Reply to thread

Message

<blockquote data-quote="Capellan" data-source="post: 1237644" data-attributes="member: 6294">&quot;Blast Off!&quot; - Part 16The village is deserted, buildings standing empty, and heavily overgrown with the strange brown mould.&nbsp; There is no sign of life: not even insects stir.&quot;Where are the primitives?&quot; S'Ondra complains, &quot;I want to see Earth primitives.&quot;&quot;That looks like a public bar.&quot; Fury points to a hanging sign.&nbsp; Faintly, the word's The Royal Arms can be read through a layer of mould, &quot;I'd say that's the kind of place people would have gathered when this - whatever this is - happened.&quot;&quot;Will there be primitives?&nbsp; I want to awe them with my mighty Venusian technology.&quot;&quot;I doubt it.&quot; Fury rolls his eyes, &quot;Or the ship's sensors would have told us.&nbsp; There should be whiskey, though.&nbsp; And it's had plenty of time to age, by now.&quot;&quot;Whiskey?&quot;&quot;It's an Earth drink.&nbsp; You'll like it.&quot;&quot;I bet it's not as good as Grintak Blood.&quot;&quot;Actually, a lot of my friends say it's very similar.&quot; Fury reaches the door of the pub, then motions for S'Ondra to stand back, &quot;Let me go first, Princess, it might be dangerous.&quot;&quot;What, a ferocious mould-eating herbivore might nuzzle me to death?&quot; S'Ondra snorts and tosses her feather-like hair. &quot;Let's just go in.&quot;The interior of the pub is dark; mould coats the windows, keeping out most of the natural light; but the open doorway splashes light across several tables and a part of the bar.&nbsp; All are thickly covered with the brown fungus, giving the whole place a drab and uniform look.&quot;There's your whiskey.&quot; S'Ondra points to some bottle-shaped lumps of mould on a shelf, &quot;Though I wouldn't want to drink it.&quot;&quot;I think I'll have to pass.&quot; Fury looks mournfully at the bottles, then glances around the room, &quot;I don't see anything useful here.&nbsp; You?&quot;S'Ondra shakes her head in answer, and the two walk back out into the weak sunlight.&nbsp; Fury shrugs,&quot;Can't hurt to check whether there is anyone around.&quot; He observes, and cups his hands to his mouth. &quot;Hello!&nbsp; Can anyone hear me?&quot;As the echoes of his shout die away without answer, the Captain shrugs,&quot;I guess there's nothing here.&quot;A sign creaks in the wind.S'Ondra turns toward the sound.&nbsp; As she does so, the wind gusts again, and a hanging sign just down the road swings noticeably, mould sloughing off it to reveal the words underneath.&quot;General Store and Post Office.&quot; She reads, &quot;What's a Post Office?&quot;Fury shakes his head ruefully,&quot;It's what we should have looked for in the first place.&quot;The pair make their way down the street and into the small building.&nbsp; The interior is crowded with shelves and piles of boxes, all coated with mould, while one wall consists almost entirely of black iron post office boxes.&quot;What we need is -&quot; Fury pauses, then bends down, peeling something away from the floor.&nbsp; Dry brown mould showers off the object as he gives it a quick shake. &quot;- this.&quot;'This' is a newspaper.&nbsp; The Times, in fact, with its cursive gothic masthead marching proudly across the page.&nbsp; Beneath, in stark bold letters, is the headline:SPACE MOULD MENACE GROWSBeneath this is a grainy image of Big Ben, its clock face half grown-over with the all too familiar mould.&quot;Let's take this back to the Doc and Archie.&quot; The Captain tucks the newspaper under his arm, &quot;I'm sure they'll want to see it, too.&quot;</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Capellan, post: 1237644, member: 6294"] [b]"Blast Off!" - Part 16[/b] The village is deserted, buildings standing empty, and heavily overgrown with the strange brown mould. There is no sign of life: not even insects stir. "Where are the primitives?" S'Ondra complains, "I want to see Earth primitives." "That looks like a public bar." Fury points to a hanging sign. Faintly, the word's [I]The Royal Arms[/I] can be read through a layer of mould, "I'd say that's the kind of place people would have gathered when this - whatever this [I]is[/I] - happened." "Will there be primitives? I want to awe them with my mighty Venusian technology." "I doubt it." Fury rolls his eyes, "Or the ship's sensors would have told us. There should be whiskey, though. And it's had plenty of time to age, by now." "Whiskey?" "It's an Earth drink. You'll like it." "I bet it's not as good as Grintak Blood." "Actually, a lot of my friends say it's very similar." Fury reaches the door of the pub, then motions for S'Ondra to stand back, "Let me go first, Princess, it might be dangerous." "What, a ferocious mould-eating herbivore might nuzzle me to death?" S'Ondra snorts and tosses her feather-like hair. "Let's just go in." The interior of the pub is dark; mould coats the windows, keeping out most of the natural light; but the open doorway splashes light across several tables and a part of the bar. All are thickly covered with the brown fungus, giving the whole place a drab and uniform look. "There's your whiskey." S'Ondra points to some bottle-shaped lumps of mould on a shelf, "Though I wouldn't want to drink it." "I think I'll have to pass." Fury looks mournfully at the bottles, then glances around the room, "I don't see anything useful here. You?" S'Ondra shakes her head in answer, and the two walk back out into the weak sunlight. Fury shrugs, "Can't hurt to check whether there [I]is[/I] anyone around." He observes, and cups his hands to his mouth. "[I]Hello! Can anyone hear me?[/I]" As the echoes of his shout die away without answer, the Captain shrugs, "I guess there's nothing here." A sign creaks in the wind. S'Ondra turns toward the sound. As she does so, the wind gusts again, and a hanging sign just down the road swings noticeably, mould sloughing off it to reveal the words underneath. "General Store and Post Office." She reads, "What's a Post Office?" Fury shakes his head ruefully, "It's what we should have looked for in the first place." The pair make their way down the street and into the small building. The interior is crowded with shelves and piles of boxes, all coated with mould, while one wall consists almost entirely of black iron post office boxes. "What we need is -" Fury pauses, then bends down, peeling something away from the floor. Dry brown mould showers off the object as he gives it a quick shake. "- this." 'This' is a newspaper. The [I]Times[/I], in fact, with its cursive gothic masthead marching proudly across the page. Beneath, in stark bold letters, is the headline: [b][SIZE=4]SPACE MOULD MENACE GROWS[/SIZE][/b] Beneath this is a grainy image of Big Ben, its clock face half grown-over with the all too familiar mould. "Let's take this back to the Doc and Archie." The Captain tucks the newspaper under his arm, "I'm sure they'll want to see it, too." [/QUOTE]

Verification