Ricki Tarr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rickitikitarr) wrote2015-03-08 10:47 am
rickitikitarr) wrote2015-03-08 10:47 am
1. video
[Ricki Tarr, latest inmate arrival, is still getting his feet under him. He's been on board for a little while now, but let's face it, he's a field agent from the 1970s, getting used to graphical user interfaces of his messenger has put up a bit of a roadblock in terms of his making contact.
By the time he's confident enough with the flimsy, cheeping little device to make a video post, his stomach is growling, so the very first message is a simple video shot.
It's poorly framed, he has no real idea of how to centre himself in the lens, and the light in his room is dark and low and terrible for any sort of filming. But from the dark, what's visible of his half-in-the-frame expression is still and steady;]
The first living creature to orbit the earth was a little Russian mongrel named Laika. She was a pretty thing, with a clever cast to her eyes and pricked up, pointed ears. On the fourtieth anniversary of the Bolshevik revolution they flung the little thing into the sky.
In fact, the Russians had been launching dogs into suborbital flights for a few years before, but none attained the notoriety or captured the imaginations of the world like little Laika. I was rather young when she was sent to space, but recall thinking the entire proceedings terribly inhumane.
The Soviets say that she was euthanized before her oxygen ran out. The British and Americans question whether that is true. The Russians question whether that questioning is deliberately spread propaganda meant to make them seem monstrous. In the time since, I think both sides have lost track of the original truth of the matter. But the question of her ultimate cause of death aside, I wondered whether she might be hungry, thirsty or afraid, uncomprehending of how it was possible to see stars all around her... I actually can't recall reading whether Sputnik 2 was like this ship, with windows or not. Laika may not have seen stars spinning in the sky, but I'm sure the sounds and sudden lack of gravity must have been rather frightening for such a little dog.
[His voice is low and steady, the pictures his paints are matter-of-fact and vivid. He accent is an odd, old one, London tempered by a childhood racing through Penang streets and other colonial holds. He takes his time with the story before concluding;]
Which is all to say, given the apparent flexibility of space and time on this vessel, if we see her while we're out here, I must simply insist that we make a stop.
By the time he's confident enough with the flimsy, cheeping little device to make a video post, his stomach is growling, so the very first message is a simple video shot.
It's poorly framed, he has no real idea of how to centre himself in the lens, and the light in his room is dark and low and terrible for any sort of filming. But from the dark, what's visible of his half-in-the-frame expression is still and steady;]
The first living creature to orbit the earth was a little Russian mongrel named Laika. She was a pretty thing, with a clever cast to her eyes and pricked up, pointed ears. On the fourtieth anniversary of the Bolshevik revolution they flung the little thing into the sky.
In fact, the Russians had been launching dogs into suborbital flights for a few years before, but none attained the notoriety or captured the imaginations of the world like little Laika. I was rather young when she was sent to space, but recall thinking the entire proceedings terribly inhumane.
The Soviets say that she was euthanized before her oxygen ran out. The British and Americans question whether that is true. The Russians question whether that questioning is deliberately spread propaganda meant to make them seem monstrous. In the time since, I think both sides have lost track of the original truth of the matter. But the question of her ultimate cause of death aside, I wondered whether she might be hungry, thirsty or afraid, uncomprehending of how it was possible to see stars all around her... I actually can't recall reading whether Sputnik 2 was like this ship, with windows or not. Laika may not have seen stars spinning in the sky, but I'm sure the sounds and sudden lack of gravity must have been rather frightening for such a little dog.
[His voice is low and steady, the pictures his paints are matter-of-fact and vivid. He accent is an odd, old one, London tempered by a childhood racing through Penang streets and other colonial holds. He takes his time with the story before concluding;]
Which is all to say, given the apparent flexibility of space and time on this vessel, if we see her while we're out here, I must simply insist that we make a stop.
no subject
It's more like time makes no fucking sense here. Not a whole lot does.
We don't just have people from different times, but from different worlds. Some of the worlds aren't even real. You heard of Superman? [He's not sure, because of the accent.] We got a chick here who's from Krypton. A relative of his.
no subject
[He says, because this cannot possibly get any weirder, and it just did. It's an afterlife with a semi-fictional populace... perfect.
The most frightening thing at this point is that it might all be true.]
no subject
[His expression is wryly apologetic -- he figures it's better to hear about that stuff in advance than have it catch you by surprise.]
It's a lot of weird shit to have dropped on you, especially right after dying. You did die, right?
no subject
[It actually takes a second to put a good look of shock on his face. When Ricki's really floored, he goes cautiously, perfectly blank- hard training to break, but just as telling if you know how to look for it. But yes, surprise is clearly the appropriate reaction here.]
Quite dead, I'm afraid.
no subject
[It's a nicer way of saying "tough luck, buddy", but what else can he say? He doesn't even know how to feel about his own death, yet.]
They tell you it might not be a forever deal, though? That maybe you could go back, eventually?
no subject
[That's all.]
no subject
[A little wild, no fucking kidding.]
It's been a little over a month since I died. In a goddamn nuclear explosion, if you can believe it.
no subject
[To Ricki, a cold war kid, that's especially poignant. It may be the big one they're all expecting.]
no subject
It didn't go down the way you probably think it did, though. [Lloyd's a cold war kid himself, he remembers having nightmares about the bomb, even though he rarely paid attention to the news.] Wasn't a big war with the Russians, people hiding in bunkers and shit. We had a plague first, and it killed off most of the population, and after that, all of the big toys were left scattered around for the taking.
But it's like I said, people here are from different worlds, and that's just how things went in mine. All the people I've talked to here, for them 1990 rolled by like a regular year, nothing too special happening.
no subject
[He shakes his head, marveling slightly.]
I suppose it makes sense that history would be faintly fractured, in the experience of everyone here. Though I suppose it sounds terrible, shouldn't make me feel better that it wasn't anything Red.
[Mildly less responsible for it, though.]
no subject
[It sort of made the cold war seems like a child's game in comparison, wiping out all the politicians and the soldiers and the generals in a matter of weeks. Of course, wasn't long before they had a whole new war, and not a cold one.]
When and where are you from, Ricki? I'd guess around the seventies, unless your haircut is real out of date.
no subject
[He's certainly got the accent for it, partially preserved from years in a colony of missionaries, and then relearned in full for work.]
Sounds like your world doesn't have countries or states any more?
[His awkward way of asking in return.]