“Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.” ~ Douglas Adam
FLOAT POD co
Z is keening.
The sound is crisply clear. The recessed wall mics in the FP are attuned to the lab speakers.
The keening spits out of the quadrasonic subwoofers.
“Whoa. What the hell? It’s never been this lo…”
“Hey, I know. I know. But…that sound. From that thing.”
“That “thing” inside the FP is a person. That “sound” is being recorded.”
“As are we.”
“I know. I know. I kinda meant the FP.”
“Shit. Really? Kind of?”
” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~”
“What are you mumbling about now?”
“Never mind. Forget I asked.”
“I said, Ms. Grammar Patrol…no. Fuck it.”
“When are we being relieved? We’re overdue.”
A hand slams the console.
“You know the when. Again and again. You’re worse than a child’s ad nauseam ‘Are we there yet?’ Enough.”
“I want out.”
“I mean it this time. I do. This is as stressful as it is boring. My yawns bore the other yawns.”
Counts to three.
“Look, we don’t know when that freak will go nuke, but we know it will happen. Aren’t you tired of this?”
Z’s keening elevates to 142 dB from a steady 50 dB.
“Shit shit shit!.”
Tries to mute the system. Fingers are grabbed; bent backwards.
Tears wiped away. Damaged hand nursed in the opposite axilla.
“Fuck. Why did you do that?”
The wail crossfades to 0 dB. No increase.
The control panels spark.
“Hey. Your ear. You’re dripping blood. No. The other ear.”
“You get what anybody gets. You get a lifetime.” ~ Neil Gaiman
Epoch: Liquid Time
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