the vehicle.  I hand over my
passes and he sweeps my bags before putting the transport back in
gear, departing the perimeter.  I stare into the sun and the dust
clouds kicked up by his departure.  Apparently, that was that.

Before long, Slake appears over the horizon, trundling towards my
location in his old junker.  I climb in and pull my hat down over my
face.  Time for a nap.

Hear the dead dog running along the perimeter fence.  Still intact.
Still barking.

Sit back up.  Look out the window.

Glint of quartz on sand.

Over to you, Nana.  I'm tired of making the effort.