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Sep. 29th, 2005 11:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
walk_insOctober 14, 2519, Blue Sun Technical Research Center, Dyton Colony, New Vanderbilt:
The Blue Sun TRC is a pleasant, airy building, a white dome with a large visible Blue Sun logo on the side. The armed guards (no blue gloves or screamers, ordinary humans with ordinary guns on the gate and we all say xiexie) and spiked gates are just a courtesy detail. As it were.
Inside, Ephram Mallory is meeting with his project director, Sun-Yat Lawrence. They're standing together, an incogruous pair, looking into a tangled welter of machinery. Something blue and glowing pulses at the center.
Mallory is a tiny man, just over five feet, with sleek dark hair; Dr. Lawrence is a balding man with a walrus moustache and a build to match. "Now, you probably know the original purpose of this device was to block out reader activity, which it still does. That's why the da ren have always kept their headquarters here on New Vanderbilt rather than moving into the Core when things took off."
Mallory nods. "That's what I found in the literature, yes. And then I saw the report that, theoretically, the same technology could block portals between 'verses. How did your team make that finding?"
"Well," the scientist quacks, "what nobody out there," he jerks a thumb to indicate 'outside,' a place he hasn't seen in seven years, "realizes is that we were right in the path of that dimensional crossrip. But it stopped, just outside our lunar orbit; picked up again on the other side. All that was, was an incompletely articulated portal, and all that's special about us was the Psionic Blocker. We're not sure what the underlying relationship is, because we don't understand portal technology fully."
"I was," Mallory hesitates, "under the impression that such portals are... well, magical."
"Magic!" Lawrence explodes. "There's no such thing. Sir. Just technology beyond what we can grasp. Now, the Blocker's purpose is to put out, essentially, psionic white noise. Apparently, that also strengthens the fabric of our 'verse and blocks portals. The only problem was range, and the blue ball solved that one. Unfortunately, the psionic component doesn't scale; the 'static', so to speak, gets too diffuse to cause any serious interference." Lawrence's eyes stray to the pulsing blue light. "I'd give a whole gorram lot to know what that thing does, I'll admit, sir. To know how it was made, and how it works." His high-pitched quacking voice grows slower, hungrier.
Mallory looks apprehensive--and more than a little jealous. "It's a wicked thing, doctor. I wouldn't let it prey on your mind."
"No. No, of course not." He blinks rapidly, looks away. "Anyway, sir, things are on schedule. We'll be ready to activate the device in a matter of days. I expect everything to progress smoothly."
And despite an interruption that occurs when Doctor Lawrence is found nude and painted with mysterious symbols, kneeling and chanting before the god he created, staring blindly into its single, flaming blue eye... things do, by and large, progress smoothly.
That is to say, every portal in the 'verse--every portal--closes.
Milliways, the End of Space and Time, 515 years PS (Post Servete):
Prior Fell and Andronicus Crowley sigh, and with regret set aside their wine glasses. "It's been lovely, my dear, but I fear I'll be needed on Haven soon."
Crowley nods. "I know, angel. Better head down to the garage and pick up that old Firefly, myself. Good luck." They exchange a brief kiss and the angel quirks a smile.
"Walk me out?"
Crowley reaches for the door.
It doesn't open.
Aziraphael blinks. "It's... never done that before."
The Blue Sun TRC is a pleasant, airy building, a white dome with a large visible Blue Sun logo on the side. The armed guards (no blue gloves or screamers, ordinary humans with ordinary guns on the gate and we all say xiexie) and spiked gates are just a courtesy detail. As it were.
Inside, Ephram Mallory is meeting with his project director, Sun-Yat Lawrence. They're standing together, an incogruous pair, looking into a tangled welter of machinery. Something blue and glowing pulses at the center.
Mallory is a tiny man, just over five feet, with sleek dark hair; Dr. Lawrence is a balding man with a walrus moustache and a build to match. "Now, you probably know the original purpose of this device was to block out reader activity, which it still does. That's why the da ren have always kept their headquarters here on New Vanderbilt rather than moving into the Core when things took off."
Mallory nods. "That's what I found in the literature, yes. And then I saw the report that, theoretically, the same technology could block portals between 'verses. How did your team make that finding?"
"Well," the scientist quacks, "what nobody out there," he jerks a thumb to indicate 'outside,' a place he hasn't seen in seven years, "realizes is that we were right in the path of that dimensional crossrip. But it stopped, just outside our lunar orbit; picked up again on the other side. All that was, was an incompletely articulated portal, and all that's special about us was the Psionic Blocker. We're not sure what the underlying relationship is, because we don't understand portal technology fully."
"I was," Mallory hesitates, "under the impression that such portals are... well, magical."
"Magic!" Lawrence explodes. "There's no such thing. Sir. Just technology beyond what we can grasp. Now, the Blocker's purpose is to put out, essentially, psionic white noise. Apparently, that also strengthens the fabric of our 'verse and blocks portals. The only problem was range, and the blue ball solved that one. Unfortunately, the psionic component doesn't scale; the 'static', so to speak, gets too diffuse to cause any serious interference." Lawrence's eyes stray to the pulsing blue light. "I'd give a whole gorram lot to know what that thing does, I'll admit, sir. To know how it was made, and how it works." His high-pitched quacking voice grows slower, hungrier.
Mallory looks apprehensive--and more than a little jealous. "It's a wicked thing, doctor. I wouldn't let it prey on your mind."
"No. No, of course not." He blinks rapidly, looks away. "Anyway, sir, things are on schedule. We'll be ready to activate the device in a matter of days. I expect everything to progress smoothly."
And despite an interruption that occurs when Doctor Lawrence is found nude and painted with mysterious symbols, kneeling and chanting before the god he created, staring blindly into its single, flaming blue eye... things do, by and large, progress smoothly.
That is to say, every portal in the 'verse--every portal--closes.
Milliways, the End of Space and Time, 515 years PS (Post Servete):
Prior Fell and Andronicus Crowley sigh, and with regret set aside their wine glasses. "It's been lovely, my dear, but I fear I'll be needed on Haven soon."
Crowley nods. "I know, angel. Better head down to the garage and pick up that old Firefly, myself. Good luck." They exchange a brief kiss and the angel quirks a smile.
"Walk me out?"
Crowley reaches for the door.
It doesn't open.
Aziraphael blinks. "It's... never done that before."
